Wen Jing had just put on her apron and donned her chef's hat when the manager came calling for her again.
Impatiently she asked, "What is it now?"
The manager said, "Table six's private room has requested your service."
He didn't dare to say it was Zhou Sicheng's doing, so he simply said it was table six's request.
But Wen Jing could guess it was Zhou Sicheng's intention with her toes, "Was it Zhou Sicheng who said so?"
Her tone was assertive.
The manager pursed his lips and nodded subtly, "That's right."
Wen Jing clenched her jaw in anger, then let out a heavy sigh, blowing her bangs out of her face, "Tell him, 'Go serve your own damn self'."
She reached out for the knife on the cutting board.
The manager recoiled in fright, "Got it, I got it."
Whoosh!
Just as the manager turned to leave, Wen Jing had second thoughts. Zhou Sicheng's aunt and mother were there; if the manager relayed her words verbatim, wouldn't she be doomed?
