|Caspar Andrews wears (cufflinks) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-08-15 02:38:00
|Entry tags:||*log, caspar andrews, hannah smith|
Club Log: Caspar & Hannah
Who: Caspar & Hannah
What: Club hi
When: A club
Warnings: Drugs, maybe
To succeed at something without his father's gracious hand or wallet. Without the family name or his stepmother's collegiate ties, Caspar had done it all. The restaurant would be opening soon and the private reviews were already legendary. He'd be topping worldwide lists if everything stayed course. And not because of friendly nods from his father or his dead brother's friends, but just because of what he'd put together on his own. Him. Caspar. No one else. He was tired of being tied to the rest of his family; the political gains were plenty nice, but the filth that crept in on his soul was incapable of being absolved.
Club night. He'd invited the crew out, the soon-to-be hostesses and the fucking sommelier. He'd purchased the VIP box, as if there had been any question, and room was soon overflowing with vodka, champagne, and seafood on ice. Girls drank liquor from the tail-end of an ice luge, and the whole thing was Instagram-worthy. He should have loved it, but Caspar more than hated it. He'd been accused, more than once, of being easily amused and more than easily bored, but this was something else. This was supposed to be his new start.
But what did he know about new? All Caspar knew was what he was, which was, unfortunately, most despicable. He took body shots in the VIP, and he hobnobbed with the DJs backstage. It should have made him feel something, but it didn't. Opening the restaurant hadn't, and this hadn't. But, out on the dance floor, with the lights blurring blue and green, he waited for something.