A new day began with the richest man's deep, magnetic baritone.
"Audrey, keep up."
"Ian, confirm the details on the people from yesterday."
"Florence, stand by for now."
Half-asleep, Shirley Thorne heard the sound of Ethan Grant holding a meeting.
Ethan Grant's voice was calm and methodical, almost a monotone. For some reason, it was incredibly sleep-inducing.
Shirley Thorne rolled over, treating his voice as a lullaby.
'I'm the poor, pitiful victim who was drugged last night. I have every right to stay in bed and sleep in, *sniffle*.'
Shirley Thorne hugged the comforter and slept soundly, showing absolutely no intention of getting up.
From the corner of his eye, Ethan Grant saw a lump on the bed with only a fluffy head peeking out. For some reason, he felt a sudden urge to ruffle her hair.
Shirley Thorne was completely oblivious to the danger of having her hair ruffled, inching ever closer to the edge of the bed as if afraid of falling off.
