Hospital Debauchery

Devon's brows rose sharp at Yvonne's question, his eyes narrowing a touch, the easy grin he had been wearing vanishing fast. The candlelight flickered gentle across his face, picking out the trace of irritation as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding loose but steady. The soft piano notes drifting through Le Cygne's intimate nook seemed to fade even more, almost swallowed by the tension that suddenly hung between them like a thick curtain.

He made no effort to hide how her words struck him, like a sharp poke at scars he kept covered. "Hold on a moment," he said, his voice low but straight, no skirting around. "Is that the reason you invited me here? This dinner, this exhibit, it is all about my father? Is that what this is?"

Yvonne's eyes remained fixed on his, calm and level, but her smile pulled back, less lighthearted now, more measured. She shook her head slowly, her blonde waves moving in the warm glow like calm water stirred. "No, Devon, that is not it," she said, her tone even, aiming to draw him back from the edge.

She leaned forward a little, her elbows resting light on the table, her red dress shifting soft with the motion. "I looked into you after that speech you gave at the hospital gala. I was curious, wanted to know more about you but checking your background was not easy, though. I had to reach out to connections, ask for help from my contacts just to get some information. That is all it was, interest in you, not any scheme about your family."

He remained quiet for a moment, his jaw firm, studying her face for any hint of untruth. The candles danced between them, throwing soft shadows over her cheekbones, but she kept her gaze steady, open, like she held no hidden cards.

She started to speak once more, her lips parting to circle back to his dad, something about whether he had spoken to him lately, but Devon's hand rose quick, palm out, cutting her off.

"Let us be very clear," he said, his voice strong, allowing no doubt. "If this entire arrangement, the dinner, the exhibit, all of it, is a way to bring up my father, you can stop it now. I am not here for that."

"And I'm not interested infact let's call it a day."

He pushed his chair back, the wood scraping gentle on the rug, his body lifting halfway, his suit jacket adjusting as he rose, the move coming from instinct, like he was ready to end it right there.

The air in the nook felt heavier, the lake's shimmer through the window seeming far away in the moment. Yvonne's eyes widened slightly, and she spoke fast, her voice softer now, sincere. "Devon, wait. I am sorry, I did not mean to press. That is not what this is, I assure you. Sit down, all right? Let us start fresh."

He paused, halfway standing, his brows rising again, skeptical but listening. Her apology lingered in the air, honest enough to make him pause and think. She gestured to the chair, her hand smooth but firm, not begging, just inviting. "Please," she added, a small smile tugging at her lips, trying to lighten the mood a touch. "Do not leave me eating alone in this beautiful place. I would look quite awkward."

Devon let out a short breath, almost a chuckle, the tightness easing a bit, and he settled back into the seat, his posture still watchful but willing to give it a try. "All right, fine," he said, getting comfortable, his tone still careful but open. "But let us avoid family matters, yes? I am here for the exhibit, not past issues."

"Agreed," Yvonne said right away, her smile growing wider, her eyes showing a bit of relief. "No more of those topics, I give my word." She leaned back, picking up her wine glass, the red liquid swirling slow, catching the candlelight like a tiny spark. The scent of the roses in the vase mixed with the faint vanilla from her perfume, filling the nook with a subtle warmth. "Let us talk about something else, like are you prepared for this exhibit? It is a significant event, and you are stepping in as someone with real presence."

Devon's grin came back, small but real, the change in topic pulling him in. "Yes, I am prepared," he said, reaching for his water glass, the cool liquid helping him steady as he took a sip, the ice clinking soft against the crystal. "I have been going over everything, reviewing details. It will be a demanding month, but I am up for it."

"Good to hear," she said, nodding, her voice practical but showing respect for his readiness, nothing more. "You are walking into a room of experienced people, but from what I know of your work, you will handle it." She set her glass down, the sound quiet against the table, and leaned forward again, her curiosity plain. "So, how is it at Blissville Hospital? How is the chief of emergency surgery position. That is a major responsibility. How is it going for you?"

Devon relaxed more, the question landing natural, something he could talk about without walls up. "Blissville is okay," he said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his suit sleeves gleaming in the light, the fabric smooth against his skin. "The chief role is tough, but it is worthwhile, keeps me sharp. Last week, we had a young patient from a serious accident, bleeding inside, things happening fast. I had to guide the team, make quick decisions, open him up in minutes. He is recovering now, so that makes it count."

