She leaned back against the sofa, a clear melancholy in her eyes, yet not a hint of humor, staring straight at James Grant, her expression elegant amidst her allure.
James Grant listened to her words, a hint of interest colored his eyes, his fingertips tapping lightly on the tabletop.
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"Anything you need me to do is fine, as long as we take down The Grant Group, I can stop donating blood to Harrison Grant and being his blood slave."
James Grant flicked his cigarette, the tip turning a few times in the ashtray, extinguishing the sparks, then lifted his gaze to glance at her: "Alright."
He stood up, tall and slender.
The office’s fluorescent lights spilled over him, cold and indifferent, a wildness emanating from his very bones.
"Is Matthew Sullivan still sending you supplements?"
As he spoke, he walked to her side, leaned against her chair, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Evelyn Clayton stiffened for a moment, pursed her lips, and shifted her position, replying, "No."
Evelyn Clayton’s evasiveness was noticed by James Grant, whose eyes deepened, unfathomable, locking onto her gaze as if wanting to get to the bottom of it.
She realized something and pretended to clear her throat, coughing a few times.
"I, I only care about Harrison Grant. Once Harrison Grant is dealt with, everything will be fine."
James Grant stared at her, letting out a laugh neither long nor short, his eyes deep and obscure, impossible to discern his thoughts.
"If Harrison Grant asks you to blood again, don’t go."
Evelyn Clayton averted her gaze: "Alright."
After speaking, she stood up, deliberately avoiding him.
At the doorway, her steps slowed, stopping momentarily.
Only a few seconds passed before she lifted her foot and left.
The Jacobs Family’s project was still pushing progress, and Matthew Sullivan used work as an excuse to constantly follow Evelyn Clayton to get closer to her.
"Evelyn, here’s the data sheet from the Jacobs Family, have a look."
Matthew Sullivan handed over the documents, and Evelyn Clayton glanced at them, casually picked up a pen, and made corrections on several data points.
One data point was correct, but she intentionally marked it wrong and returned it to Matthew Sullivan.
Matthew Sullivan trusted her completely, didn’t even glimpse at it, his gaze entirely on her, noticing her pale and weary face, expressing concerned care.
"Evelyn, do you want to rest for a bit? Working so hard might be too much on your body. Did you eat the supplements I bought you?"
As he spoke, he reached out, intending to touch her forehead.
Evelyn Clayton tried to avoid him, but out of the corner of her eye, she unintentionally noticed a familiar silhouette passing by the doorway.
She was stunned for a moment, and Matthew Sullivan’s hand had already touched her forehead.
The warmth from his hand emanated, and Evelyn Clayton did not shy away, her eyelids lowered, hiding the look in her eyes from him.
Not far away, James Grant witnessed the intimate scene between Evelyn Clayton and Matthew Sullivan, the coldness around him sharply intensifying.
He squinted his eyes dangerously, his jaw tightening.
Inside, Evelyn Clayton felt the gaze from behind, which made her spine stiffen, daring not to move.
On the table, her phone popped up a message which attracted Matthew Sullivan’s attention.
She quickly took the phone, turning it toward herself, casually saying, "Work message."
Matthew Sullivan didn’t mind, and Evelyn Clayton turned slightly, opened the message.
Seeing James Grant’s name, her heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
"Tell him to get lost, or I’ll break his hand."
Even in cold text, James Grant’s words carried a near-mad anger that could be felt from afar.
She pressed her lips together, swallowed, raised her hand to type a few words in reply: "You’re overthinking."