Wang Lan placed the lunch box on the coffee table, her face unable to suppress her excitement, "President, here is your lunch."
"I'm not hungry yet." He didn't even look up, his tone as stiff as wood.
Wang Lan pouted, thinking, 'you're not hungry? I bet that will change once I deliver my next line.' Clearing her throat, she said, "The lady especially called to have me order this for you."
Zheng Haoyu's hand trembled, causing his pen to scrape a long line across the document. His mind momentarily faltered: Could it be Su Nian? Even in her anger, she's worried whether he's eating properly or not?
"Mistress says that your stomach isn't good. From now on, if you are at the office during lunchtime, she wants me to have meals ordered for you every day." Wang Lan looked up, meeting his inquiring gaze with a smooth smile.
