Arianne shook her head. “The work isn’t tiring, eating is. I don’t even dare waste a piece of fried chicken that I’m too stuffed to eat. I’m so bloated. You’re horrid, docking $15 every time someone wastes food. Three more times, and I can buy a new lipstick.”
Mark smiled and stroked her hair. “You silly goose. Can’t you throw it away in secret? Can I really punish you? You’re the exception. Everyone else has to pay.”
Arianne stared at him in disbelief. “We agreed to be professional. Didn’t we agree to no nepotism? Were you joking around? You’re playing favorites...”
Sylvain returned just then and placed the drinks that he had brought in front of Arianne. “Mr. Tremont.”
Mark immediately reverted to his serious exterior, straightened up, and said, “Mm.” Then, he walked away.
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