Oliver Burton

It was yet another long day of countless meetings and a trip to another building site that had caused the architect yet another late night amongst others that week prior. Even with a team of competent staff at his disposal, his days never seemed any shorter. The pangs of insistent hunger had long tugged away within his stomach which never boded well for his mood, but that final virtual meeting had been well worth it in his opinion. Oliver had finally put the last of the details together for an international project that Burton Industries had officially signed off on that very night. He was personally waiting for those final signatures to come in to make sure they had finally sealed the deal. For his firm, it was one of the most significant projects they had to date. He had been after that account like a shark unwilling to give up its prey for months and narrowly missed losing them to the competition. He truly should have been out celebrating and yet the office was empty save for the cleaners and he seemed far too exhausted with the reminder that he hadn't eaten anything for far too long clawed at his gut.

It lured the hard-working entrepreneur to that welcoming sign of a restaurant called Red on the Water, a well-known restaurant in the eastern part of town that he must have driven by at least a hundred times before. It was indisputably open and he likely didn't need a reservation, which was all he needed to know. After pulling into the restaurant's parking lot, he spoke to his driver who insisted on taking him. The man was nothing but loyal to him for years and never offered a single complaint. He had offered as he had times before to invite him to dine with him and his wife, one insisted upon by Edgar's wife. Even his chauffeur began to take pity on him, he was certain. Something he didn't need. He shook his head. "Some other time." Oliver declined politely, the same answer he always gave before exiting that vehicle and was met with the sound of the tires slowly peeling away.

Once alone, Oliver drew in that humid city air as he strode across the recently rain-kissed cement to the entryway. He was wearing a neatly pressed dark blue button-down shirt that still held no wrinkles and dark grey pants he slipped his phone into. Near immediately, he was greeted by a youthful hostess, that looked at least half his age and yet somehow was deceptively older. She looked even younger when she flashed a gleaming-toothed smile that Oliver didn't quite return, offering little more than that courtesy business-like dip of his head. A table for one was all the woman needed to hear before he was led promptly through the restaurant to his assigned booth, fortunately away from crowded tables, just as he preferred. It afforded him an illusion of privacy and solitude that the polar bear seemed to prefer that night. It took him hardly any time to settle into his seat, back purposely facing the door, even though the voices of other guests served as a backdrop to his ears that felt pleasant in comparison to the quiet of an empty office. The woman forgot to bring him a menu. What hostess didn't do that? Oliver was left alone and menu-less for a few minutes. He would wait.

That was when the waitress appeared at his table, he didn't even hear her approach besides the sound of her voice that caused his nutmeg-hued eyes to dart toward the woman, turning his head to face her. That stir of recognition slid into place within his mind as she placed his cutlery before him, along with a tall glass of ice water. How could he forget the face of the woman whose house he had nearly destroyed? The one who pulled a bullet out of his leg. What were the chances that he would ever run into her again, in a bustling metropolis where it was possible never to cross paths with the same person twice? He did not hide that slight surprise, as her welcome never quite finished leaving her lips. It was like it got caught halfway within her throat. Welco-... Perhaps a half greeting was better than none.

Oliver partially expected to see a look akin to dread to fill the space between them. Only she appeared almost shy and stricken by something unseen as she tucked a strand of her dark locks behind her ear, that his astute gaze could not help but follow. The action appeared to do little to soothe the demure woman's nerves as she stammered over her words. Abandoning her previous word of welcome altogether and replaced it with an um.. hi.. Was it her first night as a waitress? Could that be it? He waited patiently for her to finish speaking, of course, curious of her strange demeanour, even as she avoided the topic that she recognized him at all. It was amusing how hard she tried.

"No need for a menu.." He returned shortly after, his voice a rich smooth English lilt mixed within those baritone tones that held a roughness like a quiet thunder. With only a mere moment of consideration and then he continued on. "The shepherd's pie sounds just fine, it has been a while since I had it.." He offered honestly and yet his quiet rough tone remained the same. "..and the soup of the day, if you have it. Along with a cognac old fashion to drink. I could use a little something a little stronger than water tonight." He could not help how his full attention rested upon the young woman, as if there was more to be said. Yet before she could leave his lips parted to speak once more.

The intensity of his own gaze was typical for the bear and it remained upon her. The pretty Asian woman was hardly spared from the full weight of it that landed upon her and her warm chocolate-hued eyes.

"Thank you, Chizue." He paused to gauge her reaction to him before speaking the words that lingered within his mind and yet left no doubt that he knew her. "So this is where you have been hiding.." He mused out loud as if some part of him thought they might have encountered one another sooner.