Fool's Gold (Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

“I can look it up on my phone.” Probably. The battery wasn’t holding up real well after using the map feature all afternoon.

“It’s a couple blocks east of you. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“I can’t wait.”

The walk wasn’t bad, but the sidewalks were more crowded than ever. It was nearly as packed as Times Square, but all these people were intent on going somewhere. She slowed down as she approached City Hall and nearly got flattened by a woman in a business suit.

“Watch where you’re going,” the woman barked without looking.

“Sorry.” She was already gone. Victoria ducked across the flow of people and stopped between two planters. She tried to look for Trent, but there were a million men in suits, each more anonymous than the next.

After a few minutes of waiting, her phone buzzed again. “Look straight ahead. I’m in a cab.”

A gray-clad arm waved from a yellow sedan. Victoria waved back. “I see you.” She pocketed her phone and pushed her way through the crowd.

Trent pushed open the door and beckoned her inside. He dominated the cab like a king on his throne. Even at the end of a workday and in the backseat of a taxi, he looked amazing. His gray suit was immaculate and exactly the shade of his eyes. A broad grin cracked his slightly stubbled face. “How’s the city treating you?”

Victoria sat beside him. She smiled so wide it practically hurt. “It’s amazing. Overwhelming. So unlike Nebraska. I think Manhattan and Omaha have about as much in common as the Earth and the Moon.”

Trent chuckled. “You might be right. I called ahead to Les Havres. The one on Park.”

“What’s Les Havres?”

“A French brasserie. Tony Bordeaux’s place when he’s in town.”

“Ohhh.” Her eyes grew wide. “That sounds great.” The cab switched lanes, then swung around a corner, sending Victoria sliding across the seat into Trent. As he caught her and helped her sit up, she caught his scent. A touch of cologne, a dab of aftershave, the barest hint of sweat. It was like smelling the Platonic ideal of manliness. Between his scent and his touch, her stomach fluttered.

“Are you okay?” He patted her knee.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting the turn. I’m good.” She let her hand brush his thigh, feeling the contrasting softness of his suit and the hardness of his muscle. A shiver went through her. God, he was sitting in the back of a cab after a day at the office and he was sexy as hell. Why had she waited to move to New York?

The cab’s horn honked, then it pulled to a stop. “This is it,” the driver called back. He watched in the rear-view mirror as Trent swiped a credit card. “You need a receipt?”

“We’re good.” Trent pushed open the door and helped Victoria out to the sidewalk.

A hostess greeted them at the door. A long wooden divider ran down the middle of the restaurant, splitting it roughly in half. She was around Victoria’s age and Indian. “Welcome to Les--“

Trent cut her off. “Just two.”

The hostess narrowed her eyes, but grabbed menus and led them around the left side of the divider toward the tables without saying anything to get herself in trouble. Victoria admired her poise. To the right of the divider was the bar. About half the tables were already full, maybe thirty people total, their susurrus of conversation hanging in the air.

The lights were lower on the dining side, and it had a very intimate feel. When the hostess set their menus on the table, Trent pulled out Victoria’s chair and waited for her to sit.

Trent spoke without looking at a menu. “A bottle of the Château Lécuyer, Pomerol.”

“Very good, sir.”

It was wine, Victoria assumed, though she wasn’t sure what kind. It seemed odd that he’d order it straight from the hostess without waiting for a server, but he knew the restaurant better than she did.

Trent placed his jacket over the back of the chair, twitching the shoulders so it hung without a wrinkle. “I hope you like Bordeaux. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I do.” More or less. She was more of a margarita and daiquiri kind of girl, but what was the point of being in New York if you drank the same crap you could get in Nebraska?

Trent leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So how was your first day in the city? I’ve heard folks say it’s overwhelming the first time they visit.”

“It is. It’s beyond overwhelming. I can’t get used to the fact that there’s no sky. There’s so much to see, so much to hear, so much to
smell
.”

Trent laughed. “I bet. Omaha was sort of like that for me, but in reverse. I’ve been in the city all my life. My idea of a wide open space is Central Park, and then you’re sharing it with a thousand other people.”

