He spent an hour getting ready. From the laying out of clothes on his bed, to the shower, to the shave. He stood sideways, in profile, in the face of the bathroom mirror on the fuzzy bathroom rug. Sucked in, smiled, winked...let the air and his gut out. It could've been worse, he thought to himself. New boot cut dark blue jeans. tailored with a widening waist to fit since the clowns at Calvin Klein didn't sell a reasonable size, dry-cleaned cerulean shaded button up that he tucked in, pulled out...turned his body left, right, and tucked it in again. A deep, introspective sigh followed a long stare of his brown eyes at his image in the bathroom mirror. 

"...definitely out, yeah. It's cooler."

The navy blue blazer was a little tight in the shoulders, but not enough to really be noticeable, as he checked in the mirror. Bringing his arms forward, relaxing them, forward, relaxed...a quick, self-affirming nod, and his wide hips bobbed back and forth as the music beat in his head filled his heart as he wet his comb and slicked his light brown hair. Outside the shade of the start of a second chin, he smiled big and finger-gunned himself in the mirror, because he was looking pretty slick, even if he said so himself. And he did:

"Lookin' pretty slick, Donnie."

He had a whistle on his lips from his apartment building on the outskirts of downtown to the year old silver Corvette with the custom plate: 'BRDCRTFD.' It wasn't the longest drive from his building to the Uptown Ritz-Carlton, but that didn't stop him from blasting the slick jams of Foreigner and singing at the top of his lungs as he cruised into Uptown: "I'M A DIRTY WHITE BOOOOOOOOOOOOOY!" 

At the hotel valet, there was a little hitch in his step as he got of the car and tossed the key FOB. There a wince and a quick recovery as the key went past the valet, who just watched it fly by. "Heh, sorry, hoss." He was quick to bend and get it, and even quicker to start the beat in his head again as he bobbed his head and surveyed the scene of the Ritz-Carlton. Some olds, some biz bros, and...he smiled, giving a head's up nod to a fox in a red dress. Her face twisted at the sight, and he felt himself tense, but chuckled it off, "Married chicks, oops." 

There was no ring on the woman's hand. 

"Nice car."

"Thanks," was the instinctive response as he headed in for the steak house, before he turned his head and saw the person who had said it. He stopped, his smile becoming more of a Brad Pitt half-smile, in his head. Red dress had been a fox, the woman who stood next to the door, waiting on something or someone, was something else entirely: she was super model hot. Wavy brown hair that shined in the overhead light, the dress she wore was tight...like, [i]tight[/i], a cool chick's kind of black leather jacket on over it from the waist up, those kind of hot high heels that were all straps and a diamond buckle, dangly glittery earrings, whatever kind the woman called those. She looked like she didn't wear makeup. Maybe a little, but not a lot, or anything. "You know, it's just my ride. I was gonna go Porsche, but...American-made kinda guy." His brain corrected immediately, "American-made man, type."

"C8 Z06?"

He...blinked, "Uh, yeah."

The hottest grin he'd ever seen spread across her lips. "6,300 rpm, LT6 engine, double overhead camshaft, flat-plane crank...hell of a machine. Not too much for you?"

It took him a second, but just barely, his brows slanting as his features matched the expression of his words, "Shhiiiiit, no way, American-made man."

Her eyes twinkled, her mouth full of perfect white teeth starting to curl into a smile along the corners. Her dental hygiene looked immaculate. She was totally into him, the car definitely worked, he told himself. "The custom plate?"

"Oh? Hell yeah, Board Certified. I'm, uh..." He lowered the volume of his voice, as not to flaunt it, "I'm a Doctor. A Dental Doctor." She laughed, because he was putting on his humorous charm. 

"Good luck in there, Board Certified."

"You know it," he said, even though, he wasn't sure why he said it as he walked in. Probably should have said something else? Like...I'll talk to YOU later. Maybe, see you later for a ride, honey. Instead he floated towards the elevator, and floated out to the steakhouse entrance, ready to get his date started. He got there first, grabbing the table, sending Heather a text through the dating app, and ordering himself a drink. One drink, some fancy bread to start with, a table with a line of sight on the hostess podium for when Heather came in. 

Two drinks. Another basket of bread. Two more texts through the dating app, none answered. "Way to go, Donnie." He ordered a steak, medium rare, not even sure why? Did he even like medium rare? Wasn't that just what they all ordered in the movies? He soured more than the third drink, the whiskey sour, and paid the bill, ignoring the overly nice waiter, who was just being nice because how lousy Donnie's night had become. The energy and the music were gone, his shoulders slumped, and he was pretty sure he'd have pit stains the next day. The refuge was the hotel bar, and the fourth whiskey. 

"Hey Board Certified." 

His heart leapt out of his chest at the very smell of her; like wildflowers, but sweeter, softer. Warmer. He forced energy and a smile on his face, "Oh, hey. I just came for a drink after my, uh, business dinner. Y'know, Doctor things." The look of her, the purse in her hand, fact she had been walking for the door... "You headed home? Night's just getting started. Could go for a ride?"

Her grin made him feel like he was on fire. In a good way. "Yeah? How many drinks is that for you, Doc?"

He forced himself to laugh, "Hey, I can handle my whiskey, little lady." [i]Little lady? What the hell was that, Donnie?"[/i] But...she was considering it? She watched him for what felt to him like an eternity, obviously considering the ride. "Could be fun, yeah?"

Her eyes looked up, bounced to the left, then the right, as she considered. "Better idea. I'm headed up to my room, but I'm definitely looking for a ride."

[i]What?[/i] "What?" He swallowed, hard, "I mean, yeah, let's have a..." What would Bond say? "...nightcap."

He paid the bill for the fourth whiskey, and downed it, quick, worrying anew about the pit stains he knew were there. They were half-way into the finer details of his being a five star reviewed Dental Doctor on Google when she slid the key in and out of the lock to her suite door, opening it to allow him in. He floated in and turned the corner to the main room, before just...blinking.

"What the fu...?" The man wore black tactical pants, boots, and a long sleeve shirt as he sat in the chair across the main sitting room of the suite, the gun across his lap the most obvious thing that he saw. 

"Donald Trask?"

He turned to look at the woman he never even got the name of, only to be met with blackness as something hard as steel hit the back of his head from behind, the last thing he remembered seeing was the carpeted floor of the suite rushing up to fill his vision before it all went dark.