Vivian's Table Novels & Stories

She smiled broadly at me. “Good evening, I'm here under the reservation for Vivian Moreau.” I immediately addressed, She punched into a computer. “Yes. She's at table six. Someone will walk you in.” She responded, Another lady walked up to me, and I was led towards the table. As I approached them, I noticed Scarlett and Vivian. Vivian's face was buried in the tab, but her spine was straightened, and her legs, crossed. She inspected the list strictly, while Scarlett seemed to be toying with her finger nails.

Vivian giggled, delighted by his sudden display of passion. In one swift motion, Liam lifted Vivian and placed her on the sturdy wooden table. Her legs dangled over the edge, and she eagerly spread them wide, inviting him to explore. Her robe fell open, revealing her bare breasts and the lacy black panties that barely covered her moistening vulva. Liam's breath caught in his throat as he feasted his eyes on her body, thinking it was Arla his desire for her increased.

Inside, the low hum of chatter mixed with the clink of cutlery against porcelain. Vivian sat alone at a corner table, scrolling endlessly through her phone, her fingers moving without thought. Her table was bare except for a small leather bag resting on it, the zipper glinting under the soft lights. She had been waiting, though she pretended otherwise, crossing one leg over the other with a careless air.

My heels clicked too loudly on the polished floor, every step sounding like a countdown. “Just… don’t touch anything marked personal,” Perez murmured. “Vivian’s particular.” “I’m always particular,” I replied lightly. We were halfway down the corridor when Perez slowed. “Shit,” she whispered. I followed her line of sight. Vivian. She was standing at the far end of the hallway, tablet tucked under one arm, speaking to someone just out of view. Her posture was flawless. Controlled. The kind of woman who didn’t waste energy unless it served a purpose.

Once the meat was done grilling, everyone gathered around the tables to eat. There were two tables. Naturally, Charlotte, Sean, Ian, Jordan, Lena, and Mia sat at one. Vivian, her two friends, and Zac took the other. Just as Charlotte and Sean sat down, Vivian walked over carrying a bowl of something. She set it down right in front of Sean, leaning in so close she was practically pressed up against him. “Sean, I made this stew earlier,” Vivian said with a smile. “You should try some.” Sean subtly shifted closer to Charlotte, putting some distance between himself and Vivian. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he slid the bowl right in front of Charlotte.

She personally picked up the plumpest piece and tenderly fed it to Tyler. Tyler, completely absorbed in his excitement about the fortune coming his way, ate it without any suspicion. Vivian smiled as she watched him and asked softly, "Do you like it?" Tyler closed his eyes and smacked his lips. "Your cooking is always the best." Vivian suddenly started laughing. "Of course. This is the most contaminated oyster in the whole restaurant. I made sure it was loaded with all the bacteria and toxins from sitting out every bit of it just for you."

"Ten minutes. If you are not out by then I am coming in." I walked into the room. It smelled like flowers. That smell reminded me of my funeral. My heart skipped a beat. I kept walking. Ten women were sitting around a table. At the head sat Lis Brad. She looked very rich in a suit. Stacy was there too. She was sitting at the end and looked nervous. "Vivian you actually came " Lis Brad said. The other women went silent. They were watching me like hawks. "We were just talking about the archives. It must be so quiet and lonely there she said."

"Honey, hold on. I need to take this call." Julian's eyes lit up as he pushed me aside without hesitation. He quickly straightened his suit, his face showing a careful, almost eager anticipation—something I had never seen from him in all our years together. I stared at him, feeling as if I were looking at a stranger. "Vivi, what's wrong?" Julian answered, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. He smiled brightly, his entire demeanor softening. "Julian, my stomach hurts," Vivienne's weak voice came through the phone.

Inside, the quiet hum of the climate control system kept the air warm, rich with the faint scent of cedarwood, roasted chicory, and the sharp, clean bite of dry gin. Vivian sat at the polished walnut dining table, her dark wool coat draped over the back of her seat. She wore a high-necked cashmere dress of deep charcoal, her silhouette a picture of quiet, disciplined composure. Yet beneath her immaculate exterior, her pulse hummed with a low-frequency static. Her fingers rested near a bone-china tea saucer, motionless, while her dark eyes remained fixed on the long mahogany dining surface where a fresh stack of legal notices lay spread open under the warm glow of the chandelier.