Yvonne nodded, her eyes on him, respecting the demands of his job but keeping it even, just noting his capability. "That kind of fast response is what sets people apart in your line of work," she said, her tone straightforward. "You make it sound like part of the day, but it requires real ability to manage that kind of stress. How is the team taking to you as the leader? Are they giving you any trouble?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and low, washing away the last of the earlier strain. "They give it a try now and then. The group is reliable. We have a good rhythm, even when things get wild. Like a few days ago, I heard one of the nurses was teaching an intern how to close a wound neat, and he was so nervous he let the needle drop right onto my shoe. The room was quiet, just that little clink. The whole team burst out laughing, almost lost focus on the surgery."

Yvonne's laugh came clear and light, filling the space, her hand resting easy on the table as she leaned back, her eyes bright with amusement. The candle flames danced higher for a moment, casting a warmer glow over the table. "That is funny. The poor intern must have been embarrassed."

"Yes, he went bright red," Devon said, his grin spreading wider, the story carrying him along. "She told him to pick it up and keep going, but he looked under the table first like it might have rolled away. We finished the job fine, though." He shook his head, taking another sip of water, the coolness refreshing against the warm air of the nook.

"Now your story," he said, pointing a finger, his grin turning playful. "You cannot just listen. You are part of events like this exhibit. Have you had a day where everything went wrong? Like setting up something big and it all falls apart?"

Yvonne tilted her head, thinking for a second, her lips curving into a smile as she recalled. "All right, that is fair," she said, her voice light, matching his energy. "Last year, I was helping coordinate a fundraiser, good venue, key guests. The day comes, and the sound system breaks down completely. We are minutes from the start, and the technician is more upset than I am. I grab a megaphone, yes a megaphone, like for large groups, and begin the opening remarks myself. The room laughed, which helped smooth things, but I will never forget that moment."

Devon laughed deeply, the sound echoing soft off the walls, his shoulders fully relaxed now, the earlier tension a distant memory. The piano music seemed to swell a bit, blending with their voices like it was part of the conversation. "A megaphone? You must have looked like you were directing a crowd at a fair. Did you manage it with grace?"

"Not at all," she replied, grinning back, her eyes sparkling with the memory. "Picture me in a dress and heels, holding this large thing, speaking loud about the purpose. It was a mess, but we collected the funds, so I see it as a victory." Her laugh mingled with his, natural and easy, the earlier awkwardness gone, replaced by this smooth back-and-forth, their voices fitting with the piano notes, the candles glowing steady like silent watchers.

They kept sharing tales, nothing deep or heavy, just light moments to fill the time, Devon telling about the time he got stuck in a hospital elevator during a busy shift when he was an intern, pounding on the doors while his pager buzzed nonstop, Yvonne sharing about a meeting where she mixed up slides and showed the wrong presentation, turning a serious talk into a comedy of errors with the group laughing along.

Each story brought more chuckles, their chemistry quiet and even, glances holding a moment longer, smiles showing mutual respect for each other's experiences, no exaggeration, just acknowledgment of handling tough spots well.

The lake outside shimmered through the window, moonlight drawing silver lines on the water, the empty restaurant making their nook feel like a secluded spot, the air warm with the ease of good talk.

After a while, the plates were cleared by staff who moved quiet and swift, disappearing without a sound. Yvonne leaned back, her smile gentle now, satisfied with the evening. "Well, Devon, we did well tonight. Caught up without any more missteps. Are you feeling ready for the exhibit? It is going to be demanding."

He nodded, finishing his water, the glass clinking soft as he set it down. "Yes, I am ready. It will be intense, but I am set. A long month ahead."

"You will manage it," she said, her tone straightforward, sure of his skills without making a fuss. "And remember, if you need anything, a contact or help with details, let me or Claudia know. We will handle it."

"Thank you," he said, standing, smoothing his jacket, the black suit still neat after the evening. "I appreciate the dinner. Let us meet again." He gave her a grin, light and teasing, and she laughed, nodding.

"Agreed," she said, rising too, her dress glowing in the light as she held out her hand. He shook it, her grip firm and warm, their eyes meeting one last time, a quiet understanding passing. "Good luck with everything, Devon. You have got this."

He nodded, turning to leave, walking through the empty tables, the piano music fading behind him as he stepped into the cool night air. The limo waited sleek under the streetlamps, Markus standing by the door, and Devon got in, the city lights blurring as they pulled away.

Back in the alcove, the door closed quiet, and the tattooed man stepped back in, moving silent to Yvonne's side, his scarred face half-shadowed in the dim light.

He leaned close, his voice low and rough, like stones grinding together. "Do you really believe he has not heard from his family? After all that has happened recently, there is no way they have not contacted him. The word is spreading, Yvonne, there is a bounty on his head."