Chapter Twenty
Dinner For Two (Wine For Two Hundred)
Jordan smiled. As always, everything here was perfect. It should be, this was the most exclusive restaurant in Haven. Classical music filtered through the candle-lit dining room as the uniformed wait staff moved silently across the deep plush carpets, making sure every guest’s evening was perfect.
Jordan raised his champagne glass to toast Charlotte from across the heavy oak table. “To Tchaikovsky’s,” he said with a smile. This was probably the best restaurant in the state and certainly the most expensive. She raised her glass and clinked his carefully, as if she were worried she might chip the crystal.
She looked fabulous, wearing a cream lace dress with a long row of tiny buttons up her back to the nape of her neck, but clearly, she felt intimidated. As it was, she got flustered at the server pulling out her chair and then her eyes just about bugged out of her head when she looked at the menu. He wished the old-fashioned system of handing a woman a menu without pricing was still in vogue. He’d wished that before with Lauren, funnily enough, but for the opposite reason—she would scan the prices to find the most expensive item and order it. He didn’t mind paying for the meal so much as the underlying mercenary attitude it belied.
Charlotte did the opposite, choosing onion soup followed by asparagus hollandaise, very blatantly the two cheapest items on the menu. And he knew she wasn’t vegetarian; he’d seen her tucking into her Maria’s albondigas last night without any compunction. She was clearly a woman who enjoyed her food, thank goodness. He leaned forward and tapped her menu, trying to take it away. “Are you sure you won’t share the Chateaubriand with me? It’s my favorite dish here.”
She kept ahold of the menu, looking through the items until she found it. She went pale. “I don’t think so,” she said, her eyes wide.
“That’s the price for two,” he said, “and I can’t have it unless you do. And a lady never looks at the price.”
She winced at that. He made up his mind. “We’ll have that. How do you like your steak?”
She gave him an exasperated look and then gave in. “Medium-rare, please.”
“Perfect, me too.” He signaled for the waiter without arguing with her about the appetizer. He didn’t want her to feel like she had no choice. But no way was he taking Charlotte to the best restaurant in town for her to nibble on asparagus.
Clearly, she didn’t have any top-end clients or else she’d be wined and dined in restaurants like this all the time. He felt oddly relieved to know that she didn’t.
As always, she looked spectacular. She didn’t look out of place, she just needed more confidence. She’d get used to it.
Not that it was anything to do with him. He was just enjoying taking her out to a nice meal, that’s all. Oh, and giving her an engagement gift.
“I brought you a present,” he said. “Since you aren’t getting a new dress for the party.”
“I don’t need a new dress.”
He rolled his eyes and held out a jewelry box. “You can wear this, though.”
She looked nervous as she opened up the box. As she pulled out the necklace she gasped. It was a vintage diamond choker with a Pyrus Chandelier—beautiful, round, brilliant cut stones set in teardrops of rose gold.
He hadn’t bought it for her. That would be wildly inappropriate. He truly wasn’t interested in buying her attention—at least, not any more than he was already committed to. The necklace had originally been for Lauren, an attempt to keep her happy. That was shortly before she dumped him and he never gave it to her. It had been gathering dust ever since, locked up in his Haven safe. So, there was no harm in giving it to Charlotte. It didn’t mean anything. He just thought it would look beautiful around her neck.
Charlotte carefully put the necklace back into the velvet-lined box and handed it back to him. “I can’t wear that.”
“Why not! Don’t you like it?”
“It’s amazing. But I make it a practice not to wear anything that is worth more than everything I own put together.”
He furrowed his brow, not understanding her problem. “But I gave it to you.”
She rubbed her wrist and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but I couldn’t possibly.”
“I’m not offended. I bought it for someone else a long time ago and it’s just been sitting in the box. The cost isn’t the point. I just thought you’d like it.” He scowled, trying not to imagine the diamonds glittering against her bare neck, dangling low into her cleavage. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“No, I figured.” She placed the box in front of him.
Did she look disappointed? No, that was much too emotional for Miss On-The-Job. She always sounded super calm and collected. He longed to see what she’d be like if she lost control. He wondered how her face might blush if she got seriously angry. Then he imagined her head thrown back, crying out his name in ecstasy. Christ. Where did that come from?
He shoved the box into his pocket. “Red wine or white?” And then he felt bad for sounding gruff. It was just that he was amazingly bad at making sense of Charlotte. He thought she’d love the necklace but she went all cold, as if he’d done something wrong.
He was grateful when she changed the subject. “Do you always work weekends?”
“Usually. The problem is, everything kicks off on Monday mornings. Even when I’m in the office, there’s always a dozen things that need my attention and I’ll be on the phone most of the morning. If I don’t read the departmental reports now, I’ll never see them, which means those people who do the most planning and are organized enough to report to me in a timely fashion get ignored until it turns into a crisis, at which point they are on the phone needing an answer immediately. It’s a vicious circle and it’s directly caused by bad management.”
She smiled at him. “I thought you’d be all buy-buy-buy and focused on how to make more money.” She said the words with vehemence, as if she didn’t approve of making money. But that was just silly.
“Well, you have to keep an eye on the cash flow at all times, otherwise you don’t have a company to manage. It’s a lot of work though.” Truth was, he was tired. The past year had been constantly on the go and he longed for a break.
His exhaustion must have shown on his face. “You need help,” she said. “I would if I could.” She sat up straight. “I could do filing. There’s all those big wooden filing cabinets in the office.”
“Those are my fathers. My files are all electronic. I’ve been trying to get the office to go paperless, but it isn’t easy.”
“Would that save a lot of money?”
“Not really. Paper is cheap and we already have the printers. No, it’s just the waste of it all. I hate seeing people print out reams of reports, manuals, even web pages—and then just throw it away after a day or two. And the other problem is, with an electronic archiving system, things get misfiled even more than they do in a drawer system. Instead of a couple of filing clerks, everyone keeps their own documentation which means everyone develops their own system. And it’s a lot easier to make sense of how a department is going wrong if there’s a paper trail.” He laughed, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s one of my pet obsessions.”
“Not at all. I totally get what you mean about a paper trail.” She sipped her wine, watching him under her lashes.
As the first plates of food arrived, he was glad to see she’d relaxed. Still, he thought, giving her a long look. It did seem odd that she wasn’t used to high-end restaurants. Maybe she wasn’t as popular an escort as Buddy had made out.
His eyes snagged on the odd little tattoo on her wrist. “Enough about me,” he said. “Tell me about Rufus.”