One Shots | Formula 1

CL♥

"Well, you certainly got my attention"- Requested

The night was dragging on slowly at the luxury restaurant where I worked in Monte Carlo. The usually bustling dining area was eerily empty, a rare occurrence on summer nights like this. My fellow waitresses and I were trying to pass the time and have some fun to alleviate the boredom.

"Seriously, where is everyone tonight?" I sighed, leaning against the polished mahogany bar counter.

"I don't know, but this is killing my tips," my coworker, Emma, complained, twirling a lock of her blonde hair around her finger.

"Yeah, I was counting on some big spenders tonight," I added, feeling disappointed.

Just then, our manager, Mr. Dupont, emerged from his office with a serious expression on his face. We straightened up, ready to receive some bad news.

"Listen up, ladies," he said, his voice commanding attention. "We've just received a last-minute reservation for a party of thirty. The Leclerc family will be joining us tonight."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Leclerc family, famous locals of Monaco and the family of the F1 driver Charles. This was no ordinary reservation; it was a chance to rub elbows with Monaco's elite.

"We need to make sure everything is perfect for their arrival," Mr. Dupont continued. "That means impeccable service, attention to detail, and most importantly, looking the part."

I exchanged a knowing glance with Emma as Mr. Dupont motioned for us to follow him to the staff room. Inside, he pulled out a rack of uniforms, each one meticulously pressed and hanging neatly on hangers.

"You'll need to wear these tonight," he said, gesturing towards the uniforms.

I eyed the uniform skeptically. It was the same crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt we always wore, but there was something different about it.

"And these," Mr. Dupont added, reaching into a box and pulling out a pair of stiletto heels.

My heart sank as I realized what he was implying. I hated wearing heels, especially for long shifts on my feet. But if it meant impressing the Leclerc family, I was willing to endure a little discomfort.

As I slipped into the heels, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. This was my chance to prove myself, to show that I was more than just a waitress serving food to the rich and famous.

With newfound determination, I joined my coworkers in getting ready for the evening ahead. We smoothed out our uniforms, applied a fresh coat of lipstick, and practiced our best smiles in the mirror.

As the first guests began to arrive, the restaurant buzzed with excitement. The Leclerc family made their grand entrance, turning heads as they made their way to their reserved table.

I took a deep breath and approached their table, my heels clicking against the marble floor. With each step, I reminded myself to stand tall, to exude confidence and professionalism. I couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach. His piercing blue eyes followed me as I took their order, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was checking me out.

Ignoring the butterflies in my stomach, I focused on taking down their order with practiced efficiency. Charles's gaze lingered on me a little too long, making me blush under his scrutiny. But I forced myself to keep my composure, refusing to let his attention distract me from my job.

After jotting down their order, I hurried back to the kitchen, where Emma was waiting for me with a knowing smirk.

"I saw the way Charles was eyeing you," she teased, nudging me playfully. "You've got yourself a fan."