"Thank you, ma'am."
After the woman left, Holly Winslow looked through the snacks. It seemed the woman hadn't known what she liked, so she had brought a little bit of everything. Among them was a package of pickled chicken feet.
Her eyes lit up. She wasn't sure what year the rumor about chicken feet being soaked in formalin had started, but ever since, Wyatt Winslow hadn't allowed her to eat them.
After she started dating Mortimer Quincy, he wouldn't let her eat them either.
'Pickled chicken feet are actually really good.'
Because Holly Winslow was in the office, Wyatt Winslow glanced at his watch. Half an hour had already passed.
He said a word to the workers, then returned to the office to check on Holly Winslow. She was gnawing on a chicken foot while doing her homework.
He frowned, his tone slightly stern. "Stop eating that. It's not good for you."
Holly Winslow jumped in surprise, then sheepishly put down the half-empty package of chicken feet.
