Page 20 of Torrid Passion
“Mr. Gallagher was able to buy ten cases of a rare Dom Perignon vintage,” Neal says.
“Larkin Gallagher owns the hotel,” I tell Kyla. “He’s a connoisseur and only buys the best.”
“I see.”
“The bottles were delivered this morning,” Neal continues. “Chances are we won’t have any left by Saturday night. Us bartenders sampled a bottle at lunch. It’s a beautiful champagne.”
I slide my gaze to Kyla and cock an eyebrow in lieu of a question.
“That sounds like a winner!” she says.
“Excellent!” Neal says. “It’s almost nine, Mr. Berkshire.”
I look down at my Vacheron Constantin watch. “You’re right.”
“Should I push back your reservation, or should I bring the bottle to your table?” Neal asks.
“Let me check with my date,” I say. I’m doing a pretty good job maintaining the rosy color I like so much on her cheeks. I know I’m embarrassing her, but I’m getting a kick out of it. “If you just got here, should I assume you haven’t had dinner yet?” I ask Kyla.
She shakes her head, a coy smile stretching her lips. “I haven’t.”
“If I recall correctly, you love a good steak?”
“You were paying attention.” If she only knew all the little things I remember about her.
“You were the one dragging me to the top restaurants in Paris every single day while I was there for steak frites.”
“Sorry. It’s my weakness,” she laughs.
“I have reservations at Charcoal. We might not be able to see the Eiffel Tower from our window seat, but they make a pretty kick ass steak. The hand-cut fries are pretty damn good as well and the seafood is outstanding. I could go on for days about the warm orange butter cake topped with a spoonful ofcrème anglaise—”
“Sold!”
