Nia Mitchell stood rooted to the spot, swallowing hard in disbelief.
What kind of expression was that on Maxwell Peary's face? With him looking like that, how could Phoebe Walker, standing to one side, possibly bear it?
"Is Mr. Peary joking?"
Nia Mitchell felt awkward and tried to smooth things over, but he had already backed her into a corner.
Maxwell Peary lowered the hand that had been propping up his chin. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang.
"One moment."
His expression shifted as he answered the phone. After speaking, he stood up and walked over to the French windows.
"Peary speaking."
His low, hoarse voice seemed to carry an ominous, dark aura as the words escaped his lips.
Listening to the voice on the other end, Maxwell Peary furrowed his brows, his expression grave.
"Are you sure?"
A few seconds later, Maxwell Peary hung up and turned to face Nia Mitchell and Phoebe Walker.