“I went to Times Square earlier, and then down to Ground Zero. I still want to get up to Central Park and to the Statue of Liberty. And the Empire State Building.”

“Well, you said you’re out here for good, right?”

Victoria nodded.

“Then pace yourself.”

A pair of waitresses arrived with the wine. Both had burgundy aprons wrapped around their waists, white blouses and wide smiles. “Excellent choice on the wine, sir,” the older of the two said. She held forth the bottle, letting Trent inspect the cork. He waved it away, so she decorked it and poured a finger’s worth of wine into a glass.

Trent took a sniff, tested a sip, then nodded. “Very good.”

“Excellent.” The waitress poured two glasses while her assistant watched. “My name is Bethany and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Is there anything you have questions about or anything you’d like to get started?”

Trent ordered escargot. The waitresses complimented his choice and left without writing down the order.

“Order whatever you like.” Trent pointed to the menu. “The
Lapin à la Moutarde de Meaux
is wonderful.”

“Okay.” The menu wasn’t long, but everything in it looked good. It took her a moment to locate the
lapin
and determine that it was a rabbit with mustard sauce. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that expensive. She expected a Manhattan dinner to cost more. The expense probably came from the drinks.

“You alright?”

Victoria glanced up, meeting Trent’s frank gaze. She realized that she was frowning at the menu. “I’m good.” She smiled, trying to put him at ease. “It’s different than what I’m used to.”

He looked right through her, and it felt like he was gazing within her. “You said you’re staying with your friend from high school? Cheryl?”

“Christine. She went--“

“What part of the city is she in?”

“Queens.”

Trent’s easy smile faltered for a second, then corrected itself. “Interesting. She’s the musician, right? From the show we went to in Omaha?”

“Yeah, she sings for The Flaming Ravens. It’s rock, not jazz, though.”

“Speaking of jazz, I talked to my boy Dalton at the office. He says Birdland in Hell’s Kitchen is his favorite spot. You might check it out.”

“I have an audition lined up for this weekend, but that sounds good. Right now I just want to get to know some people in the music scene. Christine knows a few clubs, but they’re mostly rock.”

The waitresses returned with a basket of bread, then took their orders. Victoria went with the rabbit like Trent suggested. If he thought it was good, she might as well try it. He seemed pleased that she followed his suggestion.

Trent topped off her wine. “The bread is good. Not as good as the stuff Tony wrote about in
Restaurant Secrets
, but good.”

Victoria plucked a darker piece from the basket, feeling the rough texture between her fingers. Bits crumbled off onto the table as she raised it to her mouth. Trent was right: it was good. Rich. Warm. Yeasty.

“You like it?” Trent asked.

“Absolutely.”

“So I was going to get tickets to ‘Wicked’ tonight, but my concierge let me down. We can go try to find another show with open seats, if you want. Or I can just give you a tour of the town.” He presented them neutrally, and Victoria couldn’t tell which he’d rather do.

“Whichever you want. Either one sounds good.”

“How about the tour, then? Actually, you know what, how about we go up to the park? It’ll be cooler by the time we finish dinner. You said you wanted to see it, right? It’s gorgeous in the summer.”

Dinner and a romantic evening in the park? It was like a fairy tale. “Okay.”

The food came, and it was better than Victoria had imagined. The meat fell apart on the fork, the carrots and potatoes were cooked to perfection and the sauce had a wine and mustard flavor that seemed to dance on her tongue. Even after she finished the meat and vegetables, she used a hunk of the French bread to soak up the extra sauce.

“You like it, I take it?” Trent had left his food half eaten.

“It’s very good. I don’t think I’ve ever had French food before.”

“That’s something New York has on just about anywhere else in the world. We have food from every culture, usually only a block apart. And all of it’s amazing. It has to be or it doesn’t last.”

“I can believe it.”

The waitresses appeared again, this time with dessert menus. Trent ordered a
crème brûlée
and bananas flambé without asking for Victoria’s input, but she didn’t mind. He was the native. He knew what would be good.

Trent made small talk about the deal he was working, and the waitresses brought the dessert after only a few minutes. She set them in the table and left them with a pair of saucers and two spoons.

Victoria lifted her spoon, then paused. “Which is better?”

