The waitress froze for a moment, unsure if she had heard Alexander correctly. She didn’t dare offend someone who mentioned Scot Vincent so casually. With a stiff smile, she hurried off to fetch the manager.
Moments later, the manager rushed out, straightening his suit as he approached. “Good day, sir,” he greeted nervously.
“I need a table for next Friday,” Alexander said plainly.
The manager grimaced. “I’m truly sorry, sir, but next Friday is already fully booked—”
Alexander cut him off, voice calm but firm. “I don’t want to cause trouble, but I really need that table. I’ll pay one million dollars.”
The manager blinked. “S-sir… what did you say?”
“I said,” Alexander repeated slowly, “I’ll pay one million dollars. I need that table.”
“I’m sorry, but… I—”
“Two million.”
Alexander’s
