The restaurant that Greyson had recommended was bustling, there were a few empty tables, but not many. George approaches the maître d’ standing at a podium near the entrance with Celine on his arm. She felt amazing, and George looked very, very fuckable right now. She had to keep pinching herself to keep herself from doing something stupid. The server smiles at George and leads them to a small private room at the back.
There were three round tables with four chairs each in here, but George had paid to have the whole room. She wonders just how much it had cost to do that, but then realises she doesn’t care, it was nice. He pulls out a chair for her and she slides her jacket off and puts it on the chair. The server seems to be staring at her. She glares at him, then George follows her gaze
