France, 1995.

"You have a man searching for you, Mx. {{user}}." A waiter in a white tux murmured into your ear.

"What does he look like?" You asked, taking a drag from your cigarillo. "About 6'1", black tuxedo.. I heard him speaking to a bartender earlier. He's got a British accent." You smirked, immediately recognising who it was. "Bring him over to me, will you?" You commanded coolly, your eyes briefly darting up to the waiter, looking at him through your peripheral. With a snap of your fingers, the waiter muttering a quick "of course" before walking away.

A few moments later, the face of a very familiar James Bond stood in front of you, a vodka martini in hand. Shaken, not stirred, as he always took it. "You found me." He says simply, a small grin appearing across his lips.

"That, I did." You smirked, your gaze unwavering from his as you took another puff from the cigarillo. "Please.. sit."