First Glance: An Unexpected Meeting at the Hotel

The Hotel’s lobby was bathed in golden light when our eyes met across the room. He was arguing quietly but intensely with the concierge, his Italian leather shoes tapping impatiently against the marble floor.

*Tech billionaire. Late 40s. That particular mix of Silicon Valley casual and old-world intensity.*

“Problem with your reservation?” I asked, appearing at his side.

His head snapped toward me. “The penthouse suite I booked months ago suddenly isn’t available.”

I smiled and extended my hand. “Naomi Winters. And I believe you’ll find your suite is ready now.”

One discreet call to the manager I’d befriended last summer and the problem disappeared. His look of surprise was worth more than any tip.

The Crisis: A Missing Fabergé Egg

Dinner at Sotto Sotto was going perfectly—discussing his collection of rare watches, my unexpected knowledge of Russian literature—when his phone buzzed urgently.

“The Fabergé egg for tomorrow’s auction—it’s not in the vault!”

I watched his jaw tighten as panic flashed across his face. Most companions would offer empty reassurances. I reached for my phone.

Three calls later: The priceless artifact had been moved to a private viewing room at  for authentication.

“How did you—?”

“You mentioned the authentication process yesterday,” I said, sipping my Barolo. “I simply connected the dots.”

The gratitude in his eyes was more intoxicating than the wine.

Midnight Confessions: A Walk Through the Distillery District

Later, beneath the twinkling fairy lights of the Distillery District, he asked the question I knew was coming:

“Why does someone like you do this?”

The crisp night air carried my answer:

“Because powerful men pay for many things—but never for the truth. With me, you get both.”

For the first time all evening, he looked truly seen.

The Suite at Dawn: Where Magic Happened

What began as dinner became:

• An impromptu private tour of the AGO’s vaults

• A 3 AM debate about quantum physics over 1947 Cheval Blanc

• That electric moment when professional boundaries almost blurred

As sunrise painted the CN Tower pink, we stood at his floor-to-ceiling windows. This is true luxury—not the price tags, but the rare moments of genuine connection between them.

The Morning After: A Note on Smythson Stationery

I left as the city awakened. On the piano:

“N—
Last night I remembered what it means to be interesting.
Until Geneva. —A”

I tucked the heavy paper into my Chanel jacket. Another perfect night preserved in memory’s gallery.