Hold firm. Emmett has no clue what you’re up to socially. You don’t post anything on social media!
The maître d’ gives me another smile. This time, it signals, I understand. “Would you like a table for two?”
“Please,” I say most sincerely.
He signals one of the uniformed staff, and the man takes us to a table near the window. He pulls out one chair right as Emmett pulls out another. I hesitate for a second. My boss cocks an imperious eyebrow.
I take the chair Emmett offers, and then he sits down in the chair the server pulled out.
I open the white leather-bound menu and stare at the brunch options. Without touching his own menu, Emmett orders a pot of coffee and champagne.
“Anything to drink for you, miss?” the waiter asks.
My eyes fall on the sparkly silver page inset that explains their champagne brunch. You can add a glass of Dom Pérignon to your brunch to elevate it.
I don’t know about elevating my meal, but I’m probably going to need alcohol to get through this brunch with Emmett. Besides, it isn’t like I’ll be knocking back cheap liquor. One thing about champagne—it’s so elegant, it won’t make you look like an alcoholic who starts drinking before noon.
“The same for me,” I say. “And I’d like some French toast, with extra berries and whipped cream, and syrup on the side.” I shut the menu.
“Three-cheese omelet with an extra order of bacon,” Emmett says. “Whole wheat toast, butter and jam on the side.”
The waiter repeats the order and leaves. I fidget a little, then down the icy water the waiter poured for me. The man returns with coffee in a gorgeous silver pot. He serves us, then leaves again.
I sip the liquid caffeine, my mind whirring. Emmett is silent, which is ratcheting up my anxiety level. This isn’t like him. We don’t have the kind of relationship that allows for a quiet, relaxed brunch on Sunday.
You also don’t have the kind of relationship that allows for a quickie in the office. Or getting yourself plastered and having him drive you home.
It’s like the universe somehow took a wrong turn on Friday and derailed my well-ordered life. Maybe I need to sacrifice an accountant to the Excel gods or something to get things back on track. A virgin accountant, which shouldn’t be too hard to fin—
My phone buzzes. A text! Yay!
Thrilled with the distraction, I pull out my phone from the purse. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Emmett gives me a magnanimous go-ahead gesture.
–Dad: Hey, sweetie pie, lots of love from Vegas! How you doing?
The text has Dad’s new selfie. I smile.
–Me: I’m doing great. How are you?
–Dad: I’m doing fantastic. By the way, I’m going to be in L.A. at the end of next month.
–Me: Awesome!
–Dad: Xavier’s getting married, and I told him I’d be there.
Xavier is Dad’s dearest friend, and he moved to L.A. last year. He perpetually falls in and out of love, and this is his fifth marriage. Surprising he isn’t going for an elopement in Vegas. You’d think the whole ceremony thing would lose its luster after the first few times.
–Dad: Thought I’d visit you for a couple of days, if that’s okay.
If Emmett wasn’t sitting right across from me, I’d be yelping with excitement.
–Me: That would be totally great!
Sasha’s usually not around on weekends because she’s jetting out to San Francisco. But I’ll ping her later just to be sure. If she’s staying in L.A. and doesn’t feel comfortable having Dad around, I can always put him up in a hotel.
–Dad: Great. Looking forward to it!