CHAPTER NINE
The ice in my drink clinks against the glass as my hand catches on the deep red tablecloth when I put my cloth napkin in my lap. I can’t remember the last time I ate in a restaurant that had cloth napkins.
The whole place screams money. From the dim lighting illuminating the space below us from a crystal chandelier to the open glass view from the windows we’re next to. Through the window the city’s lights slowly trickle on as twilight turns to night. My head swims. A few quick blinks don’t alleviate the problem so I pull my head away from the window and high view. Why do rich people want to be so damn high? Do they enjoy the fantasy of looking down on the peasants from high atop their castle restaurants?
My own knight, known for his skill with a sword in a video game rather than real-life sits across from me. The small, thin menu held in front of his face blocks my view of his blue eyes. You’d think rich people would want more options in their dining experiences, but he seems fine with the limited choices. Tonight’s meal at The High-Top Restaurant is not the same as our first night of pizza.
Grant and I have had a great week together. We’ve gotten along. I’d almost begun to consider him normal until he brought me to this ghastly restaurant. There’s been no more talk of buying me a car. And even though I spent the night in his hotel room twice this week, he hasn’t been pushy.
Well, he’s Grant, so he’s always a little demanding, but I haven’t wanted to kick him in the shins lately. It’s an improvement.
It was nice.
Until this unexpected and outrageous meal. They don’t even list prices on the menu. I didn’t realize restaurants like this existed. I thought they only happened in movies. Don’t people want to know how much they’ll end up paying for the food they shovel in their faces?
It doesn’t make sense to me, but I’m trying to remain positive. Grant has been sweet. I was able to successfully bow out of girls’ brunch last weekend. Instead of eating burritos on the couches at Cosmo’s, I let Grant buy Drew and me pancakes from our favorite diner. Grant and I ate ours in bed while Drew stuffed his face as he ran out the door citing more family issues for his boss.
It was the first time I’d missed brunch where Marissa replied she fully supported the excuse. Then she talked me into attending the next girls’ brunch, tomorrow, and I promised I’d be there.
“What are you going to order?” Grant asks placing the menu on the table.
“I have no idea. There are no prices?”
Grant laughs. “That way you order what you want, regardless of price. Or in your case the cheapest item on the menu.”
I scowl at him, my lips pinched together. How did he figure out my plan? Grant’s words sayorder whatever you want, but does he mean it? Or is it like the time my mom promised me a fun day at the wharf, but then everything was too expensive? If I accidently eat a fifty-eight-dollar salad, will he freak out?
Most of the dishes I’ve never heard of and the descriptions don’t help. But under the steak section is one dish I recognize. It’s also guaranteed expensive. Everyone knows filet mignon is pricey and the shrimp topping is sure to set Grant back. I guess I’ll find out if he’s true to his word. With Grant’s words in mind I peruse the menu finding other options I’ve heard of before.
Our waitress returns to the table in her cute all-black outfit, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. She probably makes more in tips here than I do working at the center, but unlike me she spends all day kissing rich people’s asses. Her job is definitely harder.
“Have you decided on a selection tonight?” she asks.
Oh I’ve decided on selections. That’s for sure.
I order a starter salad, a small cup of soup, the shrimp topped filet mignon steak, and finish with a molten lava dessert cake. The entire time I’m ordering my eyes never leave Grant. I watch for a small give in his facial expression. Any display he’s upset or reached his limit.
He doesn’t flinch.
When I’m finished he orders a similar steak, but leaves off the add-ons. Grant finishes and I watch the waitress walk away, my mouth hanging open.
“How much do you think our meal will cost you?”
Grant shrugs. “I have no idea. I’m not worried.”
He might not be worried, but I am. Why didn’t he stop me? “I can’t possibly eat it all.”
“I’m sure even The High-Top does doggie bags, Clare. You can take it home for a snack.”
Has he gone mad? I’m pretty sure filet mignon is not something you heat up in the microwave and have for a snack the next day.
“I shouldn’t have ordered the cake.”
“Of course you should have. If you want cake, you order the cake. We could order another and take it home for Drew.”
I never get dessert at restaurants. They are always overpriced. Seven dollars for a slice of chocolate cake? It’s outrageous. I could buy a whole cake for that at the grocery store.
“Stop freaking out. I signed paperwork for new deal we just finished negotiating today. Tonight it’s a celebration and I want to bring my girlfriend out and spoil her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
