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“Four. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I promise her. I hang up and gulp back the coffee. I have some groveling to do, and I’m prepared for it. Better still, I have a plan.
18
First we eat, then we do everything else.
M. F. K. Fisher
Sebastian:
As soon as I wake up Saturday morning, I text Daniel. ‘Lunch at one?’ I ask, sending him the address of a Hell’s Kitchen eatery that Helen’s told me about. I’m going to tackle two birds with one stone. Taste the cooking of a talented chef that Helen thinks we should hire, and chew Daniel out at the same time. Perfect.
His reply comes instantaneously. ‘See you there.’
So he’s up. Knowing Daniel, I’m assuming he slept like shit, and he’s already formulating a plan to make amends. That’s good.
Last night, in the cab, I realized something. I like Bailey, and I find her intriguing. Some of the things she’s done - living in Siberia for a year, doing field research in the jungles of Indonesia, trekking through North Africa in search of stories of the Silk Road - absolutely amaze me. She’s in her late twenties or in her early thirties, but she’s already crammed in so much travel, so much living and adventure into her life.
If my cock could talk, I’d be hearing an earful about the case of blue balls I was left with after Daniel decided to be an idiot. Even now, thinking about the taste of her, the way her soft creamy thighs had fallen open as I’d pleasured her with my mouth…
Damn it. We better fix this. Because I definitely want to see Bailey Moore again.
* * *
“This is an out of the way spot,” Daniel looks up as I walk in.
“My kitchen staff cannot stop talking about this place,” I tell him as I pull up a chair. “They tend to be a jaded bunch. If they are excited, I want to know why.”
The place is small and tired-looking. The wooden tables are weathered and worn, and each one has a dented metal lamp on it. Faded beaded curtains hang on the wall, completing the Arabian Nights theme. My lips twitch. The restaurant is called Aladdin's Lamp, and the decorator has not been subtle. It’s very kitschy.
“You fucked up last night.” My words are direct. Daniel’s my best friend, and I don’t need to tread tentatively with him.
“I’m quite aware,” he grimaces. “My mother’s already yelled at me.”
I grin at that. “Has she?” Daniel’s mom is quite the firecracker.
“Oh yes.” He shakes his head. “She told me I was brought up better.”
“Yeah.” I’m going to say more, but the pretty waitress behind the bar comes over to us at that point, her notepad at the ready. “Hello, my name is Piper,” she says. “Can I get you something to drink?”
We order beers, and she walks away. When she’s out of earshot, I look at him. “She’s right,” I tell him. “I’m concerned for you.”
“Why?” His voice is tight with tension. With anyone else, I might take that as a warning sign to tread lightly, but my concern for Daniel outweighs my caution.
“Because…” I think through my words, trying to find the best way of expressing my worries. “The version of you that I met in that greasy diner thirteen years ago would have never even thought that Bailey might go to the press. What the fuck is wrong with you, Daniel? She’s an assistant professor at NYU. She’s as ambitious in her career as you are in yours and as I am in mine. You think she doesn’t know how to be careful on keeping her sex life private?”
He hunches his shoulders. “I am a dick.”
“A little bit, yes.”
“A lot.” He lifts his head up. “The moment I said those words last night, I was horrified. Not just because Bailey was hurt, and not just because you were shocked. I did something that I swore I’d never do.” He sighs. “When my father wanted to marry my mother, my grandfather threatened to cut him off and never speak to him again. My mother was not from the right social set.” He makes a face. “My grandfather told my dad that the future of the family company rested on him, and his focus should be on that.”
