The sun blazed high in the sky, and July was ablaze.
At noon, the sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spilled onto the carpet.
Jiang Muwan leaned back in the executive chair, her pen tapping leisurely on the desktop. The corners of her lips were slightly raised, revealing a shallow smile of victory.
"Mr. Jiang asks you to come over."
Fu Jing's arrival interrupted the strategies swirling in her mind. She reached out, placing the pen on the desk, and as she stood up, heard Fu Jing say, "The textile issue has spilled over. The reporters have surrounded the company entrance since morning. Prepare yourself mentally."
Jiang Muwan straightened her clothes, the smile on her lips deepening, "I fear he might not give me a hard time."
Fu Jing said nothing, just shrugged her shoulders and watched as Jiang Muwan headed toward the far end of the corridor.
Some people are born for the battlefield.
