“What about adding a fruit basket? I feel like that’s something old money would appreciate.”
“Old money?”
“Yeah, those clutch-your-pearls-someone-is-streaking types. Really any rich people, but especially the old fashioned ones. Though I think the big thing with L.A. rich are those breakable chocolate boxes with the tiny hammers. Scented Acres is in that area, right? Those might be last season’s trend though. We may want to ask Greta in marketing. She seems up on that kind of thing. Always has a tabloid of some kind with her morning coffee.”
My voice trails off after my rambling and I pinch my lips between my teeth to keep from continuing. Noah raises an eyebrow.
“Tiny hammers?”
“Yes! I don’t think they actually eat them, which is a shame. But it’s a whole thing. You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never seen one. They were all over my social feed last month.”
“I’ve seen them. I think I might have received one once. I want to say it was an invitation of some kind.”
“See! I’ve got to know: was it good chocolate?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t eat it?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?”
Noah laughs again, his gray eyes drinking in my astonishment as he answers. “I don’t really eat sweets.”
“Ooooh,” I say, dragging out the sound. “I see. You’re one ofthose.The green juice, no chocolate. It all makes sense.”
He raises his eyebrows, expectant and I sit up a little taller.
“You know, the fitness model types who don't pollute their body withtrans fats or sugar.”I wiggle my fingers, like I’m telling a scary story. “I suppose I should’ve guessed as much. You do fasted cardio too, don’t you?”
“Whoa, whoa,” he says, raising his palms in defense. “I eat those things, but only if it’s worth it—only if it’s the best version.”
“Is there some kind of elite, name brand trans fats I don’t know about? Because I want in on those.”
“No, not elite. Just the best. Why would I settle for a mediocre version of something when I have the means to acquire the best?”
“Because it’s delicious, you freak of nature.”
I expect him to laugh, but he’s too focused.
“Seriously—think for a minute. What’s your favorite food?”
I pout my lips out, feigning thought. “Pizza.”
“And if given the choice between the world’s best—or even closer, the city’s best pizza—and some chain brand like, I don’t know, Dominos, which would you prefer?”
“Dominos.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dominos has been there for me when times were tough. We have what you and your fancy-schmancy pizza wish you had.”
Noah rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me if I offered to buy you the city’s best pizza right now, you would ask me for Dominos.”
“You can bet your ass, I would.”
“And if I offered to fly you to Rome and have Italy’s best?—”
