Actually, Owen Lewis hadn’t yet co to the Special Assistant Office; even if he had, there would have been nothing for him to do.
The initial intention was for Owen Lewis to handle the special assistant’s work, but he couldn’t manage it in his current state, so Maxwell had been left with no alternative.
Thus, Maxwell had to let him continue overseeing the Black Market affairs.
Nia Mitchell sat on the bed, the blanket already pulled aside, looking at her feet.
What is Uncle Peary talking about?
Humph!
"If I go to work now, the seat probably wouldn’t even be warm before it’s ti to leave."
It’s already past ten, and I still have to get up and take a car from here. The whole morning is practically wasted.
What Maxwell said was definitely ant to tease her.
Hearing Nia Mitchell’s grumbles, a smile tugged at the corners of Maxwell Peary’s mouth, and he shook his head.
"Or, would it be too much trouble for Mrs. Peary to bring Mr. Peary his lunch?"
The CEO’s lunch was always delivered by a dedicated person at noon.
Nia Mitchell had only done it once.
However, now that her identity was almost exposed, she didn’t know how to face her forr colleagues. But... she would have to face them eventually.
"Sure," Nia Mitchell nodded, feigning nonchalance.
After hanging up, Nia Mitchell quickly tossed her phone aside and patted her flushed cheeks.
She slipped on her small slippers and clattered down the stairs.
"Butler Goldsmith!" Nia Mitchell shouted at the top of her voice, and then she saw Frederick Goldsmith walking over.
"What is it, Missy?" Frederick Goldsmith looked at Nia Mitchell, sizing her up. After confirming she seed alright, he asked.
"I’m delivering Uncle’s lunch today."
By now, Nia Mitchell had completely relaxed, informally calling Maxwell Peary ’Uncle’ when at ho.
"Alright. Do you have any particular dishes in mind, Missy?"
Nia Mitchell paused. What does Uncle Peary like to eat? He likes spicy food, eggplant... and what else?
"What does Uncle like to eat?" Nia Mitchell asked as she walked into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, many chefs bustled about. Although the dishes they prepared might not always be served to Maxwell Peary, the kitchen staff was constantly creating a wide variety of als.
The greatest advantage was that whatever one desired to eat could be served almost instantly.
This was Nia Mitchell’s first ti seeing the kitchen in full operation, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacular sight.
Goodness! This is incredible! It’s just like an imperial kitchen!
"Wow, what is this?" Nia Mitchell suddenly stared at a dish, motionless, scrutinizing it.
"This is a newly developed dish; it hasn’t been perfected yet," the butler imdiately explained.
Nia Mitchell nodded. She had never imagined Maxwell Peary lived such an extravagant life.
"So, what dishes were you originally preparing for Uncle today?"
Frederick Goldsmith was now accustod to Nia Mitchell calling Maxwell Peary ’Uncle,’ but the chef nearest to them was stunned.
He’d never imagined Mrs. Peary would call Young Master Peary ’Uncle’! The chef was so startled his hand trembled, and... a dish was ruined.
For a professional, world-class chef, this was an utter disgrace.
Nia Mitchell, oblivious to these intricacies, rely sensed the chef beside her falter as a pan nearly slipped from his grasp. "Be careful," she kindly reminded him.
However, there was sothing else she didn’t know... Once she stepped out of the kitchen, that very chef would also have to leave—through the back door, naturally. From that day forward, he vanished from the Peary family’s culinary team.
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