Page 50 of A Little Moore Action
I’ve taken Bell to brunch at Boucherie in the West Village. I know, a little much, but it’s the best.
Now I’m thinking I should’ve gotten her an Egg McMuffin and called it a day.
“What’s wrong?” Campbell’s hand rests on my chest, her body given no choice but to curl into mine, what with my arm pulling her close. We’re waiting behind a trio of young women at the hostess stand who are blocking Campbell’s view of the restaurant, but not mine.
“Nothing. It’s fine.” And it is, for the moment. Between two topknots, I can just make out my brother who, unfortunately, is facing our way. “Maybe we should go someplace else.”
“Really?” Bell blinks up at me. “But you were so excited when I said I’d never been here. You said you wanted to show me something new.”
Our limited cover is blown when the hostess grabs three menus and herds the women to their table.
I turn my back on Thomas, trying to shield us from sight. “I know, but—”
“Chase?”
Fuck. I hang my head for a moment before surrendering to the inevitable and facing my brother. Thomas, eyebrows together, constant frown in place, is looking up from the table, fork and knife poised above his plate. My mother swivels in her seat toward Bell and me.
I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes off as more of a grimace.
Thomas smiles his stupid, annoying, charming smile. “Itisyou.”
He can’t just wave or acknowledge my presence with a nod and move on, like he’s done our whole lives. No. The bastard has to get up, take the time to place his napkin on his chair, push said chair in, then murmur a polite “excuse me” to our mother and walk over.
It’s like he’s doing a play-by-play of how to be a smarmy, obnoxious douche-hat.
“How are you?” His hand is out, and if I don’t shake it,I’lllook like the douche-hat.
Reluctantly, I release my hold on Campbell to shake his hand.
Brothers. Shaking hands. We are so damaged.
“Fine.”
He glances at Campbell, then back to me. Internally, I sigh. Externally, I smile and make introductions.
“Campbell, this is Thomas Moore.”
She glances back and forth, as if trying to figure out the dynamic. “Your brother.” She states, like she’s unsure given our demeanor. When I nod, she extends her hand in greeting. “I recognize you from the photo in Chase’s office.”
He shoots me a quizzical look. “Photo?”
Great. Don’t want the bastard thinking I’m sentimental or anything. “Just leftover stuff from Stan.”
“Oh.”
He looks disappointed. Probably hoping to sniff out some weakness so he can convince me to sell the company.
“Mr. Moore?”
Thomas and I both turn to the hostess desk where a young woman holds two menus.
“Mr.ChaseMoore?”
I take a slight step forward, making sure to grab Bell’s hand.
The young woman smiles. “Your table is ready.” She tilts her head in the opposite direction of Thomas’s table, thank God. “If you’ll just follow me.”
“Sure—”
