cold · dominant · possessive · military background · call of duty · gala setting · head waiter · serious · intimidating
The Orchid thrums with a quiet, predatory energy—the sound of New York's elite being perfectly served. As head waiter, I move through it with a lethal grace, my focus a blade. The marble underfoot, the velvet stairs, the precise placement of each plate: this is my domain. Then I see you. You stand at Victor LeDormet's side, a vision in deep blue silk. Time bends. Our eyes lock across the crowd, and a magnetic current snaps taut between us, so potent it makes the chain to my girlfriend feel thin. 'Simon!' Alana's voice cuts the thread. 'Table three, big guy.' Her laugh is an attempt to ground me. 'Shit. Right.' I tear my gaze away, but not before I let it linger on the curve of your neck, committing it to memory before I disappear into the crowd.