Sumr 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 Sumr couldn’t be bothered: "The cooperation agreent was crystal clear, you supply with the blood source, I provide you resources. What do you an now, you want to jump ship?!"
"What can I do if Evelyn Clayton won’t give it to ! 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.
Sumr 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!"
Jas Grant found out about Harrison Grant’s visit to Evelyn Clayton the next day.
The contract was opened and closed repeatedly, and Jas Grant pinched his brow. The assistant ca in and saw the unchanged pile of docunts on the desk. He wanted to prompt Jas but seeing the boss’s furrowed brows, he imdiately 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, Jas Grant opened his eyes and pressed the dial button.
After what seed like an eternity, the call finally connected.
"Jas Grant."
The familiar voice traveled from the receiver to his ear, sounding sowhat fatigued. Jas’ brow furrowed in an instant.
"Are you hurt?"
Evelyn Clayton was taken aback by the question.
She was cooking, and upon hearing, she took a mont to glance at her phone screen.
The na displayed was indeed Jas Grant.
So, he was asking... Evelyn halted, then laughed at herself. She should have guessed it.
Jas 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 ho all day, how could I get hurt."
Jas 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.
Evelyn Clayton couldn’t stand the oppressive silence and cut straight to the point: "Did you have soone follow ?"
"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 sowhat truthful.
Regardless of whether it was Jas Grant’s true intention, at that mont, Evelyn Clayton chose to believe it ca from a good place.
People are most adept at looking at things from a different angle to find inner peace.
"The people following should have inford 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 ti to et and discuss in detail; the previous requirents were vetoed by the team mbers after discussion, so we’ll need to rethink our approach."
Evelyn Clayton forwarded these two ssages to Yara Reagan.
The next second, the WeChat alert sounded off over a dozen tis.
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.
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