Lianne raised her hand, rubbing a finger against her lips. Unfazed, she said, "I had spicy crayfish. It was hot."
"Young women shouldn't eat too much heavily flavored food. It's not good for you," said Ethan Sinclair.
Whenever Lianne had eaten with him in the past, she had always followed his nutritionist's meal plan—light, delicious, and nutritious.
She nodded. "Okay."
Standing at the door chatting late at night was poor etiquette and showed a lack of refinement.
Ethan Sinclair reminded her, "Get some rest."
Lianne replied, "Okay. Good night."
The door closed.
Lianne carried the pastries into the room, unable to resist lowering her head to take a whiff of the sweet, crisp aroma.
Seth Sinclair was sitting lazily on the sofa, peeling an apple. His long, beautiful, jade-like fingers made the apple look incredibly expensive.
He lifted his gaze to look at her, his eyes sliding past her face to fix on what she was holding.
"Pastries," Lianne said.
