Chapter 325

Latisha no longer dared to hope for anything. Every time she did, it only led to crushing disappointment.

She sat quietly, her head bowed, staring at the tips of her shoes. Time had never felt so slow.

Everyone was watching Emily drink. The woman's tolerance was indeed impressive, but after five or six bottles, she was already unsteady on her feet.

She excused herself to go to the restroom, but after staggering less than twenty feet, she doubled over and vomited into a trash can. Seeing this, Mr. Wingard's face darkened instantly.

Latisha couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the assistant.

Greyson's eyes flickered, his gaze shifting from Latisha to Clifford and back again, a subtle expression on his face.

Mr. Wingard grabbed a bottle. “Emily's in the restroom. I'll take over."

They were almost halfway through; it would be a shame to give up now. If he could just down two or three more, Emily could finish the rest, and the deal would be his. He failed to notice the dark glint in Clifford's eyes. He didn't know Clifford, assuming he was just like most other businessmen.

But anyone who knew Clifford understood. Things had escalated to this point, and forget fifty points—it would be an act of mercy if Clifford ever did business with him again. He should be more concerned about whether his company would still be operating tomorrow.

At least, that was what Greyson was thinking.

ine

Mr. Wingard was a decent drinker himself, but he had already had quite a bit earlier. At this point, he could handle maybe four more bottles before he collapsed. The assistant finally returned from the restroom, where she seemed to have been hiding for a while. As soon as she was back, she started drinking again without a word, while everyone watched.

Most of the so-called assistants in the room weren't real assistants at all; they were professional drinkers hired specifically to take the fall for their bosses. They were paid to drink, so when clients intentionally tried to get them drunk, they had no choice but to endure it.

Latisha watched the woman chug the liquor like water. A good amount of it spilled down her chin and into her collar, soaking the front of her blouse. The sight drew several pairs of eyes, all fixed on her chest.

Latisha pressed her lips together

and looked away, her gaze falling on Clifford. A few buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing his collarbone. He was slouched against the sofa, a cigarette between his fingers, his expression impossibly detached. It was as if everything happening around him was just a trivial farce. He was merely a spectator, completely uninvolved.

Toward the end, Emily could barely drink anymore. She was functioning on instinct, her eyes barely open. There were still five or six bottles left on the table. Her pace slowed to tiny sips and she had to run to the restroom every few minutes. This went on and on, and soon it was five in the morning. People in the room were starting to get drowsy.

One of them said, “It'll be dawn by the time Emily finishes. Mr. Lambert, what do you say we call it a night?"

Clifford replied coolly, "What's the rush? Mr. Wingard said we should have a good time, so let's see it through."

The man fell silent, and everyone continued to sit there. They were all partners, and they had all agreed to use Lambert Group's moment of crisis to leverage better deals from Clifford.