Phoebe Walker glared at Diana Hill in exasperation. Can’t she even answer a phone call properly?
"May I ask...who are you?"
Diana Hill naturally wouldn’t use a harsh tone; after all, she had a decent relationship with Nia Mitchell.
On the other end of the line, Maxwell Peary frowned, his earlier mood to tease Nia Mitchell vanishing completely.
Those three indifferent words, carrying an oppressive aura as if from the highest heavens, made Diana Hill’s breath catch, and her heart seemed to constrict.
She answered obediently. After speaking, her heart pounded erratically with nervousness, terrified that the person on the other end was displeased.
It was normal for Diana Hill not to recognize Maxwell Peary’s voice. She had very few opportunities to see him. She had heard his voice even less frequently. Each time she did, all her concentration was consumed by calming her wildly beating heart, leaving no room to remember his tone. Unfortunately, this was the first time she had ever heard the CEO’s voice over the phone.
"Who is Diana Hill? Get Nia Mitchell."
Maxwell Peary irritably shifted his position and reached for a nearby cigarette.
"Secretary Walker, someone’s looking for Nia Mitchell. A man," Diana Hill said, her voice laced with fear as she gestured towards Nia Mitchell, who was already the subject of Phoebe’s intense scrutiny.
Phoebe Walker was utterly exasperated. Isn’t that stating the obvious? Nia Mitchell’s desk phone rang; who else would it be for if not her? You?
"I’ll take it." A man? Could it be Nia Mitchell’s husband?
With that, Phoebe Walker shoved Nia Mitchell aside and strode over to the phone.
Nia Mitchell finally freed her arm, wincing as she rubbed her reddened wrist where she’d been grabbed.
"Hello? Who do you think you are? Don’t you know this is a company landline? It’s not for irrelevant people like you to call. Understand?"
Maxwell Peary, who was in the middle of lighting his cigarette, paused. His expression changed instantly.
Hearing only silence from the other end, Phoebe Walker assumed the caller felt guilty. This further confirmed her suspicion that it was Nia Mitchell’s pitiful husband.
"You’re looking for Nia Mitchell, right? Let me tell you, Nia Mitchell is always fooling around in the company, flitting about like a social butterfly. And I bet you’re no better. Maybe you’re so poor, ugly, and old that your wife has no choice but to run off with other men..."
A loud sound echoed from the other end. The landline in Phoebe Walker’s hand immediately started emitting a busy signal: DOOT-DOOT-DOOT.
Well, now! What a temper. Did I strike a nerve?
Nia Mitchell, standing nearby, swallowed hard. An inexplicable wave of fear suddenly washed over her.
Alan Morgan was also stunned. In all these years, he never knew Phoebe Walker had this side to her.
He mechanically turned his head to look at Nia Mitchell. Does she need help? he wondered silently.
Nia Mitchell managed a wry smile. All I want now is to escape, she thought.
Seeing Phoebe Walker glaring back at her with a smug smile, like a victor about to collect her spoils, it was impossible to miss how pleased she was with herself.
"Special Assistant Alan, only one person ever calls that desk phone," Nia Mitchell said in a low voice, ensuring only the two of them could hear.
At this remark, Alan Morgan’s back stiffened. His complexion shifted through a fascinating array of colors.
Only one person calls that line? Heh, Sister-in-law, don’t scare me. I’m easily frightened. Damn it! I’d rather go to Canada. I could even accept Sicily, even if it’s crawling with mafia and perilous at every turn.
"Nia Mitchell, everything I said is true, you know. I’m really looking forward to you bringing your husband to my birthday party tomorrow. Though, I imagine he might be too ashamed to come."