“Listen up people! It's another full house on the books tonight. There are some big events going on in town this weekend, which means there's a chance some high profile people might be coming through the doors. That means we need everyone on their best behavior, no autograph hunting, no sneaking photos. We are better than that. Now, let's get out there and show them why Donovan's was named one of the top restaurants in Sin City for the third year in a row!"

Wyatt Palmer leaned against the wall with a small smile on his lips as he watched the staff go through the traditional pre-shift rituals they did in order to pump themselves up for another blistering shift. He felt the excitement rolling through the back of the house and had a feeling it was going to be another busy night. The prep cooks and bakers got in on the madness as well, even though they had already been on the clock for a few hours getting everything ready. Grills flared to life, sending licks of flames climbing towards the ceiling, and with a loud cheer, everyone went to their respective stations, including Wyatt.

He grabbed one of the black and blue pinstripe aprons off the hook and tugged it over his head, leaving it hanging loose while he pushed his skullcap onto his head and tucked all of his hair up inside. He then put on his black and blue head chef's hat with the angry bulls glaring around the brim. It had been a Christmas present from the staff few years ago and Wyatt loved it. Wyatt had barely managed to get the apron strings tied around his waist when what sounded like a dozen crystal water goblets hitting the floor, followed by a loud cheer of the staff, grabbed his attention. The chaos was starting early, but he was more than ready. This was what he lived for. The energy of the restaurant fueled him, motivated him, and gave him life. With a snap of Wyatt's fingers, the dishwasher came around with a broom and the other servers were consoling the new busser who was near tears at the blunder. Broken dishes were a part of the restaurant life, but each knew the pain and embarrassment that came from that first drop. The employees offered kind words, then once the tears stopped, everyone was right back to their duties. Every single one of the employees worked like a well oiled cog in the machinery that was the restaurant. That was part of the reason it took a minimum of six months to even get a table at Donovan's. The other reason was the out-of-this-world cooking and high quality standards Wyatt instilled in the chefs who worked alongside him. He took his place on the line, and within moments, the whirl of order chits filled the air. Paper was ripped from the machines and chefs called out ingredients and dishes as they went to work pounding out the orders nearly as fast as they came in.

Activities were nonstop for the first four hours before they hit the typical mid-shift lull, which allowed for the staff to restock everything that they would need for the second rush to come. They purposely timed the reservations like this to give them a chance to breathe. Otherwise they would be moving tables from the moment the doors opened until the last customer left for the night. The system worked well for them. The back of the house got a small break and the servers could rotate out and take their own few minutes to get their heads back into place. No one complained, at least none that Wyatt ever heard. They loved the business of it all, especially at the end of the night when they were counting out their tips. Wyatt started giving the back of the house staff their break the moment it was feasible and just as he grabbed his smokes and a quick bite for his own five minute breather, he heard the soft voice of the assistant dining room manager.

"Wyatt, do you have a moment? One of the guests would like to have a word."

Wyatt sighed and tucked his smokes into the pocket of his checked chef's slacks and slid his small plate onto the heating rail as he walked towards the swinging doors. He peered through the small window while leaning down towards the petite blonde, "Which one, Cheryl? Is there a problem or..." One of the servers started to raise her voice at the chefs and Wyatt held up a finger to Cheryl as he walked over to the server window. He asked her what the problem was and then started going through the trays waiting to be served and the orders waiting to be cooked. Once he found the issue, he let out a low growl to the lingering servers.

"Make sure you're checking your orders, and make sure you are taking the right dishes to each table. We have too many plates on the rail so start helping run orders for your co-workers. We all want our breaks tonight, right?" He narrowed his eyes then turned his attention the chefs, "Blake, get Cindy a damn double baked."

"I already made one, it was sitting right there with the rest of the food, Chef."

Wyatt sighed as the chef argued back, "Yes, I understand that you said you already made one, but clearly it is not here now." He went to turn back to Cheryl when he noticed the heavy silence on the servers' line. They were standing slack jawed as they stared at Wyatt. His growl was normally reserved for the back of the house, it was a very rare occasion he had to use it on the servers.

