"Tell me, what did Mr. Gao tell you?" Flynn Chen put a large piece of pork belly on the barbecue grill.
Maxim Qian sat across from him, mixing the seasonings, cumin, pepper, and chili oil, pouring them out in a mess, messing around: "I didn't say anything, but there's someone here next week."
After a while, he didn't want to say anything anymore. Even if Flynn Chen said what he wanted to hear and scolded Gao Yuan happily, what if the scolding was over? People keep coming when they are supposed to, but the bad relationship between him and Gao Yuan is also frozen, and complaining is addictive.
He coveted the idle staff of the second and third groups like a cat staring at a goldfish in a water tank. The visitor should be something he wished for, but he didn't seem happy to see him like this. Flynn Chen looked at him through the air distorted by the heat: "Who? To come?"
Qian Xin pushed aside the almost stirred condiments, took a spoon and drank the free pumpkin paste: "An architect hired by JMP is called Spencer Chen."
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