Liars Like Us

12

“Yes. I know the restaurant business is tough, what with having to deal with so many assholes.” I feel Callum’s glower without looking at him but ignore it. “I have to deal with the public in my job, too, so I get it. But just remember that you’re the one in charge, not them.”

She glances at Callum, pales when she sees his expression, then looks back at me. It appears to take all her courage to ask, “How am I in charge, exactly?”

“Because all these rich people would starve to death if they didn’t have people like you bringing them food.” I gesture to Callum. “You think this guy knows how to boil an egg? No. He doesn’t even drive his own car. So don’t underestimate your value. And don’t let anybody push you around. In this economy, you could get a job anywhere. Every business owner I know is hurting for good employees. In fact, you should ask for a raise. You deserve it.”

She stares at me with her lips parted, blinking as if in a dream. Then she murmurs, “Thank you,” and drifts away from the table.

I beam at her retreating figure, satisfied that I did my good deed for the day.

“Bravo. What an inspiring speech.”

Callum’s approving words are the opposite of his tone, which is bone dry.

“It really was, wasn’t it?” I enjoy his disapproval. I don’t know why, but it gives me a charge to think I might be the only person in his universe who’d dare to do something so revolutionary as irritate him.

“Maybe next you should march into the kitchen and spearhead an effort to unionize.”

“I would, but my blood sugar is low. Where is that salad?”

“You seem more excited about your salad than my offer.”

“I am. In fact, that reminds me of something you should be aware of if I’m going to be your wife. Sitting down for a proper supper every night is nonnegotiable. In formal wear, preferably. I’m sure you have a tux, right? I’ll wear all my diamonds.”

His steady gaze turns smoldering. “Still don’t take me seriously, I see.”

My confidence bolstered by the liquor, I laugh at him. “Oh, come on! This whole thing is so ridiculous, you can’t expect me to take you seriously. If you really needed a wife, I’m sure there are a million girls in the world more suitable than me.”

Callum’s heated stare burns darker and hotter. He reaches into his jacket. From an inside pocket, he pulls out a small black velvet box. He places it on the table, pushes it across the white linen cloth toward me, then sits back in his chair without a word.

My heart thudding, I stare at the box. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“Open it and find out.”

I hear the smirk in his tone, but can’t rip my gaze from the little black box. It might as well be a bomb for how dangerous it seems.

Callum commands softly, “Open it.”

My hand obeys him before I can decide not to. I pick up the box, flip open the lid, and gasp.

Nestled inside is an enormous diamond engagement ring, sparkling with cold fire.

Six

“I

t’s eight carats, in case you’re wondering.” says Callum, reaching for an oyster.

I look up in time to watch him lift the shell to his mouth, suck the oyster out, and swallow. He licks his lips and makes a small sound of pleasure low in his throat, then sets the empty shell back onto the platter. He picks up another one and holds it aloft.

“Oyster?”

“Hang on a sec. I’m trying to locate my brain.”

He repeats the ritual with the second oyster, then says, “Kumamoto is an excellent variety. Quite sweet. They’re flown in fresh from British Columbia every morning.”

The little black box in my hand weighs ten thousand pounds. The light all around us is searingly bright. My heart throbs, my stomach churns, and all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Meanwhile, Callum makes casual conversation about seafood.

“The lobster here is incredible too. Do you like lobster? I love it, myself. There’s an island named Anegada in the Caribbean that has an unusual type. Very briny and delicious. The locals barbecue it on top of cut-open oil drums. I visit the British Virgin Islands every May. It’s one of my favorite places to sail.”

“Sounds fab.”

“It is.”

Exasperated with his composure, I say, “Can we please return from vacation to talk about this rock I’m holding?”

“That rock is your engagement ring, darling. Care for a bite of foie gras?”

I blink for a few moments, trying to reconcile the absurdity of the situation with Callum’s offhand use of “darling,” as if he’s been saying it to me over lunch every day for years.

Then my temper kicks in.

I snap shut the box and place it atop an empty oyster shell. Looking him dead in the eye, I say, “Okay. This is where I get off the crazy train. Great to meet you. Have a nice life.”

I stand, grab my purse, and stalk off toward the entrance of the restaurant, passing by Sophie on the way.

“Remember what I said about that raise, girlfriend,” I say as I stride by.

Out at the valet stand, I stop to order an Uber. The app says the driver is two minutes away. I pace until the car arrives, then jump into the back, half expecting a big beautiful madman in a gray suit to jump in behind me.

But the car pulls away from the curb with me as its only passenger.