"MOVE IT!" He pinned them all with a glare that held them in place for a hot second before they began to scramble. Wyatt fought the grin playing on his lips as he made his way back over to Cheryl, who stood with a smile on her pert red lips while she shook her head. At least Wyatt wasn't the only one who was amused.

Cheryl held up a perfectly manicured finger and settled it on the door as she discreetly pointed to the six top table filled with five large, boisterous men who were clearly enjoying their meal and taking advantage of the loose bar the restaurant had. One of the gentleman, Mr. Garland, was a loyal customer who loved showing off his connections, and as much as it pained Wyatt, it never hurt to be polite to those who kept them in business.

"Tell them that I'll be right over. I just need to wash up quick."

Cheryl smiled and gave a small nod before she went over to the table, while Wyatt turned to the small sink in the prep area. He gave his hands a good scrub and checked the little mirror above the sink to make sure he wasn't covered in anything he shouldn’t be. If he stayed in the kitchen, it wouldn't matter, but going out on to the floor meant he had to be, mostly, presentable at a moment's notice. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. Wyatt removed his apron and hung it on the hook, then smoothed down his chef's jacket. He kept his hat on because customers loved seeing the chef out and the hat helped keep up appearances.

Wyatt let out a small sigh and pasted a smile on his face before he pushed open the swinging door and made his way towards the table. His steps faltered momentarily when he noticed that while five of the plates looked practically licked clean, there was a sixth plate that looked untouched in any way and Wyatt's heart skipped. He couldn't recall the last time there had been a complaint about his cooking and someone not taking any interest in the food certainly indicated a complaint was coming his way. His brain struggled as he tried to recall if he had heard a server commenting about any problems before he came out but could recall absolutely nothing.

Mr. Garland turned his head and Wyatt braced himself for a reaming when the older man reached out and grabbed for his hand, pumping it vigorously. "Another fantastic meal, Chef Palmer. I just had to prove to these assholes here that I knew the best damn chef in Clark County. Hell, all of Nevada, period."

Wyatt took the praise, but his attention was stuck on the uneaten steak as he shook the older man's hand. "Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Garland. I'm glad you, at least, seemed to enjoy your meal."

Mr. Garland followed Wyatt's line of sight and let out a rumbling laugh, "Now don't you take that personally, Wyatt. Turns out Josiah's grandkid's not a big fan of beef. Didn't know that when we invited him or when I ordered for everyone. I figured first week in town, he deserved to experience the best. No matter though, I'm planning on taking that dish home to the little missus now. It'll earn me some brownie points for sure." He winked and elbowed Wyatt in the side as he let out another laugh.

Wyatt puffed out a small chuckle at the elbowing and nodded, "I'll make sure we get that wrapped up right away for you then." He tipped his head, trying to see the man in question. "I'm sure the server will be happy to get you..."

The man leaned forward and Wyatt lost his composure once more. This was why he preferred to stay in the back of the house. Wyatt's gaze ran over the man, taking in the red and black streaks that blended near perfectly into his chestnut brown hair, he noticed how the dim lights of the restaurant caused the man's eyes to reflect a brilliant shade of champagne that surely had to be an illusion. He also noticed the way his cheeks pinked up at being called out, and no matter how hard he tried otherwise, Wyatt definitely noticed those plush, full lips curving into a slight frown the longer he stared.

Wyatt cleared his throat and continued on, "I'm sure they'd be happy to get you a salad or something. I can't let anyone say they left unsatisfied or hungry. It wouldn't be good for my reputation." Wyatt turned back to Mr. Garland, hoping his voice was still steady and light, "I'll have your server come over and take care of you all, but I must get back. Thank you for coming out tonight."

