Charlie didn’t have a hero complex. She couldn’t, not while being friends with Dominic. She was inherently selfish, a creature of habit who served only herself. It was always about her wants, her desires, her needs. She’d push such negative attributes off on being a Dominant, but she knew, at the end of the day, it came down to terrible parenting and her penchant to embrace chaos.
So no, she didn’t have a hero complex. She didn’t step in when something immoral was happening. That wasn’t Charlie’s style. But, this situation? Well, she could see very well how the end result could work in her favor.
The server was, after all, exceptionally cute, his name tag reading SAMMY. She had to wonder if the Vance family had a fetish for hiring cute submissive boys to serve at the Nightingale. Maybe it was a requirement? Either way, she wasn’t complaining.
But, poor, dear Sammy was currently being verbally accosted by some drunk Karen and really. Her high pitched nonsense was starting to irritate Charlie. So she stepped in.
“Hey,” she said, stepping easily in between the two of them, not at all threatening at her five foot two, but the sharp edge in her gaze conveyed all that needed to be said. “Could you quit your petulant screeching? I wasn’t aware this was a day care instead of a night club. Shall I call Carson Vance? The owner? I’ve his number. I’m sure he’d love to know how you treat his staff. Add you to the ban list, maybe?”
She got out her phone then, confident as ever, as if she actually knew Carson Vance. She didn’t. Charlie was just an excellent liar. “Well?” she prompted.
The woman stalked off in a huff. Charlie smirked, turning her attention to the man behind her. And well, wasn’t he just a tall, cute one? Just her preferred type. She didn’t touch him, though she did crowd into his space, all faux concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, like she didn’t have other intentions.
@sammymelrose
Sam’s eyes went wide when the first woman pointed a finger at him and backed the server to a wall then had a go at him over garnishments on drinks. He wasn’t usually one to pass the buck and say take it up with the bartender. No one deserved a disgruntled customer. He was considering it though, with how much this lady wanted to be heard. The yelling made Sam start to shut down and lose his train of thought as his breathing picked up, his palms became sweaty, and he was taken back to the hard times at the foster home. He’d been berated for even the smallest mistake around the house because the social worker could come at any moment and take him back to the orphanage, to the cots, to the lack of anything resembling a home, and not to be forgotten, back to the bullying.
When someone stepped between him and the intrusive woman yelling about sprigs of mint and lime wedges, Sam braced, gripping the serving tray under his arm and inhaling sharply. He was vaguely aware of what was being said but his lurching stomach told him to turn away or move before his face would be struck. As the complaining customer left and the other, who came up to maybe his shoulder, turned around to look him over and inspect what she had to work with, Sam supposed. That was how he was used to being once-overed -- what could they get out of the strapping submissive with a strong back and arms? He thoughts briefly flitted to his weedy days before he’d ran away. When he was only good for looking pretty with his blond hair and blue eyes, who didn’t want that?
“I’ve had worse,” came out tight. Sam breathed. He came away from the wall and swallowed thickly as he kept his eyes on her face. “Did you need something, Miss?” he asked miserably before his chin dropped and he closed his eyes long enough to shake away the past. “I’m sorry,” he began as his head raised up. He opened his eyes. “I should be thanking you. I mean, yeah, thank you.” He took in a deep breath and pushed himself to stand up as tall as he could. He got out of the focus of this second woman’s gaze and teetered around her for some space. “I have to go put my table’s order in,” he explained before trying to remember what exactly had been ordered. Being rattled made his job difficult. “Would you like a drink? On me.”