“The
crème brûlée
, usually.” Trent carved a chunk of banana from the flambé and took a bite. His nose turned up. “It’s adequate.”

Victoria poked her spoon through the sugary crust on the
crème brûlée
and scooped up some of the custard from beneath. It smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. Her mouth started to water as she raised the bite to her mouth. It tasted...

Terrible.

“What’s wrong?” Trent paused, his spoon poised above the
brûlée
.

Victoria grabbed her napkin and spit into it. “It’s sour.” She took a sip of wine to wash the taste from her mouth.

Trent caught a little on the edge of his spoon and sampled it. “You’re right. That’s disgusting.” He looked around the restaurant, spotted the waitress. “Hey miss!” He beckoned her over.

The elder waitress came over, her assistant trailing behind her. “What can I do for you? Coffee?”

“This is rancid.” He jabbed an accusatory finger at the bowl. “Take it away.”

Both waitresses’ eyes grew wide. “Of course, sir. Immediately. Can we bring you something else instead?”

“No,” Victoria blurted. She looked at Trent and blushed. “I don’t care for anything else. You can.”

Trent’s expression darkened. He turned to the waitress. “We’re finished. Bring me the check.” He slapped his credit card on the table.

“I’m sorry,” Victoria said. “I still have that taste in my mouth. More sugar doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s fine.” Trent pushed his dessert saucer away. “They should know better. I can’t believe they brought something like that to the table.”

The waitress didn’t come back. Instead, a jowly middle-aged man in a black suit and burgundy vest came over to their table. “Mr. Pearce, I’m very sorry. I have, of course, comped both desserts as well as the lady’s meal.”

Trent looked him up and down. “Thanks.” His voice was hard.

The manager, Victoria assumed he had to be the manager, took half a step back. He was practically shaking by the time Trent signed the receipt and collected his credit card.

Trent ignored him and rose, holding out a hand for Victoria. “Let’s find somewhere better for dessert.”

Victoria let him lead her to the front of the restaurant. She glanced back to see if the manager was okay, but he was already gone. Probably to berate the servers and the cooks and anyone else he could find.

“Is it a long walk to Central Park?” Victoria asked once they were outside.

“Walk?” Trent laughed. “We’ll take a cab.” He went to the curb and held up a hand. 

B
ETA 
couldn’t remember the last time a girl asked him to go on a date. Probably because it had never happened. And Charlotte wanted to pick him up. It was the weirdest thing he’d ever heard of, even it was with Victoria’s best friend. Maybe Charlotte would know how Victoria was doing in New York.

He took his time shaving, making sure he got every hair on his neck. If he wasn’t careful, they got ingrown and then they got infected and that was just a pain in the neck he wanted to avoid. He grinned at his own joke as he slathered on some lotion to help with the burn. He rolled deodorant under his arms, wincing at the sting. It took prescription strength stuff to keep him dry, and then he smelled like a New Orleans flophouse. Still, it was better than having sweat-soaked pits before they even reached the restaurant.

He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt when the doorbell rang. Chuckles was laying on the end of the bed, and he raised his head to look at the door, then quickly went back to his nap. Chuckles had been a pretty good cat since Victoria had dropped him off a month before. He hadn’t pissed on the carpet once.

Beta opened the door, then blinked. Charlotte looked
good
. Her blonde hair draped around her shoulders, and the skirt she wore hugged her wide hips like it was skin. She was bigger, thicker than Victoria, but he hadn’t really given her credit for how pretty she could be. “Uh, hey, Charlotte. You want to come in?”

Charlotte peeked around him, her eyes settling on Chuckles. “How’s the cat?”

Beta’s brow furrowed. “Huh? He’s good.” Chuckles was still snoozing. His new climbing tower sat in the corner. Sometime around sunset he’d wake up and go to town on it, but most of the time he just chilled.

“Then no, I don’t need to come inside.” She turned and started walking, forcing Beta to tug the door closed and hurry to catch up.

“You look nice,” Beta offered.

Charlotte ignored him. “I’m open to suggestions on food. As long as it’s not Appleburys.”

“I don’t know. I thought you--“

“No, I didn’t really plan this. It was a spur of the moment thing.”