Mason was so excited that he couldn't speak properly and pointed to the screen, "This guy showed up and actually pitched a brand-new draft. It's perfect!"
In the meantime, Franklin's eyebrows rose, "Sent?"
"Sent, but as anonymous. There were ten copies of the design, and it looked like it was for us to choose from. The person behind it looks like he is deliberately running for our grand prize."
Mason kept his voice as low as possible.
Franklin looked down at his watch. She was still awake. What did she want?
Mason, seeing that Franklin was calm and collected, buried himself and continued to choose among the ten designs.
In Hill's Villa Lobby.
The atmosphere was oppressive, and pressing.
Gloria was sweating profusely, her eyes burning with hatred even more fiercely. She grabbed a water glass and smashed it, "What do I need you for? You can't even design a draft!"
The female designer whose head was smashed in the forehead was momentarily bleeding.
But then she had to bury her head and keep drawing.
Gloria, however, was busy taking two steps backwards, nervously examining her new dress, which fortunately didn't get any blood.