Evelyn Grant's little face was scrunched up in a frown, and she remained silent in his embrace.
Wyatt Walsh delivered lunch from Serenity Studio, carefully setting it down before quietly exiting the chairman's office.
The atmosphere was tense. Evelyn Grant's eyes were unfocused as she stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sun-drenched Sovereign Harbor, lost in thought.
Preston Keaton was on the phone, his low, deep Cantonese sounding lazy and nonchalant as it reached her ears. With his right hand, he coolly set his pen on the desk, gave her a light pat on the bottom, and lifted his chin, gesturing for her to go eat.
Evelyn got off his lap.
There were tender, juicy lamb chops, pineapple buns with pine nuts and char siu, and baked crab shells stuffed with conpoy, among other dishes.
Evelyn's gaze lingered on the beef brisket and spicy crab for a few seconds before she silently picked up her chopsticks and began to eat.
'He's definitely doing this on purpose.'
