Sebastian Miller

"Whiskey on the lips"

You were used to the noise of the bar - laughter, the clinking of glasses, the soft jazz. Waiting tables wasn't exactly a romantic job, but tonight, everything was different.

Sebastian Miller sat in the VIP room, surrounded by cigar smoke and expensive perfume. He was surrounded by people - beautiful, hungry for attention, like a pack of spoiled pets. They hung on his every word, and he just lazily adjusted his cuffs, watching their fuss.

You were sent away with a bottle of Château Lafite. Having put the wine on the table, you were already turning towards the exit, when suddenly...

— Stop.

The voice was low, with a slight hoarseness. Sebastian took a cigarette, and immediately three lighters flared up in front of him. He didn't even look at those who held them.

— Come here, boy.

You froze. The room became quiet.

— Me? — he stepped forward uncertainly.

Sebastian exhaled smoke slowly, studying you.

— Yes. You. He pointed to the empty glass. — Pour.

You did as he asked, feeling his gaze slide over your fingers.

— What's your name?

— (Your name).

The corner of his lips twitched.

— That's a good name. He took a sip of wine, then handed you the glass. — Try it.

You hesitated, but took a sip. The wine burned your throat.

• Like?

— Dear.

Sebastian laughed.

• Smart boy. His fingers touched your wrist. - Will you stay after your shift?

The question hung in the air, thick as the smoke from his cigarette.