Don’t Even Think About It - Chapter 3

The “Blue Enchantress” roses were far too eye-catching, just standing there with them drew a constant stream of gazes. Qiao Yan was no longer keen on delivering the flowers. She truly wished she could conjure someone out of thin air to take her place, but lacking that ability, she had to face the music and finish the job.

Qiao Yan was quite good at putting on an act. She maintained an expression that suggested this was strictly a delivery transaction, as if she had completely forgotten the encounter from earlier that morning. Showing no warmth, she merely lifted her eyelids to glance at Zhou Xiyun, feigning ignorance as she asked in a professional tone, “Hello, are you Ms. Z from the Venture Capital Department?”

The moment Zhou Xiyun stepped out, she recognized her. Even though she hadn’t expected this person to suddenly show up, she wasn’t overly surprised, she was long since used to Qiao Yan’s antics. Zhou Xiyun had no intention of playing along with the nonsense, she never liked indulging Qiao Yan’s whims. Her beautiful eyes lifted halfway, offering a calm, detached glance that kept people at a thousand-mile distance. She said coolly, “I am not.”

The reply was utterly aloof, giving no face at all.

Qiao Yan choked on her words, feeling as though she had lifted a stone only to drop it on her own foot. Her reflexes were quick this time, though, she immediately acted as if she hadn’t heard the statement and pivoted: “What are the last four digits of your phone number?”

This was a necessary part of the delivery process. As long as the name and number matched, a signature was usually all it took to wrap things up.

Unfortunately, Ms. Z remained uncooperative. She stayed silent for a long while, her gaze searching and scrutinizing Qiao Yan as if trying to see right through her.

Qiao Yan felt uncomfortable, and for no apparent reason, felt her confidence slip a notch.

It was mainly because she was wearing flats today, making her naturally a bit shorter than Zhou Xiyun. Standing together now, Zhou Xiyun seemed half a head taller.

Zhou Xiyun had a net height of 175cm. Qiao Yan wasn’t short either at 172cm. Usually, when they both wore ordinary shoes, they looked about the same, both tall and slim.

Furthermore, Qiao Yan rarely put as much effort into her appearance as Zhou Xiyun did. Zhou Xiyun was the quintessential “cool older sister” type, always maintaining an impeccable, dignified, and formal style. Qiao Yan, on the other hand, had a casual, “make do” personality, she couldn’t even be bothered to perm or dye her hair, always choosing comfort over fashion unless a situation absolutely demanded a bit of grooming.

In a professional setting, Zhou Xiyun carried an immense aura. She didn’t have to do anything to command attention, a single flick of her eyes was enough to create a sense of pressure.

Qiao Yan secretly straightened her back, refusing to be outdone. She pulled out her own black sign-pen, produced the delivery slip, and asked again: “What is the phone number? I need to verify it on my end.”

The other woman remained unmoved, simply saying, “I didn’t order flowers.”

“Someone else sent them to you,” Qiao Yan replied, thrusting the bouquet forward. “Take them.”

Zhou Xiyun didn’t reach out to take them. Instead, she asked warmly, “Did you change jobs?”

“A long time ago,” Qiao Yan said. “I switched industries the year before last.”

Zhou Xiyun gave an “oh,” and then spoke with a tone that was infuriatingly blunt: “Working as a delivery courier?”

Qiao Yan: “…”

No profession is superior to another, and earning a living through one’s own ability is honorable. Being a courier is a legitimate way to make a living, and some couriers are even high earners. Qiao Yan opened her mouth, not wanting to explain too much, but she still couldn’t help saying with a strange expression, “No.”

Zhou Xiyun asked, “Then what is it?”

Qiao Yan said reluctantly, “Running a shop.”

Zhou Xiyun lowered her eyes to the bright, beautiful blue roses. “From your shop?”

Qiao Yan answered, “From our shop.”

Zhou Xiyun took the pen and reached for the slip to look it over.

Qiao Yan stepped closer, pointing to a spot on the paper. “Here. Just write your name.”

Zhou Xiyun furrowed her brows. “Who sent them?”

The sender had placed the order online using an alias, the real name was unknown, with only a contact number provided.

Qiao Yan gave an honest account: “I don’t know. Probably an acquaintance, a colleague, or a friend.”

“A friend would have called me,” Zhou Xiyun countered, her slender fingers moving to click the pen. “It’s definitely not a friend.”