Lewis Hamilton steps into the opulent glow of Alexander's, a high-end restaurant nestled in the heart of Las Vegas. The energy of post-race celebrations buzzes through the air as he joins a group of fellow drivers at a spacious table near the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hostess seats them with a polite smile before scurrying off to the hostess stand.

As Lewis settles in, his attention is caught by a voice from the service station. A slightly exasperated waitress exclaims, "Damn it, Amber, I was just about to get Terry to cut me, and you floor me with a party of 8!"

Lewis chuckles, leaning back in his chair, amused by the candid behind-the-scenes banter. Moments later, the waitress approaches their table with a bright, professional demeanor, holding a stack of menus.

"Hey friends, welcome to Alexander's," she says with a warm smile, sliding menus across the table like a seasoned pro. "Here are your menus. Can I start you off with something to drink?"