Despite this, Jessica wasn't discouraged. From across the large table, her red lips curved into a smile. "Winslow, what was this restaurant's specialty again? You know, that dish one of your ancient poets loved to eat... It's called something like... Dong..."
"Dongpo pork." Julian Winslow's gaze turned frigid, his chilly tone cutting in to finish her sentence.
Jessica got excited. "Yes, that's the name! I've had it a few times, and it's really delicious. I heard the chef who makes it is also from the East..."
Hearing this, Ronan Fordham froze. He glanced sideways at his boss and saw an icy aura radiating from him, as cold and grim as a thousand-year-old glacier.
In an instant, the private room fell deathly silent.
Even the normally carefree Jessica seemed to sense that something was wrong.
'Did I say something wrong?'
'Or maybe this big boss who came all this way actually wanted Western food, not Chinese?'
