As if knowing what she was about to say, Sylvan Cheney spoke first, his expression rather indifferent—
"First go to the entrance to get a number, make a reservation before ordering."
Instantly, Jasmine Yale's face turned bright red; she didn't know about this rule.
Sylvan Cheney was wearing a black shirt, with the top two buttons undone, no tie, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking more casual than usual.
The waiter quickly handed Sylvan Cheney his vodka.
Jasmine Yale had no choice but to return to the entrance to get a number.
"Idiot," Sylvan Cheney couldn't help but mutter.
"You!" Jasmine Yale turned her head.
He was already walking away with his wine glass, his silhouette tall and slender.
This restaurant is the only one here, very expensive, most things are quite pricey.
Indeed, most people who come here often bring their own food; only those with money to burn would buy from the restaurant.
