“You’re suing me? Along with Elizabeth and her foundation?”
“Ah. That.”
“Yes. Ah. That.”
He opened his eyes. “You owe me a date which you refuse to honor—by failing to return my calls or texts to set up a time—despite the fact that I’ve upheld my end of the bargain by writing Elizabeth’s foundation a check for five hundred thousand dollars…which she has cashed. I was misled and defrauded.”
“Misled and defrauded? We’ve had all those dinners and outings together.”
“And? You never said any of them was the date you owed me for the bachelorette auction.”
“You. Are. Unbelievable.”
“But not unreasonable. I’m willing to drop it. All you have to do is agree to a date with me. Alone.” He wasn’t about to have Chad hanging around in the background.
“Or what?”
“‘Or what’ is, presumably, in your hand right now. There will be no settlement. I want my money back, plus interest and attorney’s fees.”
“Interest and attorney’s fees? Are you insane?”
He went on like she hadn’t spoken. “Every penny Elizabeth uses to defend herself and her foundation means one fewer penny for feeding hungry children and building schools for them.” He paused for dramatic effect. “A tragic outcome.”
He could almost hear her jaw creaking with anger. “Fine,” she said. “Lunch. Today. One hour.”
“Don’t be absurd. For half a million dollars, I deserve at least four hours of your time. And it’s going to be dinner, not some lousy lunch.”
“Absolutely not. I’m a working woman now. I can’t stay out late.”
“Don’t tell me OWM insists on a curfew now.”
“Of course not, bu—”
“We can do it on this Thursday. I’ll send you a car.”
“I don’t need a car.”
“Of course you do. You’ve been carpooling with Hilary. Now, stop fighting me on this.” He softened his tone. This battle wasn’t about defeating her. It was about both of them winning. “I want at least two hours of your time. If I bore you to death, you can leave afterward. The lawsuit gets dropped, and we can all pat ourselves on the back for doing our part to help the children.”
There was a long pause. “Do you know how ludicrous this is?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me on Thursday.”
“I want your promise in writing.”
“Done. Expect it by COB today.”
“What am I supposed to wear?”
“Dress comfortably. Be yourself.” He hung up before she could argue further, trying to find a way to foil him. He pressed the rounded corner of his phone against his forehead and let out a shuddering breath.
Step one was accomplished. Time for step two.
* * *
André stared at Mark, one hand still on the cutting board in Éternité’s kitchen. “Romance?” he said, continuing to hold a huge knife in the other.
Mark made a face. “Yes, if you can imagine Dane actually worrying about something like ambiance. It has to be the most romantic dinner ever.”
“Of course I can do romance. The most romantic romance! I am French. But why must I go to your brother’s place?”
“Because it’s my brother who needs the romance.”
The chef shook his head. “It is a joke, n’est-ce pas? ’E is romantic like…like…”—he rolled a thick wrist toward a slab of pork belly—“like the pig’s belly!” He paused for a moment. “But of course, I can make even the belly of a swine romantic.”
Mark almost rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can tell. Please can you do this for me on Thursday? Then I can finally tell Dane to go to hell next time he tries to squeeze a favor out of me.”
“Eh? What is it you owe ’im?”
“He got Hilary out of an unpleasant situation once.”
“I like your wife. Very well, I will do zis.”
“Merci. And since he’s paying for the ingredients, you should buy the most expensive stuff. I insist.”
“Mais bien sur. Cheap cannot be romantic. After I am through”—André pointed the tip of his knife at Mark—“’e will feel as though ’e owes you.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Half an inch to the right. A quarter of an inch forward.
Dane tilted his head. Still doesn’t look good. How many nudges did it take to place a vase just right?
Maybe he should’ve chosen something other than calla lilies as the centerpiece. They looked sort of boring, which was surprising because they’d seemed okay until about half an hour before. Pale lavender orchids might have been better with the five hundred scented candles he’d lit in the penthouse.