The Mercedes-Benz Sprinter finally rolled to a smooth stop before Gold Cuts — a five-star fine-dining restaurant famous across the continent for serving steaks that could allegedly make grown men cry.
The golden logo gleamed like royalty under the warm evening lights, and the pristine stone steps that led to the revolving glass doors had been walked by politicians, oil barons, and celebrities whose faces graced magazine covers more than news anchors.
Getting a table here required a miracle.
A reservation took months.
A walk-in? Impossible. But when you're Jason…
He stepped down from the luxury bus, arms casually wrapped around his three European models who clung to him like giggling vines.
"And I said…"
Jason cackled mid-story.
"… if the steak's not bleeding, I don't want it!"
The three girls laughed like his joke was the best thing they'd heard all year, and honestly, with his grin, it probably was.
Vincent followed, hopping down with some cool.
