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“What are you going to do, Frances?”
“I’m not sure. Find out if Robert Morgan is going to sell the property to Sterling.”
“And if that’s what they’re planning? You can’t stop them. I don’t know what that’s called, but you don’t work for Crawford anymore, you work for Sterling. You got to decide, where do your loyalties lie?”
I wasn’t sure yet, but I would find out tomorrow night.
21
Frances
Wall sconces and candles lit the restaurant. A man played the piano at the back while the aroma of food sizzling on a grill greeted us when we walked in.
“Bonjour, Madame. Bonjour, Monsignor Morgan,” said the host when we approached the podium.
After looking around the room, Paul addressed the host. “Bonjour, Pierre. We have a reservation for seven this evening.”
“Bien sûr.” The man checked the large book in front of him and scratched a pencil across the page.
“Follow me. We set a table near the back, as you requested.”
Patrons filled every seat inside the restaurant, leaving only one empty table left after we claimed ours.
“May I take your coat, Madame?” the host asked me.
“I think I’ll keep it a little while longer. I’m still a bit chilled.”
I decided on the black shift dress I’d worn on my first day as Colton’s PA. I should have brought my sweater, though.
“Have you ever been to Chez Jacques?” asked Paul, opening the menu in front of him.
“Never,” I admitted, following suit. “Oh. Everything’s in French. How wonderful.” I groaned inwardly.
Paul chuckled. “I felt the same way the first time I ate here, too. Shall I order for both of us?”
“I’ll just have the chicken,” I said, and closed the menu.
A server appeared shortly afterward, a bottle in hand. “I’ve brought you your usual, Monsignor Morgan. Shall I pour?”
“Do you like red wine, Frances?”
“I do.”
He waved the server forward to pour and swished the wine in his glass before taking a sip. “Lovely. You may proceed,” he said.
As I watched the waiter pour my drink, Paul cleared his throat. “So, tell me, why did you text me the other day? I admit, I was surprised to hear from you, but flattered nonetheless.”
“We’re just going to get right to it?” I asked and took a large sip of the wine.
“I didn’t think this would be the difficult part,” he said, tilting his head. He had gelled back his blonde hair tonight and he wore a jacket with his dress shirt but no tie. He looked good. But I wasn’t attracted to Paul.
“I wanted to speak to you, privately,” I explained.
“I like where this is going.” He smiled and raised his glass. “To new beginnings.”
“Ah, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.” I picked up my glass and clinked it with his. “I was going to wait until dessert, but perhaps it’s best if we have this discussion first.”
“This sounds serious,” he said, but softened his remark with a smirk.
