The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress novel Chapter 21

The Carmichael Group's conference room was shrouded in tense silence.

All the senior executives fixed their eyes on Raymond, who sat at the head of the table reviewing the proposal. No one even dared to breathe too loudly, each one secretly wishing they could crawl under the table and vanish—anything to avoid being the first in line for criticism.

For them, every meeting felt like a grueling ordeal.

After a long, uneasy pause, Raymond finally spoke. "Not bad."

At once, beads of sweat appeared on the foreheads of the department heads.

A few began to whisper nervously to each other.

"Did I hear that right? Did President Carmichael have too much to drink last night?"

"Did he just say ‘not bad'?"

One executive wiped his brow, his anxiety deepening. "You don't get it. This is just the calm before the storm. Ever heard of ‘the higher the praise, the harder the fall'? Brace yourself—he's about to tear our proposal to shreds."

Oblivious to the collective anxiety tightening in the room, Raymond glanced around, lowering his voice. "Well? Why are you still sitting here?"

"All proposals are approved. Meeting adjourned."

With that, he closed his laptop and strode out, leaving a roomful of stunned executives staring wide-eyed at each other.

"God, am I dreaming?"

"Was that really President Carmichael? Did I hear him right?"

"He approved everything? Pinch me, would you, Steve—I think I'm hallucinating."

"Either he's turned over a new leaf, or someone's swapped his soul."

Back in his office, Raymond found Citrine, headphones on, gaming with fierce concentration.

He'd never seen such animation on her face before and couldn't help but watch her for a moment longer, though he didn't disturb her.

Before long, Raymond left to meet a client. Not five minutes after he'd gone, the office door swung open.

The sharp click of high heels echoed closer and closer.

A girl her age, hanging around here? Clearly just another pretty distraction President Carmichael kept around.

Such a little flirt, throwing herself at men—how shameless.

"You know, playing games here might distract President Carmichael from his work," Valerie said, her tone suddenly sweet and reasonable.

She paused, as if weighing her options. "Maybe I should have someone move your desk out. President Carmichael doesn't like being disturbed."

Pathetic, Citrine thought. Such a weak move.

She ignored Valerie's suggestion and shot back, "And who are you, exactly?"

Valerie folded her arms, a note of pride creeping into her voice. "I'm Valerie. President Carmichael personally selected me as his intern."

Citrine nodded blandly, feigning disappointment. "Oh, so you're just an intern."

She added, "And what makes you think an intern has any right to tell me what to do?"