Chapter 2 The Man in Chelsea boots

I squinted my eyes, contemplating for a brief moment before stating, "All right, this is the very last one." My hand reached into the bag and retrieved the last set of undergarments. "I swear."

Helen couldn't restrain an expletive, hastily grabbing her drink and taking a substantial sip. Despite my audacious nature, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for my dear friend, who was blessed (or burdened) with a companion as unconventional as me.

In my hand, I displayed a resplendent golden thong, accompanied by its matching golden bra. Both pieces struck me as quite alluring, but I sought Helen's opinion, aware of her impeccable taste.

I opted for a tried-and-true tactic, wearing a pout that had consistently proven effective in the past. "Please," I began, using my puppy-dog eyes to my advantage, hoping to influence her decision.

With an exasperated sigh, Helen ultimately yielded. "Fine..." she relented. "...I do like that one, but believe me, he probably won't even notice."

Baffled by her response, I retorted, "Why not? Men typically appreciate these little details." I held my head high, ready to defend my selection with conviction. However, Helen's unexpected reaction left me taken aback.

"Oh. My. God." Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and she leaned in closer to me, whispering in a manner that had me straining to catch her words. Her uneasiness was evident, and her gaze kept darting behind me, a clear sign that a striking gentleman had likely just entered the restaurant – a scenario we frequently found ourselves in.

"What's the matter?" I asked, genuine concern in my eyes. "Is there something wrong with my hair?" She anxiously ran her fingers through her curls, seeking reassurance.

I quickly appraised her hairstyle and then refocused on her face. "Is he irresistibly handsome?" I teased, my fingers gently reaching for her lips to remove a smudge of lipstick from her lower lip.

"Absolutely! Don't peek," her expression practically screamed, as if warning me, "Look less appealing, this one's mine!"

I subtly urged her to smile, and she complied. However, her smile quickly faded when she noticed I was still clutching the lingerie in my hand.

"Conceal that thing," she attempted to snatch the garments away, but I misinterpreted her intent and pulled my hand back reflexively. Regrettably, her attempt to grab the golden thong was unsuccessful, and I was left holding just the matching bra.

What followed were audible gasps from the surrounding diners. Judging by Helen's reaction, I had accidentally tossed the thong onto someone's meal.

"What's going on?" I inquired, even though it would have been as simple as turning around to see for myself. But for some reason, I couldn't muster the courage to do so just yet.

Helen took a deep breath and then blinked. I knew I couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. My heart began to pound with apprehension as I slowly turned around to confront the mess I had unwittingly created.

My eyes locked onto a pair of Chelsea boots. It was evident that there was a man standing behind me. As I gradually lifted my gaze, I noticed his fitted black jeans, which perfectly outlined his muscular thighs. A lump formed in my throat.

My attention shifted to his belt, and I swallowed audibly.

The sight of his slim-fitting black turtleneck left me breathless.

But when I finally met his face, I knew I was in trouble.

My golden thong was positioned across his face, running from the bridge of his nose down to his lips. I could have marveled at his appearance, but instead, I had inadvertently adorned a stranger's face with a golden thong.

In my haste, I stood up abruptly, causing the chair to tumble over with a resounding thud. Remarkably, the noise hardly registered with the other diners, as their attention was firmly fixed on the chaotic scene I had created.

The man loomed over my petite figure, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his gaze bore down on me.

My mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged. After a moment, I summoned the courage to speak.

"That should have been mine," I blurted out, not failing to notice the groan that escaped Helen. I, too, felt a sense of disappointment because I knew that an apology was the only appropriate response.

In moments of intense stress, my brain often takes a brief hiatus. So, rather than verbalize my apology, I decided to take action. I moved closer to him, intending to relieve him of the embarrassment, but he beat me to it.

His hand slowly moved to his face and delicately removed the thong. My eyes trailed along with his hand as he held it and ran his fingers over the material, almost as if he was trying to assess its size. I felt utterly mortified. "I-" I was on the brink of uttering my apology when he preempted me, gently pressing his forefinger against my lips, effectively silencing me.

"Name?" the man inquired.

I swallowed nervously. "Dora, Dorathy Cam–"

"Dorathy will suffice," he interrupted.

I nodded, agreeing as if it were a question. Anxious to hear what he had in store for me, I waited while he checked something on his phone. The silence in the room was akin to the eerie quiet of a graveyard, a chilling reminder of how many perceived me – as if I belonged in the grave.

"Golden," he enunciated, altering his accent in a way that I might have found endearing under different circumstances. However, my thoughts were far from that. His voice seemed to ooze with a peculiar charm, and it was apparent that he was about to deliver some sort of judgment that would not bode well for me.

"Sir, I've already apologized," I began, but my words trailed off as my gaze locked onto his. It occurred to me that I had never really paid attention to his eyes before. They were a unique shade of silvery glimmer, possessing a certain gravitas that commanded respect.

"Bow," someone murmured beside me, and a hand began to creep onto my shoulder.

"What?" I whispered back, initially failing to grasp Helen's meaning. She didn't wait for me to fully comprehend her words. Instead, she abruptly pressed her hand against the back of my head and gently urged me to lower myself.

Reluctantly, we both complied and bowed before the intimidating gentleman. Our heads were lowered, and our eyes fixed on his shoes.

"Bowing is a powerful way to express your regret," Helen whispered to me as we both remained in a humbled posture in front of this imposing figure.

"What?"

"Are we really doing this?" I questioned skeptically, prompting an eye roll from Helen. She then cleared her throat, preparing to speak.

"Sir, we apologize–" Helen had begun her apology, but her words came to an abrupt halt as the man's Chelsea boots screeched against the floor, and before we knew it, he was making a swift exit.

I straightened up and watched him from behind, my eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and surprise, as the last thing I expected was for him to simply walk away without a word.

"Hey... it seems like it worked," Helen cheered, punctuating her statement with a playful jab to my shoulder. She was referring to the act of bowing we had just performed. "I always knew that watching Korean dramas would come in handy."

"The thong," I whispered as I kept my eyes fixed on the man's departure. "He's got my thong." I gestured toward his right hand, which held my lingerie.

We both watched in silence, and just before he exited the establishment, he nonchalantly tucked the thong into his jeans pocket. I wasn't the only one in disbelief; everyone seemed frozen, their eyes glued to the enigmatic figure making his way out.

There was something undeniably unsettling about him, and my suspicions were confirmed when I observed two more men joining him. The three of them walked toward a sleek black Range Rover Sport waiting at the driveway.

"Is this the end for me?" I pondered with a shiver of uncertainty.