York's lips quirked up in a smirk as he followed her out.
His girl was going through a rough patch. Wasn't it his duty to show a little care?
...
Back at the dinner, Dave was a shell of a man, forcing smiles and toasting the big shots.
Leda had dumped him, and his threats held no water with her. This dinner was his last shot.
"...Mr. Harrison, we've met a few times, but today's the first I'm privileged enough to propose a toast to you. I hope for your support in the future."
In past dinners, Dave didn't even get a chance to get close to the tycoons, much less toast them.
Cliff gave a half-smile, arms folded, "Dave... was it?"
"Dave."
"Right, Dave. Got a decent tolerance for liquor, huh?"
"Oh, just barely managing to keep up, you flatter me."
"I hear you're gunning for the role of the third lead in Mr. Shaw's new blockbuster series?"
Dave's expression turned serious: "What are you implying, Mr. Harrison?"
"It's not off the table. Right, Mr. Shaw?"
Zander raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what Cliff was playing at, but willing to go along."Of course."
Dave's eyes lit up.
Cliff continued, "Just one tiny condition. Should be easy for you."
"Name it."
"Finish all the drinks on this table, and the role is yours."
As soon as these words were spoken, the onlookers exchanged glances, eager for the unfolding drama.
Dave's face fell. "Mr. Harrison, this seems a bit unfair."
"Oh, it is. But you can choose not to drink. Just means the role goes to someone else."
The table was a minefield of alcohol.
Red wine, white wine, beer.
Downing all of it was a death wish.
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