Chapter 220

Zachary Hudson stepped into the noisy restaurant and paused.

He had never set foot in such a "terrible" dining environment.

"Coming through! Hot pot coming through!"

Lost in thought, he barely noticed the waiter carrying a scalding hot pot brush past him.

Zachary quickly pulled Vivian Bennett behind him.

He shielded her with his body, blocking any potential splashes of hot soup.

The notoriously flirtatious playboy actually had such a careful side.

The Sullivan Group employees behind them stared in astonishment.

"Do you have a reservation? Private room or main hall?"

Zachary looked around the crowded restaurant but found no empty seats.

He turned to ask Vivian.

Vivian ignored him, simply rolling her eyes.

Emily Davis quickly stepped forward to explain. "Mr. Hudson, this is a small restaurant. They don't take reservations, and there are no private rooms."

Zachary surveyed his surroundings.

Tables were arranged haphazardly throughout the noisy, bustling space.

"Sorry, Mr. Hudson. We didn't know you were coming today. We chose this place without realizing," Emily apologized on behalf of the group.

Zachary maintained his composure, a slight smile touching his lips. "It's fine. Let's just find seats."

The group squeezed through narrow aisles for over ten minutes.

They finally secured a small round table.

Over ten people crowded around it.

The table was too small. They had to sit pressed together, unable to even stretch their arms.

This was probably Zachary's most awkward meal in recent years.

The poor dining environment was one thing, but the food made him frown even more.

The restaurant was called "Spicy Hot Pot," which sounded fun.

In reality, it was just individual small pots for boiling various skewered ingredients.

The "especially delicious" thing Emily mentioned was essentially spicy street food.

The broth base cost five to ten dollars. Vegetable skewers were fifty cents each. Meatballs cost two dollars. Seafood was around four dollars.

With drinks, the per person cost ranged from thirty to eighty dollars.

Zachary, wearing a five-figure Italian handmade shirt, was squeezed between a group of women eating thirty-dollar spicy hot pot.

To make matters worse, Vivian deliberately ordered an extra spicy broth for him to get revenge.

She didn't care if he could handle spice.

It would be best if he couldn't.

She could finally get her revenge.

The waiter soon brought the broth and skewers.

The small table was instantly covered.

Steam rose so thickly it was hard to see the faces across the table.

This cozy warmth was exactly what the small restaurant aimed for.

Zachary, however, stared helplessly at his boiling pot, unsure how to proceed.

Vivian felt secretly pleased. She tossed a sausage into his pot.

After swishing it around a few times, she fished it out and placed it on his plate.

"Eat. Don't just look. It tastes good."

Seeing her enjoy her food, Zachary gathered his courage and took a bite.

His taste buds were instantly numb from the spice.

He couldn't handle any level of spiciness.

Zachary choked, coughing violently, his face contorted in pain.

Vivian was overjoyed inside.

Just as she suspected.

He really couldn't eat spicy food.

Perfect. Let the spice finish him off.

She had finally avenged his previous mistreatment.

Emily couldn't bear to watch. She handed Zachary a glass of water. "Mr. Hudson, you can't handle spice, can you? Drink some water. This chili is very potent."

Zachary gulped down most of the water. The redness from the spice on his face slightly subsided.

He turned and glared at Vivian.

He knew she had done it on purpose.

Vivian pretended not to notice. She raised an eyebrow slightly and continued eating by herself.

She was absolutely thrilled inside.

This was deeply satisfying!

Kindly, Emily replaced Zachary's broth with a clear one.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, sweating profusely from the spice.

He loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt.

This was a mistake.

His prominent collarbones and faintly visible pectoral muscles became apparent.

It wasn't exaggerated muscle, but perfectly toned lines that made his shirt fit exceptionally well.

"Oh my god... so handsome!"

"Yeah, few men can make a shirt look that good!"

"Mmm, looking good in clothes isn't just about the face. The figure is more important!"

"Of course! Slim in clothes, muscular underneath. He definitely fits that description!"

"Hehe, he must be. Look at those pecs, those broad shoulders. Oh my god, I'm drooling. Do you think he has V-line abs...?"