I pulled up to the location—upscale restaurant, valet parking, outdoor seating with heat lamps and privacy screens. Classy. Expensive. The kind of place where you could have a screaming fight and the staff would just bring more wine.
Valet practically ran over when he saw the Chiron. Kid was maybe nineteen. Eyes like dinner plates.
"Take care of her," I said, handing him the keys.
"Yes sir! Absolutely sir!"
I walked toward the restaurant. Could see them through the glass. Sitting at a table. Far apart. Body language screaming hostility.
Yeah.
This was gonna be fun.
I pushed open the door.
Lumière was a cage of hushed money and gilded silence. From my velvet-lined alcove, I watched the air shimmer with truffle falseness and the lies whispered by crystal. I nursed a glass of Burgundy that tasted like blood and velvet, the thick menu propped up like a shield, making me invisible.
