"Sylvan Cheney, you have some nerve, don't you?"
Jasmine Yale was so mad she dropped her fork.
Total disgust!
Sylvan elegantly took a tissue from the table, wiped his lips and calmly said, "I mentioned I haven't eaten lunch."
"Then you can order your own."
"If I want to eat your noodles, I'll eat your noodles. If I want to eat you, I'll eat you."
Throughout this, Sylvan remained unflustered, his face calm and indifferent.
Even this utterly shameless statement sounded as if it wasn't made by him at all.
"Then finish eating, I'm leaving."
Jasmine picked up her bag, intending to get up.
"Sit down!" commanded Sylvan.
"..."
Just as she was about to reach the private room door, Sylvan reached out, grabbing her wrist.
"So you don't want to sit on the chair, do you prefer my lap, isn't it?"
Sylvan gently stroked her chin with his slender fingers, while his other hand held her, coaxing her to sit on his lap.
