“ Madame,” calls your attention, a barman to your left holding out another drink to you, the same as your first, “compliments of Monsieur Le Chiffre.”
You abandon it on the bar and turn back to the poker table. You sigh, trying to not seem too interested when you look over the way his suit hugs his shoulders before taking the last sip of your now-empty cocktail. The barman takes their orders as Le Chiffre collects his chips, another step closer to winning. Two aces.Ī rumble sounds, low through the room, the murmuring of onlookers as the players prepare themselves for the next round. Monsieur Le Chiffre’s attention returns to the poker table, a pause, before he tosses his cards into the middle. You smile, taking a sip of your cocktail as you wonder his hand from where you sat closer to the bad. Having won two times in a row, it was no doubt that you weren’t the only person in the room with their eyes trained on him. You don’t dare look away when he catches you staring, not willing to show your inner embarrassment. Imagine Le Chiffre showing that he’s interested in you.
