Surprise flashed in her eyes, but it quickly subsided.
"Who are you?"
Xiaolu feigned indifference and asked, pretending she didn't recognize Zhou Chucheng at all.
The other party was just as arrogantly indifferent, "Zhou Chucheng."
He reached out a hand with distinct knuckles; his palm was slender, his skin pale, each of his fingers long.
Xiaolu quickly scanned Zhou Chucheng's hand and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Director Zhou doesn't like sports, does he?"
Instead of shaking his hand, she pulled out the chair beside her and sat down directly, a hint of scorn flashing in her eyes.
"No, I don't."
Zhou Chucheng coldly answered, retracted his hand, and sat down opposite Xiaolu.
"With strength insufficient to truss a chicken, how do you protect a woman?"
Xiaolu mocked purposefully.
Zhou Chucheng's eyebrows furrowed as he was sensitive and picked up on the disdain in Xiaolu's words.
