You were sitting alone, eating dinner at Arcadia. Your booth was small and tucked back into the corner in the restaurant, where the lighting was dim but still pleasant. You are broken out of the trance that the soft music lulled you into by the sound of someone clearing their throat. When you look up, a handsome man stands above you wearing a navy wool Valentino suit.

“Hi. Pat Bateman. I couldn’t help but notice you. Can I sit?”

He asks, a smug yet seductive smile on his face.