No Substitutes for the Bigshots' Dream Girl Anymore!-Chapter 67: It’s the Girl Who is Liked

So, President Simmons does have a girlfriend... No, he likes women, right?

Doesn’t that mean he doesn’t have to constantly contemplate whether or not to devote his youth to his career?

Oh... but wait a minute, he seems to have lost a shortcut doing this.

"What are you daydreaming about?" Arnold Simmons unemotionally looked at his secretary, who was lost in thought, his voice was cold, and the smile lines on his mouth disappeared without a trace.

He suddenly locked eyes with hers; they were as cold as a winter moon, and deep-set with no trace of emotion.

The secretary in her trance snapped back to reality, giving herself a metaphorical slap on the wrist. How could she zone out like that?

She rushed to make an excuse, "President Simmons, I swear that I wasn’t daydreaming, or considering your personal affairs." He looked even colder at her words, and she was so scared she was on the verge of tears, "President Simmons, my cousin mentioned that young women recently have been into pets, maybe you could consider buying your wife a small pet."

Arnold Simmons remained silent, his almond-shaped eyes squinting slightly as they flashed with a hostile sort of coldness. He looked on indifferently as his secretary broke out into a sweat.

The secretary was about to cry, she wanted to get down on her knees and beg Arnold Simmons for mercy.

She thought about what she was saying, it’s all nonsense.

What if President Simmons was buying his mother a gift?

Just as she considered resigning and fleeing the city in the middle of the night, Arnold Simmons spoke.

"Leave."

His two icy words were as harsh as hailstones from a clear summer sky.

The assistant felt relief wash over her, even as her heart was still racing.

She had just barely dodged a bullet and now she was worrying about her miserable life next week.

If she had a chance to go back in time, she would say these four words to President Simmons- "Happy Wedding."

The sound of the office door closing marked the return to its usual silence.

Arnold Simmons had limited contact with females, and he never thought about catering to their likes and dislikes.

He felt slightly annoyed.

His phone was still on the chat with Hannah.

His gaze lingered on a series of strange numbers he hadn’t added to his contacts, and then he lifted his phone.

From the phone number, he found the girl’s WeChat.

The profile picture was a cat lounging on the beach, exposing its belly to the sun. The cat looked lazy and proud; its eyes half-open, indifferent.

The more he looked, the more it reminded him of someone.

He shot a friend request and locked his phone.

Five minutes later, and still no reply.

He took another look, set his phone to vibrate, and placed it on the corner of the desk.

Another ten minutes later, still no reply.

He changed his phone settings to ring mode and stashed it in his drawer.

Half an hour later, his phone rang.

He instinctively reached for the drawer handle but chuckled at his own actions. It was just a friend request. He’s not this desperate.

He then collected himself, opened the phone, lowered his eyes, and his crow-feather-like eyelashes cast a dark shadow under his eyes. His eyes flashed with a somewhat harsh, cold light.

The coldness gradually spread to the bottom of his eyes.