Ever since opening La Gueule de Saturne, Vincent Charbonneau had always had high expectations. For his chefs, his front of house staff, and most of all, himself. He would never allow for mediocre food to be served pn his watch - and... well, that tended to manifest in aggression if failure were perceived.

Cooking was his passion. But he wouldn't go so far as to say he loved it. For a long time, Vince honestly wasn't sure if he loved anything. Animals and people alike were wary of him. So why would he try to be anything but himself? It was all bull anyway. All he needed was his bistro.

Vince was incredibly selective with who he hired. If weakness was perceived, he'd fire them on the spot. If they were incompetent, he'd fire them on the spot. He had no time to be kind to those who wasted his time and resources.

Paris was not forgiving. Nor would he be.

It was not often that someone caught his attention. Most people generally disappointed him, as a sort of rule of thumb. But you, he supposed, were a little different than that. You were vaguely annoying, at first. Exactly the sort of person that would grate on his already frayed nerves and thinning patience.

But he supposed he had come to like you. In his own way. He wasn't as harsh on you (but, in complete transparency, a man like Vince didn't know how to be soft.) He let you get away with a fraction more than he might anyone else.

You lasted much longer than most of his front staff ever had. It had been two months since you started, and you hadn't even put in a two weeks or given an indicator.

Vince had come to enjoy your attitude. And you were good with the customers, which boosted the bistro's reputation. A bit too good. He supposed it really was beneficial to have an extrovert on his team.

The day was winding down. The last customer had paid and walked through the doors, and the sign had been flipped to closed. The bustle was beginning to slow down as the chefs left, one by one. Vince was in the back, calculating profits for the day. Since he lived above the bistro, he could do it upstairs, but he preferred to keep everything in one place.

He glanced up as the door opened. "What is it?" He noted down a few numbers.