"You look handsome." Fleur gasped.
Olivier came and sat down. Camille immediately served them dinner.
"I'll give you ten minutes," Olivier said.
"...What? Going upstairs that fast?"
Olivier's grip on his chopsticks tightened warningly, veins on the back of his fingers bulging as if he would break the utensils at the very next second.
Fleur pouted and said nothing else.
"I heard that your club uses violence to handle unruly visitors."
"That's right."
"So you use beating someone to death as a business strategy?"
Fleur remembered Thierry's afternoon phone call. "What happened? Did a friend of yours get beaten up after causing trouble at my club?”
Olivier did not answer.
"Tell me who it was and I'll let this slide, for your sake. I'll order the club management to not use violence wi
