You can feel his eyes on you - the way he glowers at you is anything but subtle. With the way he stares at you, you’d think he wanted to murder you (which really wasn’t too far from the truth). He snatches up a glass of dark red wine from the bar (to Koa’s dismay), the liquid nearly as crimson as his perfectly positioned tie.

He walks over to you, gait polite and unassuming as if he was about to strike up a conversation or compliment you, and he smiles so sweetly at you that you hardly notice the glass in his hands. Then - because would he really be Blaine Ayer if he wasn’t trying to sabotage you? - he dumps the entire glass over your head with a mocking, “Apologies. My finger slipped.” He huffs out a sardonic snicker, “I’m such a klutz. My bad, dear.”

His head tilts to the side, like he’s trying to talk to a child that can hardly hold a conversation. His features pull into a pout. “A shame, really,” he tuts, “How will you ever manage to find a change of clothes in time for opening tonight?” The smug smile that makes its way across his features only highlights his dimples.

“Oh, well. Guess I’ll just have to be the only pianist tonight!” He rolls the neck of the wine glass in his hand, delivering it back to Koa at the bar. He takes a seat at the bar, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes narrow as he mutters a thinly veiled threat, “I really think there’d be less of these little accidents if it stayed that way.”