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“That sounds spectacular.” My eyes scan his suit once more. “It’s only fair that you should get to experience luxury, too, Ash. You look like a Bond, and a Bond boy only gets the best.”
“Bond? I like it,” he says, and we both chuckle.
When we arrive at the restaurant, I gasp. This is no pizza joint, not that I thought he’d wear a suit to grab a pizza. But this is one of the fanciest restaurants in Midtown. I know he feels bad for what happened, but this is too much.
I turn to face him before we get out of the car.
“La Grenouille? Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “I know you’ve always wanted to come here.”
He’s right. It’s been on my bucket list for a long time. Not that there aren’t better French restaurants in the area, but the ambiance is what calls to me. Rather than the trendy, uber-modern restaurants the rich and famous typically choose in this part of the city, I prefer the old-world style.
“Asher, you didn’t have to take me here. This is so expensive.”
His chin drops to his chest. “No. I did. I feel awful for what happened. I know a fancy restaurant won’t take that away, but I feel like you deserve to go somewhere nice and on Bauer’s dime while we’re at it.”
I snort. “Bauer, eh?”
He shrugs. “I’m wining and dining with a potential client.”
“Well, I don’t agree with that. Isn’t that kind of like stealing?”
“No, I’m serious. After what we did to steal a client, we kind of deserve it.”
“I’m not going to win this argument, but if that’s the case, what are we waiting for?”
He squeezes my hand as he helps me out of the back of the town car we rode here in.
It’s nice to have my best friend back.
“Asher,” I say, looking around in awe. “This is amazing.”
And I’m not lying. The restaurant is absolutely beautiful.
My eyes don’t know where to look. The gilded restaurant with pink walls and flowers that rival any I’ve ever seen is something out of a fairy tale. The photos online don’t do it justice.
We make our way to our table, and I look at Asher. A laugh bursts from my lips.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“This. I mean, it’s a far cry from our usual restaurant.”
“Hey, don’t talk badly about Pizza Sam,” Asher says.
Pizza Sam is a place we frequent for its incredible pizza as well as for its location in Queens.
“I would never talk badly about Pizza Sam. It’s only the best pizza place in the world. That’s right—the world!” I say, and we both chuckle. “But seriously, this is nice. Very nice.”
Asher orders us a bottle of wine, and when the server comes back and pours us each a glass, we toast to a good friendship.
We spend the evening dining on world-class food and the finest wine I’ve had in a long time. No expense is spared, and I wonder what Asher’s expense limit is. I don’t ask, even though I’m dying to know, because I don’t want to discuss work.
I know that the owner of Bauer is from a family legacy in the oil industry. Money isn’t an object for them. It never has been.
Not that it’s any different for Charles. He might not be an oil tycoon’s grandson, but he isn’t hurting for money. His father has been uber-successful in the United Kingdom. Then again, I know little about Charles’s family. For all I know, he’s a billionaire, too.
Charles.
