Of the many people who frequented Paradise Hills every day, only a fraction was there to play golf earnestly. Most of the people enjoyed several casual rounds before retreating into a private setting to discuss business matters.
Shang Ruohai definitely belonged to the latter group.
But today, whatever the business matter he needed to deal with, deep lines were etched between his brows, refusing to go away.
When Shen Jingwei arrived, Yan Renzhong was out playing a round of golf with the others.
Shang Ruohai was lounging at the corner of a restaurant, with one of his legs crossed over his other one. He was wearing a set of stylish sportswear, all white save for the several black stripes adorning his outfit and his shoes. It was a stark contrast from his usual formal attire.
Sitting before him on a table was a cup of cold coffee and a plate of half-eaten croissant.
