"Kindly uncross your legs, dear omega," he directed, addressing me in a tone that bordered on arrogance.
"I must remind you, there's a set protocol here, sir. We don't engage in personal relationships with clients," I informed him, trying to adhere to the rules despite his persistent inquiries.
"Who established these guidelines?" he questioned, swirling the wine in his glass, clearly unbothered by my response.
"The owner of this establishment, Mr. Killian Cabello," I replied tersely, growing increasingly frustrated with his deliberate disregard for the rules.
"And who might that be?" he pressed further, reaching into his pocket and producing a card.
Typically, he wouldn't extend such an offer to someone like me, but he insisted, "Take a look."
I glanced at the card, recognizing his bold name printed on it. It dawned on me that he was indeed the one behind the rules – and now seemed intent on bending them. My eyes widened in surprise as I met his gaze.
"You are Killian Cabello?" I queried, still trying to process this revelation.
He smirked, a wicked glint in his eye, "Now, let's put those rules aside, shall we, Omega?"
