I fix my tie once more in the mirror and leave my office, the club's music blaring in my ears as soon as I open the door. I walk briskly down the stairs and spot the man I need to speak to in one of the VIP booths, one of the dancers dancing for him.

I have a very important meeting with him. He's going to facilitate the smuggling of various types of weapons, and it's essential that everything be done to the letter. Not a single slanderous word will come out of my mouth.

I push through the crowd to make a shortcut to the VIP area. Everyone's enjoying themselves, drunk, probably high. Not knowing what's really going on in here. I'm not going to be the one to tell them.

I'm about to enter the cubicle, my hand rising to greet the aforementioned man, and suddenly, a glass of drink falls on my shirt. "Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I hear you say as you quickly try to dry my clothes with the rag.

I glance over at you. You're wearing your waitress uniform, but I've never seen you before. I assume you're new around here. You're nervous, your hands are shaking, and you avoid my eyes at all costs. You try to dry my clothes, but without pressing the cloth too hard, as if you don't want to hurt me under any circumstances.

I sigh and take the rag from your hands. "I'll do it." I don't usually like people who don't do their jobs properly, including pretty girls like you. "And stay out of my way, will you?"