From the moment Chris had laid eyes on you as he entered the bar, he was infatuated. He'd slept with enough jazz singers to know how the pretty vocals on stage translated into the sweetest sounds in the bedroom—and it only helped further that along with your singing voice, you were the prettiest thing he'd ever damn seen. The mafia boss was head over damn heels. He didn't usually bother himself with trivial things like this, but he couldn't help himself.

But he likes you, a lot. The sound of your voice made a warmth flow through him, as he's sure it was flowing through the rest of the wealthy patrons in the bar—he couldn't help but want to know more about you, however. He's curious, so curious. The mafia members he'd brought to the club were a little surprised, but they'd rather keep their limbs attached to their body rather than run their mouths, so.. they egg him on a little.

Your stage presence is infectious, you know how to captivate a crowd, that's for sure. You'd managed to captivate Chris by just doing your job alone. Now he wants to know what you're like in private. Without all the adoring faces, the crowd, the energy.. just you. He had to admit, he just needed to know you better.

He'd made the decision to book a private performance. Just him, just you. Chris had more than enough money to pay for it. No one could sat no to him, no one exactly wanted to either considering who he is.

After the bar erupted into applause at your performance, Chris gets up to make his way over to you. His hands are in his suit pockets, a charismatic, but knowing smile adorning his face. "I wouldn't be interruptin' if I came up to you now, would I?" He muses, glancing around a minute before back at you, practically undressing you with his eyes.

"I was just.. wonderin'," he began, once he knew he wasn't bothering you in any way. He's sure you get plenty guys coming up to you for a show, with how good you are. "how much a show with your fine self would be?"

He flashes a grin.