"I thought you would let Justin Huxley come up."
A voice too abrupt echoed in the room. Summer Lowell looked at Maxim Sinclair, who had been sitting on the sofa for an unknown duration, and her face slowly darkened.
"Why are you here again?"
"Again?"
Maxim Sinclair looked at her noncommittally, but his expression clearly showed Summer that he came whenever he wanted.
Knowing she couldn't do anything to him, Summer didn't bother arguing about how he got in.
Maxim looked at Summer, whose face was flushed, messy black hair falling, wrapped in a bathrobe, surrounded by a faint fragrance. He inexplicably felt his throat dry and couldn't help but tug at his tie.
Summer sharply noticed something off in his eyes and cautiously moved to the other side of the table, trying not to provoke him: "I see you drank a lot today; you should go home and rest early, lest the world finds out that Maxim Sinclair forces himself on women."
