In the afternoon, Sheng Jianan finished dealing with the last document in his hands, glanced at the time—it was ten minutes to five. He walked into the break room, washed his face, tidied up a bit, gave the mirror a defiant and handsome smile to ensure his image wouldn't embarrass his own woman, and then turned and walked out.
It took forty minutes to get from Shengshi to Tang Yanqi's workplace.
With ample time, Sheng Jianan drove a while, then stopped in front of a flower shop.
"Hello, sir, what do you need?"
Sheng Jianan's gaze swept around the shop, landing on the roses. He pointed, "Eleven red ones, nine white ones, wrap them for me."
"Certainly."
If it were before, Young Master Sheng would've unhesitatingly gone for something like "999," or at the very least "99." But now, he hadn't even considered it. Though he didn't mind such ostentatious gestures, that woman didn't like them.
