"No, there isn't any," Victoria said, both embarrassed and upset, her face flushing red, "Really, there's none."
Why were they, three high-level people, messing with her like she was a nobody? What was so fun about it?
Hank Clegg leisurely took a sip of his red wine, a shadow crossing his eyes.
"Whether there is or not, I'm not sure. We'd have to ask Miss Talkington," he said.
"There really isn't any..." Victoria was on the verge of tears.
"OK, OK," Albert Park raised his hands in surrender, "It was just a joke, Miss Talkington, don't take it so seriously. I can't bear to see a beauty cry."
"Victoria is indeed very capable." Matilda Murphy spoke abruptly, her tone was cold, but her words were firm, "I've had many assistants and she's the one who's given me the most satisfaction."
Victoria thought she must have misheard.
Did Matilda just compliment her?