Wyatt's steps were quick as he beelined it back to the sanctuary of his kitchen, and after a few words with Cheryl to take care of Mr. Garland's table, he was straight out the back door for that much needed cigarette break. Leaning against the cement wall the required twenty-five feet from the doorway, he pulled the smokes and lighter from his pocket. His hands shook slightly as he placed the filter between his lips before sparking the tip to life and inhaling deeply. He held it for a moment and then exhaled all the bullshit on his next breath. Like a balm over his wounds, he could feel the tremors subsiding and his nerves settling. There was no reason for him to feel so damn flustered. The man was simply a customer who was obviously in the wrong type of restaurant. The fluster of nerves had nothing at all to do with the fact this particular man had stirred something in his gut that Wyatt hadn't felt in a very long time. Shame his grandad hadn't filled his poker buddies in on his grandson's diet before dragging him to Donovan's though. That wasn't Wyatt's concern. Nope. Mr. Delicious would have to settle for a salad if he wanted something without meat in it. There were a dozen other restaurants within spitting distance to fit that need.

Wyatt only made it halfway through his second rushed cigarette when the back door opened and Cheryl poked her head around the corner. He could see the worry on her face and he quickly butted the cigarette out in the ashtray before rushing over, "What happened?"

"We need you inside. Someone just collapsed in the dining room. An ambulance is on the way but people are starting to freak out."

Wyatt followed Cheryl inside as quickly as he could. He projected the voice of calm to the panicking staff and a dining room still full of patrons as he tried to determine what had happened. After listening to a few of the rushed words flowing his way, he learned there had been a struggle or something and someone crashed into another diner before rushing out. Moments later the older gentleman that had been hit fell against the table. He then slid to the dark polished hardwood floor, pulling the table cloth full of dishes with him, which caused the second loud crash. By the time Wyatt made it to the man's side, he saw his eyes were pinned open and he was staring blankly at the ceiling. Even though he was no doctor, Wyatt knew the man was past saving, though he still tried CPR for several long minutes.

Someone crouched at Wyatt's side as he started to cover the man to preserve a sense of modesty at the situation and a hand closed over his, "I'll take care of this, kid. You worry about your staff. I'm a former officer so I know how to work the scene."

Wyatt turned to the stranger and paused briefly before nodding at Mr. Garland's guest, Josiah. In that brief moment, Wyatt was able to confirm that champagne eyes definitely ran in the family. Wyatt pushed to his feet and flashed the man a tired smile, "Thank you, sir. I know the paramedics are on the way, but if we can keep people from freaking out, that would be a good thing. I really appreciate your help."

Wyatt turned his attention back to the restaurant and raised his voice loud enough to be heard, then apologized for the situation. It seemed wrong to offer complimentary wine and desserts in light of the situation, but what else could he do? The staff, and everyone else, needed a few moments to collect themselves.

By the time the paramedics arrived, the staff returned to the dining room to help comfort and care for the remaining customers. Most had never seen a dead body before, so it was understandable to find them rattled. Unfortunately, Wyatt had more experience than he cared to admit, which was why he was able to stay calmer than most. He thought he was doing well too until he felt his skin prickling. Slowly Wyatt lifted his gaze and found champagne eyes staring back at him. A shiver ran down his spine and he could swear the other man was staring into his soul where all of his secrets were buried.

Jostled by a passing server, Wyatt took that opportunity to shake himself from his thoughts before he turned sharply on his heels to return to the kitchen area. He had to speak to the paramedics and give his full report, then he was free to finish out the shift.

Once the crowd finally cleared out everything was put back into order, bank deposits were made, and everyone punched out, Wyatt locked up the office. He then left through the back door, locking up the building and securing the alarm before he walked with the group of lingering staff out to the parking garage. It was policy anyway, one they all fully believed in. No one left alone. In fact the policy was no fewer than three people in a group at any time when they left. It was for their own safety as well as the restaurant's. One by one, they said their goodnights and got into their cars. Moods were somber and the customary night out that many of the staff participated in was pushed aside for another night. Wyatt turned to his car, a volcanic orange Mini Cooper convertible, and noticed a piece of paper under the wiper. He glanced around the parking garage and quickly removed the paper from the window, throwing it on the passenger seat with the others. Whatever it said could wait. While the night out may have been canceled, Wyatt had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black waiting for him at home.