[ Cassian's life has always had a way of throwing him down very unexpected paths. He'd never had plans of grandeur and fame and global success when he'd gotten a gig washing dishes at a hole in the wall shop. All he'd been looking for was a way to make more money - clean money - so that he could help support Maarva's medical bills after Clem's passing.
But then he'd had to fill in for a stage. Then he'd found that he actually enjoyed the work and was good at it. Far better than the other stage who had ended up being let go after that became apparent. And then, well things had spiraled from there.
It was surprised to him as much as anyone that knew him that he had a good palette and an even sharper mind for running a business (though admittedly he didn't enjoy that nearly as much as cooking and had passed it off the first opportunity he could to someone that he trusted). One thing had led to another suddenly there he was 20 something years later with a restaurant - Rosetta to call his own and several Michelin stars under his belt.
Of course with fame comes with some level of obligation to be a public figure. Cassian hadn't wanted to get into the social media game. He had grown out of the novelty quite quickly in his early-twenties, and then had done it begrudgingly as his business had continued to grow. The thing that had made him quit altogether? Seeing a baker he had been familiar with doing an ASMR video for what he assumed was for a...particular sort of audience. Needless to say he had deleted Instagram off his phone and had been blissfully happy since to have the restaurant manager handle it.
All of which to say is that that's why all of Lottie's attempts to reach out to him had been incredibly unsuccessful. But not unnoticed.
A put together attractive woman strides up to the table holding a tablet waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation.
"Excuse me? I'm sorry to interrupt you both but the chef was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to the back." ]
[ She steps into the conversation at the worst, possible, time. They somehow got onto the topic of cheese and if everything here is gouda or not (gag, Meg thought the pun was funny, the table did not) and when the pretty waitress says excuse me they all go silent.
Except Misty. Misty just goes oooooh, while Meg is prepared to ask for what the wine of the day is. Lottie reaches out to cover her lips, to stop her in her tracks, before goingβ ] Me? [ The waitress nods, smiles in a way that is both polite and too pretty and she feels the hairs on her neck stand ramrod straight. This isn't what she wanted, she wantedβ an email? A reply back. Something that isn't so outwardly weird and embarrassing or, intimate (?), as the chef personally asking for you.
God, maybe she was stalking him.
Maybe? She can't tell. She's too scared to tell, or check her internet history revolving around him because it's too late. She's up and out of her chair, purse left with the girls as she's led past the window. Past the kitchen, the walk-in fridge and supply closet, towards the (rather spacious?!) office area that she assumes is where... God, the chef is. Cassian Andor. The guy she's been trying to reach (respectfully) for like, ever.
[ Unfortunately many of the emails she has initially sent had ended up in spam. Apparently something about (or maybe it had been the many email she'd sent) had eventually triggered the spam filter on the restaurant inbox. By the time the restaurant manager had thought to check the pile up looked sizeable enough that, well. It had been flagged.
And with Lottie having a much larger internet presence than Cassian (then again most did) it hadn't been difficult for the social media manager to find her. And shockingly (sarcasm) there aren't that many influencers in LA with neon green hair. Cassian hadn't been certain if he wanted to be confronted with this unexpected annoyance. He had little patience to begin with for the nonsense that LA tended to bring and it was only out of necessity that he did any appearances to begin with. As a result his staff teased him relentlessly about his old man tendencies, claiming that for a 30-something year old he may a well have actually been well into his senior years. Cassian often tended to grumble about it much to the amusement of his staff - but privately he agreed that they were probably right.
All joking aside, privacy had become one of the utmost important things to him. Which would explain why he was taking this so seriously and seeing to it himself. When Lottie walks in he's working on the next month's menu, ideas half scrawled into a notebook on his desk that he looks up. ]
Thanks, Mel.
[ And at which point his gaze turns somewhat towards Lottie with a somewhat impassive expression on his face. ]
[ Mel? Wow, she doesn't look like a Mel. She wishes she brought her phone right about now, needing the safety of something to thumb at as this.. Whatever is happening, happens. Which already she's sweating, nerves rising up her throat and settling on her dry tongue. At least her lips are glossy, untouched and respectable since she hadn't taken a sip out of her glass of water, yet.
Her eyes dart around the room brieflyβ bits of paper and folders in cabinets. A computer on a desk, the worn leather to his chair he sits on. Is that a notebook? Her eyes move to him, his face. A real one, and not a photo from a google image search belonging to the year 2018 (his social media presence is diabolically little, photographs of him few and far between).
He'sβ better looking in person. This only serves to make her more nervous, now wondering if a fellow hot person is going to.. Scold her? It feels like that, with the way he regards her. She knew this was a bad idea. Thanks Misty!! ]
Hi, yes! That is [ don't say moi don't say moi ] β that's me!!
[ For a real second, she wonders if it's worth pretending like his face isn't a saved image in her download folder (distantly she fears: oh god, does he think she's her sister?). ]
[ Cassian hasn't changed that much since 2018. He's grown older sure, but he keeps himself fit and relatively well-groomed if only because wearing a beard net is something he decided a very long time ago that he didn't want to bother with for multiple reasons vanity being one of them. Apparently keeping yourself good shape is a hell of a lot easier when you own a restaurant and don't have to spend every waking hour of every day in the kitchen.
That unfortunately doesn't help him deal with the lack of sleep - but that's a topic relatively unrelated to his looks. Which, aren't really things he actively thinks about. Not any more at least. He's got more important things to worry about like a woman incessantly hounding his staff.
