“Gold foil.” I shook my head. “That stuff does not get digested. It just passes right through you, and then you have gold-streaked—uh.”Oh my God. Talk about awkward comments! Dave was clearly my father. I just needed to steal his DNA. “Sorry,” I told Mark. “We probably shouldn’t talk aboutthatwhen we’re about to have caviar and fifty-dollar cocktails.”
“When were you eating gold leaf?” he asked.
“I do weddings for people with a lot of money and, unfortunately, sometimes very little taste,” I reminded him as the hostess led us to our table. It was right in the middle of the restaurant, where we could see everything that was going on. A plan had been formulating in my mind, and that plan required Mark to have very low visibility in the space.
“Is there a different table?” I asked the hostess. “One more private?”
“That one there by the corner is free. Just let me clean it off,” she offered.
“You want to sit back there?” Mark asked, brow furrowed.
“Maybe I want to give you a blow job,” I said to him.
“Dana will kill me if we get kicked out of here,” he hissed back.
The hostess directed us to the new table as I plotted how to get the DNA sample. Hair was out, because I couldn’t very well yank a strand out of his head. I needed his glass or a utensil.
Mark took the seat facing the dining room.
“Can I sit there?” I was starting to sweat. There was a reason I had become a seamstress and not an FBI agent.
Mark shrugged and held the seat out for me.
“I don’t know how I should decorate it,” Mark said idly, looking through the menu. “Maybe I should do the whole penthouse Harry Potter themed.”
Dave had been given a water glass and was sipping from it through a straw. Bingo.
“Maybe I’ll decorate each room like one of the Hogwarts common rooms,” Mark continued.
“Sounds like a plan.” Would the straw have enough DNA though? I didn’t have any other options.
“Are you even listening?” Mark asked.
“Be right back,” I told Mark. “I need to run to the restroom.”
I pretended I was going to the ladies’ room then got down on all fours to skirt a planter without Mark seeing me double back.
Dave was making awkward conversation with the bartender. I crab walked toward him. The people sitting at the tables next to me were probably wondering if they had eaten some bad caviar or if there really was a deranged woman crawling on the floor next to their table.
The hostess station was on the other side of the bar, and I grabbed a tray and an apron, tying it around my waist. Then I strode over to Dave.
“I’ll take that from you,” I said, reaching for the water glass.
“I’m not done!” Dave protested.
The bartender was confused. He paused in the middle of pouring a drink and overpoured, causing it to slosh out of the glass and all over the table.
“You can’t have that!” Dave said indignantly.
“Give me the glass,” I hissed.
“What am I supposed to drink, huh?”
“You’re about to be given a very tasty alcoholic beverage, and I’m going to bring you a new water,” I said through gritted teeth.
The bartender finally got it together and slid the drink over to Dave. He automatically reached for it, releasing his hold on the water glass. I snatched it and ran into the bathroom. I grabbed several paper towels and wrapped my prize in it, tucking the straw into my sleeve. Then I hastily removed the apron.
My heart was pounding, and I was wheezing slightly from the stress and the physical activity. Don’t judge me! I’m a seamstress. I sit all day, and I stress eat.
