As soon as she got in the car, she took off the men's jacket she was wearing, folded it neatly, and returned it to its owner without a word.
In the confined space of the car, a scent of ink and paper emanated from him, a fragrance utterly devoid of desire.
Zhou Xiangqun simply said, "Xiaozhang, Jingji."
It wasn't a question. It was a renowned restaurant, famous for its official's cuisine.
She realized that there were men in this world who never spoke in questions. They made decisions unilaterally.
"I'm not hungry," she said.
Zhou Xiangqun glanced at his watch, then slowly removed the pen he wore in his breast pocket. He jotted on a piece of paper, "2:46 PM to 8:00 PM." Then he asked, "What did you eat during that time?"
"Although Rongpai Residence is delicious, it's very expensive. Do you even have the money?" Shen Jing suddenly asked.
Her question was sincere, genuinely concerned.
