Page 26 of Champagne Fizz

“That’s cause you’re a professional.”

“A professional with Hart,” I jibe, making fun of my own company name. He raises an eyebrow and nods his head in approval.

“Okay, but what if this was a date?” Simon asks, leaning against the bar as his smile hooks with mischievousness. “What would you order then?”

Lady Lada ishonestlydoing the cha-cha right now.Pick the naughtiest thing on the menu, she’s instructing.Sexy Clark Kent wants to get to know you better.

“You know what,” I assert, brushing my curls off my neck. “You’re going to have to ask me out on a real date if you want to know the answer to that question.”

“Am I?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be talking about Arie and survival strategies?” I plead, desperately trying to change the subject and get us back on course.

“What are you doing at nine?” Simon asks, pulling out his phone and pulling up his calendar app.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I have this business meeting at eight,” he explains, turning the screen in my direction so I can seeWeddings With Hartscheduled on the app. “Of course, that meeting is going to be totally boring. I’ve got to talk to this wedding planner who absolutely hates me and my restaurant.”

“Not entirely true,” I interject, to which I earn a slight nod of appreciation.

“But I’m free after that,” Simon continues with his charade. “In fact, let’s make it eight thirty and then I can bail on that nightmare of a meeting.”

“Nightmare?”

“Oh gosh, yes,” he lays it on thick. “I mean, can you imagine Flambé covered in doilies, and yellow ribbons, and dump trucks of rhinestones? Arie would have a heart attack.”

“Ned would have a heart attack,” I clarify. “No rhinestones and glitter at his wedding.”

“True,” Simon agrees. “But Olivia will probably worship at your feet if you covered the sand in glitter as she walked down the aisle.”

“That’s horrible for the sea creatures,” I defend. “No glitter in the sand.”

“Yes, but what the bride wants, the bride gets.”

“Is that what you think of me?” I ask, picking up a drink coaster and tossing it at him. “Do you really think I’m going to design some froufrou 90s ruffle suits and shoulder pads shrine to hideousness?”

“That’s what Arie is expecting.”

“Why?!”

Simon nods to my clothing.

“Because of one yellow suit?!” I exclaim.

“Didn’t Sue Blade teach you that you are your brand?”

“And now you’re going to trash Sue Blade again?”

“Maybe a little.” He gives me a cheeky grin.

“You know what?” I push my stool back and stand up. “It looks like you won’t need to wait until eight thirty for someone to bail you out of this meeting, because this nightmare is going to end it right now.”

“Great,” Simon says, not missing a beat. “Are you free for that date at”—he looks at his watch—“Eight twenty three?”

“You think I’d go on a date with you after everything you just said?” I motion to his nonchalant posture and unfazed need to insult me.

“Actually, I don’t date people I work with,” Simon says, completely throwing me for a loop.

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