For someone who had been hounding his staff though she seems a little nervous. More nervous than he anticipated. That doesn't shift the impassive nature of his expression however. In other circumstances he'd offer her a seat but since he doesn't plan on this taking very long he stands himself walking around the desk to lean against the other side. ]
I'm sure you want to get back to your meal so I'll make this quick. Why are you harassing my team?
[ Oh, she's going to like, throw up throw up. Misty would be howling, if she could see the way her brows raise at the word harass. His team? Can none of them read sentences in gmail? Did he read them? Did she somehow send the wrong one? Draft #7, maybe? No, even that one wasn't crazy or anything (Esther advised it as DESPERATE). She's had so many people proofread her messages, so where the hell is he getting harassment from? ]
Excuse me?
[ First of all: wow, so many assumptions happening here. She is actually the opposite of hungry right now?? Also the salad of the day isn't the one she even likes, so.. ]
I'm sorry, what do you mean by team? Harassment??
[ (She's only been trying to get in contact with you! Who cares about the randos who work here!!) ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But then he'd had to fill in for a stage. Then he'd found that he actually enjoyed the work and was good at it. Far better than the other stage who had ended up being let go after that became apparent. And then, well things had spiraled from there.
It was surprised to him as much as anyone that knew him that he had a good palette and an even sharper mind for running a business (though admittedly he didn't enjoy that nearly as much as cooking and had passed it off the first opportunity he could to someone that he trusted). One thing had led to another suddenly there he was 20 something years later with a restaurant - Rosetta to call his own and several Michelin stars under his belt.
Of course with fame comes with some level of obligation to be a public figure. Cassian hadn't wanted to get into the social media game. He had grown out of the novelty quite quickly in his early-twenties, and then had done it begrudgingly as his business had continued to grow. The thing that had made him quit altogether? Seeing a baker he had been familiar with doing an ASMR video for what he assumed was for a...particular sort of audience. Needless to say he had deleted Instagram off his phone and had been blissfully happy since to have the restaurant manager handle it.
All of which to say is that that's why all of Lottie's attempts to reach out to him had been incredibly unsuccessful. But not unnoticed.
A put together attractive woman strides up to the table holding a tablet waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation.
"Excuse me? I'm sorry to interrupt you both but the chef was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to the back." ]
no subject
Except Misty. Misty just goes oooooh, while Meg is prepared to ask for what the wine of the day is. Lottie reaches out to cover her lips, to stop her in her tracks, before goingβ ] Me? [ The waitress nods, smiles in a way that is both polite and too pretty and she feels the hairs on her neck stand ramrod straight. This isn't what she wanted, she wantedβ an email? A reply back. Something that isn't so outwardly weird and embarrassing or, intimate (?), as the chef personally asking for you.
God, maybe she was stalking him.
Maybe? She can't tell. She's too scared to tell, or check her internet history revolving around him because it's too late. She's up and out of her chair, purse left with the girls as she's led past the window. Past the kitchen, the walk-in fridge and supply closet, towards the (rather spacious?!) office area that she assumes is where... God, the chef is. Cassian Andor. The guy she's been trying to reach (respectfully) for like, ever.
Is this really about to happen?! ]
no subject
And with Lottie having a much larger internet presence than Cassian (then again most did) it hadn't been difficult for the social media manager to find her. And shockingly (sarcasm) there aren't that many influencers in LA with neon green hair. Cassian hadn't been certain if he wanted to be confronted with this unexpected annoyance. He had little patience to begin with for the nonsense that LA tended to bring and it was only out of necessity that he did any appearances to begin with. As a result his staff teased him relentlessly about his old man tendencies, claiming that for a 30-something year old he may a well have actually been well into his senior years. Cassian often tended to grumble about it much to the amusement of his staff - but privately he agreed that they were probably right.
All joking aside, privacy had become one of the utmost important things to him. Which would explain why he was taking this so seriously and seeing to it himself. When Lottie walks in he's working on the next month's menu, ideas half scrawled into a notebook on his desk that he looks up. ]
Thanks, Mel.
[ And at which point his gaze turns somewhat towards Lottie with a somewhat impassive expression on his face. ]
Ms. Person?
no subject
Her eyes dart around the room brieflyβ bits of paper and folders in cabinets. A computer on a desk, the worn leather to his chair he sits on. Is that a notebook? Her eyes move to him, his face. A real one, and not a photo from a google image search belonging to the year 2018 (his social media presence is diabolically little, photographs of him few and far between).
He'sβ better looking in person. This only serves to make her more nervous, now wondering if a fellow hot person is going to.. Scold her? It feels like that, with the way he regards her. She knew this was a bad idea. Thanks Misty!! ]
Hi, yes! That is [ don't say moi don't say moi ] β that's me!!
[ For a real second, she wonders if it's worth pretending like his face isn't a saved image in her download folder (distantly she fears: oh god, does he think she's her sister?). ]
Ms. Person, haha..
no subject
That unfortunately doesn't help him deal with the lack of sleep - but that's a topic relatively unrelated to his looks. Which, aren't really things he actively thinks about. Not any more at least. He's got more important things to worry about like a woman incessantly hounding his staff.
For someone who had been hounding his staff though she seems a little nervous. More nervous than he anticipated. That doesn't shift the impassive nature of his expression however. In other circumstances he'd offer her a seat but since he doesn't plan on this taking very long he stands himself walking around the desk to lean against the other side. ]
I'm sure you want to get back to your meal so I'll make this quick. Why are you harassing my team?
no subject
Excuse me?
[ First of all: wow, so many assumptions happening here. She is actually the opposite of hungry right now?? Also the salad of the day isn't the one she even likes, so.. ]
I'm sorry, what do you mean by team? Harassment??
[ (She's only been trying to get in contact with you! Who cares about the randos who work here!!) ]