Summer Monroe deliberately had Evelyn Clayton rescued just for her blood, and now they’re telling her it’s all for nothing?
"What kind of joke are you playing, Harrison Grant!" She sat up from her bed with a snap, the lotion freshly applied by the beautician sliding down her neck, but Summer couldn’t be bothered: "The cooperation agreement was crystal clear, you supply me with the blood source, I provide you resources. What do you mean now, you want to jump ship?!"
"What can I do if Evelyn Clayton won’t give it to me! I can’t just steal it, can I?" Harrison Grant wiped the dust from his face with a heavy hand, his temper was no small thing either: "You’re so capable, why don’t you go do it yourself!"
He hung up the phone right after saying that.
Summer listened to the beeping tone, her long nails digging in, her expression contorting.
She absolutely needed that blood source, after all the hustle, she still had to do it herself!
"A bunch of useless idiots!"
James Grant found out about Harrison Grant’s visit to Evelyn Clayton the next day.
The contract was opened and closed repeatedly, and James Grant pinched his brow. The assistant came in and saw the unchanged pile of documents on the desk. He wanted to prompt James but seeing the boss’s furrowed brows, he immediately put down the files and turned to leave.
Employees must learn to read the room, or they might not know how they got in trouble.
The frosted glass door closed silently, James Grant opened his eyes and pressed the dial button.
After what seemed like an eternity, the call finally connected.
The familiar voice traveled from the receiver to his ear, sounding somewhat fatigued. James’ brow furrowed in an instant.
Evelyn Clayton was taken aback by the question.
She was cooking, and upon hearing, she took a moment to glance at her phone screen.
The name displayed was indeed James Grant.
So, he was asking... Evelyn halted, then laughed at herself. She should have guessed it.
James Grant was so chauvinistic; there’s no way he’d let her out of his sight without arranging who knows how many people to watch her.
With that thought, Evelyn Clayton lost interest, turned off the heat, plated the bok choy, and replied blandly: "What a strange question for Director Grant. I’ve been cooped up at home all day, how could I get hurt."
James Grant remained silent.
He sensed the sarcasm in her tone, and given that he was in the wrong, his overwhelming worry turned into a heavy sigh.
The minutes on the screen ticked by. Chapters first released on novel·fire·net
Evelyn Clayton couldn’t stand the oppressive silence and cut straight to the point: "Did you have someone follow me?"
"I was worried you’d be in danger."
The man’s tone was as cold and indifferent as ever.
But at least his answer was somewhat truthful.
Regardless of whether it was James Grant’s true intention, at that moment, Evelyn Clayton chose to believe it came from a good place.
People are most adept at looking at things from a different angle to find inner peace.
"The people following me should have informed you of everything. If there’s nothing else, let’s hang up. I’m about to have dinner."
Without waiting for a response, Evelyn quickly hung up.
After eating, Yara Reagan sent over the rushed design drafts.
Evelyn Clayton reviewed them once and sent them off to Franklin Ford.
The first review was essentially a highly detailed draft; designers never expect their work to pass in one shot.
Sure enough, within minutes, Franklin rejected them.
"Overall layout aligns with the initial concept, but the details don’t convey what I’m looking for."
"Furthermore, let’s schedule a time to meet and discuss in detail; the previous requirements were vetoed by the team members after discussion, so we’ll need to rethink our approach."
Evelyn Clayton forwarded these two messages to Yara Reagan.
The next second, the WeChat alert sounded off over a dozen times.
Without looking, she knew it was a barrage of "crying" emojis.
Designers can not only be overworked but also perform an on-the-spot breakdown.