Can we even have a proper conversation anymore?
Nia Mitchell looked at the text message on her phone. It was a complete mess; she couldn't understand it at all.
"I'm going out soon. If you see me, can we just act like strangers?"
This had to be agreed upon; otherwise, she was genuinely planning to hide here until the party ended.
Maxwell Peary considered it. Better coax her out, or it'll really start to stink in there.
"Okay."
Nia Mitchell stood up from the toilet, squeezing her small feet into her high heels.
This was the first time she had ever defeated the CEO. She felt like crying.
Phoebe Walker stared at the new evening gown she had bought. It wasn't custom-made, nor was it as beautiful as her previous one.
Looking at it made her fume.
HMPH! Shirley Grant, just you wait. I have plenty of opportunities to destroy you. So what if Alan Morgan protects you? HUH, you've just been slept with by someone. At best, you can only be a mistress.
