Page 115 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Fifty-One
Anthony
I pick a fancy steakhouse for the celebratory dinner, the kind of place you see in noir films where men dine, drink and smoke a cigar or two afterward. There’s even a baby grand piano.
The dress code is formal, so I’m in a crisp suit and freshly laundered white shirt. I didn’t bother with a tie, opting to leave the first two buttons undone.
Iris is gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking in a pale cream cocktail dress and silver heels that flatter her figure and accentuate her beautiful curves. I’m not the only guy who thinks so. Several men turn their heads to check her out.
She sidles closer, and I pull her tighter to me. They can look until their eyeballs freeze. She’s mine and I’m never letting her go, not this time.
“I feel like I should puff a stogie or something,” she says as we’re seated at a table set away from the rest of diners, but with a direct view of the piano.
I laugh. “Unfortunately, no smoking inside.”
“This place is so glamorous. It makes me feel glamorous.”
I smile, half indulgent, half tender. Her good mood is infectious. “I’m glad. I thought this would be the place for the celebration.”
“Do you come here often?”
“When I want to have a nice steak, relax and think, yes.”
“Think? You don’t come here with company?”
I shake my head. “You’re the first.”
Pleasure shines in her eyes, and the flush colors her cheeks like blooming flowers. I wish I could capture this moment forever because she’s achingly beautiful.
“Anything in particular you recommend from the menu?” she asks.
“Everything’s great as long as it’s steak.”
She looks at the menu. “Everything’s huge, too.”
“Order what you want. You don’t have to finish it. But we’re definitely having cheesecake, so save some room. This place has the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“Deal!” She orders the smallest filet mignon. I get a porterhouse and ask her preference in wine.
“Anything’s great as long as it’s red,” she says. After a quick perusal, I select a burgundy from France I had earlier this year. The vintage is great—berries and oak and nuts with a hint of rose at the end. Iris should enjoy it.
Our waiter brings out a bottle quickly. I approve it after a taste.
Iris lets out a soft mmm after a sip. “This is amazing.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Tony…thank you,” she says after finishing the first glass.
“What for?”
“If it weren’t for your help, I’d still be staring at a blank Word doc, wondering what I’m supposed to put on a résumé.”
Her gratitude makes me squirm, since I didn’t do it entirely for her. But I can’t tell her that. “My pleasure. If I had a suitable opening at my company, I would’ve given it to you without bothering with a résumé, but…the one I have isn’t really for you.”
“I wouldn’t take a pity job, so I’m glad you didn’t. When I told Sam I was going to get a job, I didn’t mean a job I don’t qualify for through some connection.”
She’s going to be pissed when she finds out you talked with Elizabeth.
