Maxwell Peary faintly sensed something was off with Butler Goldsmith and involuntarily halted, his brow slightly knitted.
"Speak your mind."
Maxwell felt somewhat discontented, his cold voice as chilling as a winter drizzle.
"The Madam just left. She said she's meeting a friend and won't be back for dinner."
Frederick Goldsmith, deciding to throw caution to the wind, blurted this out. However, he didn't tell the CEO that Nia Mitchell had mentioned she would call him before she left.
He was worried Young Master Peary would see it as deception and think Nia Mitchell wasn't true to her word.
Maxwell's face darkened instantly. That damned Rabina Mitchell!
She'd had a fever in the early hours, wearing him out after he'd rushed back in the middle of the night. He'd barely slept a few hours before having to head straight to work.
And this Rabina Mitchell, instead of resting at home while sick, still had the energy to go gallivanting about.
"Did she say who she was meeting?"
