Chapter 69: Private Dinner

"Beep, beep, beep!" A specially crafted metal link on the watch worn on Audrey Hepburn's left wrist emitted a prompt.

The lady gave it a light touch, and the sound ceased. She immediately stood up and walked toward the hotel entrance.

Just then, the page guarding the main entrance opened the door and walked in. Upon seeing Ms. Hepburn, he blocked the glass door to keep it from closing and said, "My lady, your car has arrived."

"Thank you." Handing over a tip, Audrey Hepburn walked to the car.

Henry was already waiting by the rear door; he opened it at the perfect moment and reached out to shield the top of the door frame to prevent her from accidentally bumping her head, serving the lady as she entered.

Driving the rented Volvo, Henry prepared to take Audrey Hepburn to the French restaurant they had reserved a few days prior for dinner.

As for the lady's watch, that chirping metal link was the result of Henry's modifications. It was simply a function where one side sent a signal and the other side sounded.

Previous Bluetooth headsets had limited range and weren't all that convenient.

Moreover, sometimes all that was needed was a simple alarm-like prompt, not necessarily a two-way conversation. So, Henry had cobbled together this new gadget.

The function was simple: when Henry was ready, he could notify Ms. Hepburn via the watch link. In the situation just now, it meant he had driven the car to the entrance to notify her to come out.

Conversely, when Henry was not by Ms. Hepburn's side, the modified link could also serve as a call button, alerting Henry—wherever he might be—that Ms. Hepburn needed him.

This sort of thing was just a combination of a transmitter, a receiver, and a buzzer. Anyone with relevant knowledge could assemble one by buying a few electronic parts on the side of the road.

After hearing Henry's explanation, Ms. Hepburn didn't feel these little things were anything special; as long as they were useful, that was enough.

Yet, in the eyes of someone who truly knew the trade, it was a different story. At the very least, miniaturizing the components to hide inside a single link of a lady's watch—there were no off-the-shelf electronic parts that could easily assemble into such a small device.

Regardless, Henry's approach was simply not to shy away from using the Kryptonian capacity for precision manufacturing to make some convenient little tools. As long as the concepts weren't too advanced, these gadgets wouldn't really attract anyone's attention, unless they were true experts.

"By the way, Henry."

"Yes, Boss."

"After you hand the car over to someone else later, come into the restaurant and dine with us," Audrey Hepburn said.

"Boss, isn't today a private itinerary for you to meet a friend?" Henry asked.

Henry knew the other party was Hubert de Givenchy, Ms. Hepburn's dearest friend, who had traveled specifically from France to New York.

Hepburn countered, "Didn't I have you reserve three seats?"

"Yes. Isn't the third one for a guest brought by Mr. Givenchy?"

Audrey Hepburn said, "No, the third guest is you. There aren't any other restaurants nearby, and you, child, are such a glutton. When the chef at that restaurant was in France, his oxtail soup left quite an impression on me."

"I think even for you, it should be stunning. Just consider it me wanting to show off in front of you. Don't worry, I'll cover the dinner bill; it won't be deducted from your salary."

"Thanks, Boss." Henry didn't decline further.

As for the talk of salary deductions, that was just Ms. Hepburn's sense of humor at work. She had never skimped on his food or lodging expenses; on the contrary, she was quite generous. As long as it wasn't restricted by other organizers, Henry ate and stayed at the same level as her.

New York had just had a rain shower today, so the ground was still a bit damp. Some people on the road carried umbrellas, while others didn't; they all walked with the same hurried pace through this busy city, stepping over the puddles on the ground.

Audrey Hepburn looked at this fast-paced city and truly couldn't bring herself to like it from the heart.

However, this didn't affect her good mood about meeting a dear friend in the slightest.

Givenchy, who originally managed his own luxury brand, had joined the LVMH group in recent years, becoming its creative director.

Today was Givenchy taking time out of his busy schedule to fly to New York to comfort his dear friend, who had just survived being hunted by local warlords in Africa and a forced plane landing.

They soon arrived at the restaurant. Henry opened the door and helped the lady out. After handing the rented car to the valet at the entrance, he followed behind the lady into this high-end French restaurant that was impossible to eat at without a reservation.

"Bonjour, my lady. Mr. Givenchy is already waiting at your reserved table. Please allow me to show you the way." The restaurant manager personally greeted the big star at the door.

When the reservation was made, Henry had already stated the guest's identity, so the restaurant manager was naturally extra cautious.

However, the guest's information hadn't been shared with the entire restaurant staff beforehand; basically, only the manager who took the reservation knew. This was to prevent employees from privately leaking it to paparazzi reporters, causing trouble for the restaurant's guests.

For high-end restaurants of their caliber, besides basic issues like cuisine and hygiene, they also did a great job with guest privacy and protection. At least the employees were trained to the point where they could remain calm no matter who they saw.

If some star or celebrity showed up and the staff started chattering and fighting for autographs or photos, the people who came probably wouldn't want to come a second time.

Of course, there were restaurants that used that kind of intimate mode of interaction. But most celebrities came to high-end restaurants precisely because they didn't want to be looked at like a gorilla in a zoo.

They were already monkeys enough in their daily lives; when they wanted to rest, no one wanted to put on a business smile and show everyone a very kind attitude.

The atmosphere in the restaurant was very relaxed; it wasn't the kind of rigid environment where the chef and restaurant manager were so neurotic that guests were only allowed to eat the cuisine, with everything else, including conversation, strictly forbidden.

The interior layout and lighting were also very bright, allowing people to have a normal dinner, rather than the dim, ambiguous atmosphere where special lighting was used to color the food.

Led by the restaurant manager, Ms. Hepburn entered the restaurant. A suave old gentleman saw her at a glance and immediately stood up happily to welcome her.

"Givenchy."

"Audrey."

The two shared a warm cheek-kiss greeting.

For Givenchy, who founded his own luxury brand, the surname represented him, and he took pride in it. So, regardless of how close they were, everyone called him "Givenchy" rather than by his first name or a nickname.

"And this young man is?" Givenchy looked at Henry and asked kindly.

"Oh, this is my new assistant, Henry Brown. A very interesting child; I've been thinking that one day I must introduce you two," Ms. Hepburn said with a playful smile.

Hearing this, Henry instinctively felt something was amiss. However, he still proactively reached out his hand and introduced himself to this fashion mogul: "Henry Brown. Mr. Givenchy, it is a great honor to meet you today."