Eden’s was deceptively far away. Ken had told her it was around the corner, but in reality, it was a total of four blocks away: two south, two east. Long blocks, too! Should’ve taken a cab. It was already 7:40 by the time she made it.
“Hi,” she said to the maître d’ at his stoic podium. Damn, this place is nice. Softly lit, quiet, and radiating a scent of rose petals from every tealight candle. Lana had to wonder how Ken got reservations at the last minute. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. I’m a few minutes late.”
“With whom are you dining, madam?” A bushy mustache tickled the man’s nose as he looked over the reservations list.
A familiar touch caressed the small of her back. Lana was startled at first, but as soon as she realized it was Ken encircling his arm around her and speaking softly past her ear, she relaxed. The maître d’, however, widened his eyes and flipped his reservation book shut. Suddenly Lana no longer existed. Only the possessive man making sure everyone in their vicinity knew she was his, if only for one or two more nights, mattered.
“She’s with me, Charles.” A hip-shaking kiss lightly touched her earlobe. “See to it that we’re comfortable, please?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir.” The maître d’ leaped out from behind his podium, grabbing two menus from their stash on his way by. “Please, right this way.”
“Wow.” Lana nestled easily into Ken’s hold. Only a few other diners glanced in their direction on their way by, but those who did were treated to a side of Lana she never got to express. What was it? What made her so giddy to be treated like this by a New Yorker? Was it the jealousy in the other women’s eyes? The jealousy in the men’s eyes? Because these two had shown up at the last minute, looking effortless together as they were escorted to one of the most private dining rooms in one of the most exclusive restaurants on the block?
It was a small room, but open enough to give them some breathing space as they sat down at the two-person table. Cinnamon red candles burned alongside a small centerpiece of daisies and baby’s breath. Not the kind of flowers Lana expected at an upscale place like this, but she had no issue accepting the chair Ken pulled out for her.
“You really went all out.” She shed the top of her blazer before her date’s hands were on her, helping her remove the rest of it in one fluid motion. Ken draped it across the back of her chair. Lana experienced more than a few chills when she pushed forward without his aid. Oh, look at that, this table is the perfect shelf for my boobs. Good thing she had enough cleavage to make any man hard, let alone one as amicable as Ken. “I don’t know how you got a reservation like this at the last minute.”
He sat across from her. After ordering a bottle of Chardonnay from the maître d’, Ken said, “You really can’t think of a single reason I would be able to do this?”
No. No way. This was too much. “Don’t you dare tell me that you own this place too.”
“As it so happens,” Ken said with a cheesy grin, “I acquired it about two months ago.”
Lana dropped her menu before she had the chance to open it. “You’re kidding! What else do you own?”
“I also own a couple of boutiques, but I’m thinking about offloading them to someone who can better watch over them. Think I’ll stick with hospitality and office buildings in the future.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Lana looked over the menu. Dang. Most of the entrees were at least a hundred dollars. That didn’t include drinks, appetizers, sides… if Lana got whatever she wanted, she would put this man (the owner, no less) out an easy few hundred dollars. Not that Ken Andrews, second son of one of the biggest investment bankers, couldn’t afford it. “What’s your long term plan, anyway? Do you work for someone else or do you work for yourself?”
“I believe in putting both to work for now.” Ken only took one glance at the menu before shutting it again. “I recommend the salmon. Some of the best you’ll get in this city.”
“What do you mean by that? The first thing you said, that is.”