Page 60 of It Hurts Me
ASTRID
Theo let the valet take the Range Rover, and we stepped into the restaurant, the place covered in black wallpaper, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The lobby had waiters presenting hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne like it was an event rather than a restaurant.
Theo walked up to the host stand. “Table for two, please.”
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.
“No.” Theo looked at her like that didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We’re fully committed.”
“Trust me, it’s fine.”
Did he own this place too?
“Sir,” she repeated with more attitude. “I said we’re fully committed.”
“Anna, it’s fine.” The woman I’d met at the restaurant a couple weeks ago came to the front, dressed in all black with heels, looking like a supermodel once again. “Hey, Theo.” She smirked as she looked at him. “No reservation, huh?”
He smirked back. “Thought my sister could help me out.”
She did a quick scan in the computer. “Are you fine with a small table?”
“You know I’m not picky.”
She spoke to the hostess. “I’ll have the guys grab a table and chairs from the back. Seat them in section twelve.”
“Sure thing,” the hostess said without a hint of attitude now.
“It’ll be just a few minutes,” Scarlett said before she stepped aside at the counter and opened a binder. She snuck a look at me, and when I caught her stare, she smiled. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too.” I smiled back.
Theo put his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the congestion of the entry. A few moments later, our table was ready, and Theo took the lead and pulled out my chair when we arrived.
The table was small and tucked into a corner, but it was definitely quieter.
Theo glanced at his menu for two seconds, as if that was all it took to find what he wanted.
“You like this place?”
“I love it.”
“This is the first restaurant you’ve taken me to that you don’t own.”
“Guess it’s time I stop being cheap.” He gave a slight smirk before it disappeared.
The waitress came over, and he ordered an old fashioned.
I ordered a glass of wine.
Then it was just the two of us again. “You know what you’re getting?”
“The chicken. I had it a couple nights ago and haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
I immediately pictured him at dinner with some other woman he’d taken out to eat. She wore a skintight black dress like Scarlett and drank scotch like a man. But then I remembered he said he didn’t take women out to dinner, and I realized my jealousy had reared its ugly head out of nowhere. “I’ll have to try it.”
“Get something else, and we’ll share.”