Page 8 of Filthy Rich

I make a strangled sound.

“She will not,” I say, shooting Lucien a glower. He doesn’t respond, but there’s a spark of something that looks suspiciously like amusement in his expression. “I’ll have the macadamia-crusted sea bass with quinoa, please, and the salted caramel tartlet for dessert. Oh, and the warm nuts. In about half an hour, if that’s okay. I don’t want to get hangry. Thank you.”

“I’m sure Cara would be happy to come back later for your dessert selection,” he says, looking startled and maybe a little impressed.

“Why risk it?” I say happily.

This time, there’s the appearance of a groove that could almost be a dimple along one side of his mouth. It’s definitely there. Not a smile, per se, but a hint of a smile to come at some point in the future. The sight of it makes me unreasonably happy. But then he clears his throat and turns away from me.

“Filet mignon,” he tells Cara. “Medium rare.”

“Perfect,” she says, leaving us again, but a new and unwelcome interruption immediately arrives in the form of Mrs. Hooper.

CHAPTER THREE

TAMSYN

“Don’t mind me,” Mrs. Hooper says in a sickly-sweet singsong, surveying the scene with her usual rampant nosiness.

I should’ve known she’d make an appearance. I’m surprised she managed to sit quietly in her seat for this long. Meanwhile, Lucien scowls, but that’s the kind of thing she never notices.

“I just came to say hello again, Lucien, and scold you for not mentioning that you were on your way to Barcelona with us. And to tell the flight attendant that I need another glass of wine and a pillow for my back because these first-class seats are so cramped and hard. Not like they used to be at all. And to remind Tamsyn that it’s almost time for my bedtime medication. I don’t want her to forget and accidentally kill me.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Mrs. Hooper,” I say, even though I’ve never forgotten a dosage of anyone’s medication my life. “But I’ve already got my alarm set to notify me like it does every single night, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Yes, yes, dear. Oh, and I see you’ve ordered the cheese plate and the caviar, Lucien,” she says. “And you too, Tamsyn? Such a lot of food! I thought about that, but then I decided on the?—”

“I never talk while eating,” he says, picking up his fork without looking at her. “Gives me indigestion.”

I choke back a laugh, but Mrs. Hooper looks mortified.

“Oh, you poor man,” she cries, pressing a hand to her heart as though he’s announced the receipt of some terminal diagnosis that makes feathers sprout from his orifices before death. “I had no idea. Let me know if you need a recommendation for a nice gastroenterologist. I’ve got someone near Columbus Circle. You’ll love him. Anyway, I’ll come back and catch up after dinner. Enjoy.”

And she scurries off.

“You’re a terrible person,” I tell him, unleashing my laughter as soon as she’s gone.

He makes an indistinct sound, his jaw tightening. “You have no idea. Try the caviar.”

I pick up my own fork, eager to dig in, but falter as soon as I register that approximately half of the local Whole Foods inventory is sitting on my plate. I recognize the caviar, of course, toast points and slices of both cucumber and red onion. But then I quickly find myself over my head. Are those little green thingies capers? Is that butter and sour cream? There are brown things that look like potato pancakes of some sort. Oh, and boiled egg slices.

I lower my fork in utter defeat.

What the hell am I supposed to do with all this?

“Start slow,” he says. “Pick one thing to spread with the caviar on toast. See which one you like best. I’d try the crème fraiche or butter.”

“I was going to,” I say, ears burning with a mild case of embarrassment. I get tired of being the Beverly Hillbilly of the group all the time.

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I totally wasn’t,” I say, laughing at the incongruity of my situation, because what else can I do? Pretend that this is my normal world? Who would believe it?

He shoots me a blink and you’ll miss it sidelong grin. It’s not much. Certainly not a whole smile or, God forbid, a laugh.

But it’s dazzling enough to send a spark of fire racing down my spine.

I blink myself out of my bedazzlement, follow his instructions and have my first bite of caviar. The salty pops of fishiness pair perfectly with the butter’s rich creaminess and the toast’s crunch, leaving me forever changed.

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