Wade, who was a creature of habit, Samuel regularly enjoyed new adventures.
“Thank you, but I’m not tired enough to go to my suite, yet. I think I will head over to the lounge for a nightcap.”
“Of course, sir, I made sure that all of the bars and restaurants, as well as room service, have your drink of choice—Macallan Single Cask. I’ll see you here in the lobby at eight a.m. to start your birthday surprise.”
Samuel sauntered off towards the lounge, ready to enjoy a drink while watching whoever the club brought in to entertain in the lounge this week. They had a steady rotation of up-and-coming pop singers. They were more than willing to come perform for the constant influx of billionaire guests, despite the non-disclosure agreement they had to sign in order to be there.
The lounge was filled with dozens of people, most of them sitting at the various tables. Deciding the bar was the best option for him, he sidled up and waved his hand for the bartender.
“Mr. Butler, I’ll get your Macallan Single Cask right away, sir.”
For a moment, he was surprised the young man recognized him. He then remembered that the pictures from each billionaire’s dossier were circulated to the staff so that they would know the guests when they came into the various establishments. This made the service truly one-of-a-kind.
“Thank you,” he muttered as he took the glass from the other man.
Samuel sipped on his drink as he listened to the alto crooning of the pretty blonde that was standing in the middle of the stage on the far-left side of the lounge. She was singing a classic Frank Sinatra song and doing an exceptionally good job at it.
“Is this seat taken?” a husky, feminine voice asked from beside him.
Samuel’s head jerked to the side, his eyes focusing on a young, pretty brown-haired woman waiting for his answer.
“No, not at all. Please, join me.”
“I have to admit, I know who you are, Mr. Butler. Binge-watching your show is a guilty pleasure of mine.”
Great, a fan; Samuel didn’t feel much like making small talk. He also knew that he had to keep up his image. Even when he was jet-lagged, he had to play the part of the friendly, flirty celebrity chef. “That’s very flattering, Miss…”
“Heather, Heather Lewis,” she said with a seductive smile. “I’m here to celebrate my birthday. Everyone else went to bed, but I wasn’t tired, so I decided to come down to the lounge for a cocktail.”
“Great minds think alike,” he said raising his own glass. “I wasn’t tired either. Let’s get you a drink.” Samuel gestured for the bartender to come over.
Heather placed her order and the bartender scurried off to make the elaborate cocktail.
“You know, you’re even more handsome in person than you are on TV. I thought it had to be all the makeup they put on you, but I was wrong,” she praised, placing her hand on his arm. “And all those muscles under that shirt. You never see those on the show.”
“Believe me, a lot of it is the makeup. Can’t you tell I’m wearing some now?” he teased with a wink.
“You can’t be,” Heather exclaimed, moving closer to inspect his face. For the first time since her arrival, he could smell the stench of alcohol on her breath. Warning bells went off. Samuel wasn’t one to turn a beautiful woman away, but he drew the line at hooking up with someone while they were inebriated. Heather placed her hands on either side of his face, squeezing his cheeks. “When I saw you walk through the lobby earlier, I knew I had to find a way to meet you. I asked around and found out you were in here.”
Something about how strong she was coming on to him seemed off. He had a good mind to make an excuse and leave, but before he could escape, a burly dark-haired man with a thick beard and beady eyes came charging up to them.
“Heather, get away from him, right now. I know you just came down here to make me jealous.”
“Is it working?” she asked as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have treated me the way you did earlier. This is your fault.”
“I came here to make you happy, Heather. Why are you acting like this? You’re getting everything you want, exactly how you want it, and it’s still not enough.”
“You’re right,” she shouted, jumping up from her leather barstool. “It’s never enough, and you