Page 54 of The Devil She Knows
“Neither do I—” Hannah paused suddenly, her eyes widening in surprise.
“What is it?” Sam asked, turning slightly to follow Hannah’s gaze.
Across the restaurant, a tall man with an angular face who looked like he’d stepped out of a J.Crew catalogue stood arguing with the hostess.
“Tom!” Hannah waved across the restaurant. “You remember Tom. You met him at the New Year’s Eve party last year.”
“Tom … Tom …” Sam squinted like she was trying to place the man she’d never seen before a day in her life.
“My talent manager.” Hannah rose to her feet. “Tom, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”
“Hannah,” Tom greeted her with a warm smile and a brief, friendly hug. “It’s great to see you.”
“Likewise. Are you meeting someone here, or …?”
“Here with someone, actually,” Tom said. “She slipped off to use the restroom.” He turned slightly and for the first time noticed Sam, his face brightening in recognition. “Samantha! It’s good to see you again. Congrats on Gulp! How’s it feel to be the owner of the best new bar in the city?”
Sam pasted on a smile. “Shucks, I don’t know if I’d call it the best new bar. But thank you. That’s awfully kind of you to say.”
“She’s too modest,” Hannah said, beaming at her. “Reservations are booked out for months. They’re having to turn people away at the door.”
“No surprise,” Tom said. “You make a mean martini.”
“Ooh, Ilovea mean martini,” an unfortunately all-too-familiar voice from behind Sam chimed in.
“Hannah, Samantha, this is Cassandra,” Tom said in introduction. “Cass, this is Hannah, one of my clients, and her fiancée, Samantha. I spotted them across the restaurant and thought I’d say hello.”
“Well, hello,” Daphne—or Cassandra, whatever—purred, looking down at Sam. Gone were the white button-up and black canvas apron she’d worn at the coffee shop. Instead, she had on a pink-sequined tasseled minidress with a feather hem trim. Sam couldn’t help but notice how it molded to her curves. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
Nice, her ass.
“Why don’t you two join us?” Hannah said, and that sounded like the worst idea ever.
“Han, I’m sure Tom and D—Cassandrawould like to eat alone.”
“Nonsense,” Daphne said, already sliding into the empty chair beside Sam. “Tom and I would love to join you.”
Hannah flagged down the waiter as Tom circled the table to the other side and took a seat.
“We’re going to need another bottle of wine,” Hannah told the waiter.
“Make that two,” Sam said. “Or, on second thought, I’ll just have a whisky neat.”
And keep ’em coming.
“So, you make a mean martini, hmm?” Daphne asked, at which Sam grunted.
“Samantha’s the executive chef at—what is it now? Three? Four restaurants?”
“Executive chef-owner,” Hannah corrected, and Tom held up his hands in a mea culpa. “And it’s three restaurants and a bar with an LA opening set next year.”
“Executive chef-owner,” Tom corrected. “Samantha here is the culinary crackerjack of our generation.”
Hannah laughed. “Crackerjack, Tom? What generation areyoufrom?” she teased, then turned to Daphne. “My fiancée is the crème de la crème, taking the culinary world by storm one delicious dish at a time.”
“How keen,” Daphne said. “Now, I’m no—what did you say, Tom? Culinary crackerjack? No, I’m not, but I have been known to make a mean drink myself.”
“Really?” Hannah asked, swirling her wine. “Are you in the restaurant business? If you don’t mind me asking.”
