Su Xingyu was sure she didn't know this person.
The man before her was exceptionally handsome—even among the beautiful people in the fashion industry, he would stand out. Just seeing him once would leave a deep impression.
He wore a meticulously tailored Armani suit and bowed his head to smile gentlemanly, "Lovely miss, may I have the honor of taking your food to your seat?" He spoke fluent Chinese with a slight French accent.
Su Xingyu stared at him for a few seconds: "I don't think you're a waiter here."
"Of course not," he smiled again, showing a set of perfect white teeth, "In fact, very few can inspire me to serve them willingly, and you, my dear lady, are as beautiful as the most enchanting rose in the depths of the snow-capped mountains, just happen to be one of them."
"Are you a minstrel?" Su Xingyu also smiled. This man was like a peacock flaunting, clearly trying to flirt with her; his voice, as grand as an aria, seemed wasted not singing opera.
