I put my napkin on my lap. “Sorry. I didn’t plan to be late. It’s genetic.”
Mia raises her brows at me. “Genetic…”
I nod and pass her a menu. “You know how some people run hot?”
“Yeah…”
“I run late.”
She laughs, pushing her bracelets back, then opening her menu. “That’s not a thing.”
“Then there’s a worldwide clock conspiracy against me.”
She stares at me over the top of her menu.
“What? It’s true. It doesn’t matter how early I start getting ready. I’m always late.”
“Uh-huh. I think your problem has another name.” Her eyes scan the menu items.
“And what’s that?”
Her gaze flicks to me. There’s a pause before they return to the menu. “Never mind.”
I chuckle and reach a hand over, pulling the menu down to the table. “You know I can’t just let that go. Come on, Mia. What were you going to say?”
She meets my gaze. “It’s bad manners to insult the person paying for your dinner. For the record, I came fully intending to pay for myself, but the fact that there are no prices on here tells me my card will probably be declined, and call me crazy, but I’dlove to leave this place with at least a smidgen of my pride intact.”
“AndI’dlove to hear what you were going to say my problem is.”
She hesitates.
“Bring it on,” I say, grinning. “I can handle it.” You don’t get where I am without hearing just about every insult in the book.
“Fine,” she says. “Narcissism.”
I tip my head back and laugh.
Unamused, she pulls her menu out of my hand and raises it again. “Case in point.”
Jennifer returns to take our orders, and I wait curiously to hear what Mia’s going to get, fully anticipating it’ll be the most expensive thing on the menu just to spite me.
“I’ll have the side salad,” she says, folding her menu and smiling politely at the waitress.
I stare, but Mia’s busy rearranging—very unnecessarily, I might add—the utensils next to her plate. She ordered arguably the cheapest item on the menu. It’s not even an entrée. It’s an afterthought.
No, worse. It’s one of those things you order to make you feel healthy, and then it gets cleared from the table, untouched.
The waitress clears her throat, and I pull my gaze from Mia. “And for you, sir?” she asks.
I pause. “I’ll have the beef Wellington. And the Wagyu ribeye. Oh, and the cheese platter.”
Mia glances at me as the waitress takes my menu and leaves. “You weren’t lying about being hungry.”
“Shall we talk business?” I ask.
“By all means.” Mia leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands and looking at me expectantly. “Let’s hear the sales pitch.”
I mimic her so our faces are a foot apart. “The tour is three weeks. First performance is March 21st. It starts in Prague andends in London, with stops in between in Germany, Italy, and France.”
