Lovechild. Metsy Hingle
asked, anxious to end the meal and this meeting with Jacques. She offered the catering manager a smile. “Either one of these would make a wonderful choice. Besides, I don’t think I can eat another bite.”
“Then just make it one slice, Mr. Newberry. Ms. O’Malley and I can share.”
“Of course,” the catering manager replied, and was off to do Jacques’s bidding before Liza could object further.
Liza wasn’t sure which disturbed her more—the intimacy implied by Jacques’s insistence that they share the same dessert or by his unusually quiet mood throughout the meal. After his earlier declaration to seduce her, she had felt like a mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. While she had been glad that he hadn’t pursued the subject, for some reason his reflective silence made her even more edgy.
Irritated with herself for her reaction to him, Liza focused on her purpose for being with Jacques in the first place—the gala dinner. “For starters, I think the Caesar salad would be the best choice. Don’t you?”
“Yes. The Caesar salad,” Jacques said without any enthusiasm whatsoever.
Liza hesitated a moment and then continued. “And for the entrée, I thought we could offer a choice of fish or the filet mignon. That way anyone who didn’t want meat would have an alternative. What do you think?”
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