Chapter 715


    When the phone rang, Damon was lounging behind his desk. He nced in the direction of the


    coffee table, then got up and walked to the sofa to pick up Chloe’s phone, eyeing the unfamiliar


    number on the screen.


    He swiped the screen with his long finger, then casually put the phone to his ear.


    “Hello?”


    “Ms. Summers… um… who is this?”


    Shawn initially wanted to get straight to the point, but he quickly realized that the voice at the other


    end wasn’t Chloe’s.


    “What’s up?”


    Damon didn’t answer his question directly, but the day’s events were enough for Shawn to figure


    out who was on the other end of the line.


    “Mr. Harper, I need to speak to Ms. Summers…”


    “What’s up?” Damon asked patiently, though his tone was bing noticeably impatient.


    “Uh… well, Mr. Harper, today…”


    Shawn shared the story about Philip not showing up for filming and his rtionship with Keira, and


    the Twitter drama, before finally getting to his point.


    “I need the photo from Chloe’s phone of Philip at the café.”


    “Mm.”


    After listening, Damon simply responded curtly and hung up the phone. Before Shawn could react,


    his phone pinged with a message – the photo had been sent.


    After sending the photo, Damon put the phone back where it was and casually picked up the half–


    finished paperwork Chloe had been dealing with, raising an eyebrow slightly.


    By the time Chloe woke up, it was already two–thirty in the afternoon. She was slightly surprised at


    the roomyout, but quickly figured out where she was. Checking her watch, she was amazed to


    find that she had slept until past three in the afternoon.


    Remembering the unfinished paperwork, Chloe bit her lip in frustration and quickly got out of bed.


    She looked around for her shoes but couldn’t find them.


    So, barefoot, she went to find Damon. She opened the door to the lounge, “Damon, my shoes…”


    As she lifted her head, Chloe’s words died in her throat.


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    In front of Damon’s desk stood five or six men in suits of varying ages, but generally on the older


    side. They were all looking at her with a mix of bewilderment, confusion, shock, embarrassment,


    and some clear disdain and contempt.


    Chloe, still sporting short hair and a wrinkled loose shirt with two buttons undone, was facing an


    awkward silence. Her shirt slid off her shoulder, revealing her right one.


    Chloe was wearing Damon’s white shirt with nothing underneath; her underwear from the dressing


    room had been tossed somewhere by Damon. Despite the shirt’s good quality, which saved her


    from any idental exposure, the exposed shoulder and the off–center shirt were suggestive.


    Especially whenbined with her overall disheveled appearance and the red marks scattered on


    her bare skin, it didn’t take much to guess what she’d been through.