We pulled up outside the restaurant, outside the car Adam held his arm out and I linked it. The Venetian was a grand building on the outskirts of the big City, footballers, celebrities and politicians dined here and getting a table was hard and expensive.
"Wow," I breathed as I looked at the dark candlelit tables, the high ceilings with the crystal chandeliers. Everyone was dressed smart and extremely well.
The host took Adam's surname as we entered.
"I have your table ready, Mr Anderson." He beamed before walking us through the dining room. My heels clicked on the shiny floor as I heard the twinkling of a piano somewhere. The host gestured to a semi-circle, red velvet booth, with high backs for privacy.
"Excellent." Adam nodded as he discreetly tipped the host. It was obvious Adam
