Despite its new location, the Union Square Café still felt like itself. The venerable restaurant had recently opened in a new, much bigger space, and a certain part of Manhattan had let out a sigh of relief when they had been able to ascertain that their favorite eatery still had its original soul.
It was the service, of course, thought Bridget as she was led down to the lower bar. The food was delicious, the wine list was great, but it was the way the staff famously made you feel—like a guest in their home—that kept the customers coming back. It was a business lesson to learn. The aesthetic and space were replaceable, but the people were not.
Harrington stood up and smiled as she approached. Bridget felt torn about his frankly admiring gaze. She had worn a black Fendi sheath dress, perfectly professional, but suddenly she wished it covered up a little more. She wanted to look good, of course. But she wasn’t able to change before meeting him so she had to make it work. She knew that, like it or not, looking good could help her cause, but it was a fine line. She needed him to take her seriously as a CEO—not as a potential date.
“Bridget,” said Harrington, briefly touching her hand and giving her a light kiss on each cheek. “May I call you Bridget?”
That scent again—leather, chocolate and musk. Bridget swallowed. “Of course, but only if I can call you Mark.”
“Perfect,” said Harrington as he waited for her to sit and then sank back into his own chair. “Glad to be on a first-name basis.”
She unrolled her napkin and took a sip of water, giving him an inconspicuous once-over. He was older, but still a handsome man. Those bright blue eyes, the perfectly cut suit, strong, manicured hands, not a hair out of place. He smiled at her and she noticed a deep dimple appear on one side of his full mouth.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I took the liberty of ordering for us both before you arrived.”
Bridget felt a streak of defiance. “Oh, did you?”
He laughed. “Uh-oh. I see I’ve annoyed you.”
She shrugged, toying with her empty wineglass. “I just find it interesting when a man thinks he knows exactly what a woman wants.”
Harrington grinned. “I usually hit the mark.”
The waiter approached with a basket of warm bread and a bottle of champagne. Bridget frowned as he popped the cork. “I thought this was a business lunch.”
“It is,” Harrington said as he lifted his glass. “If you hadn’t spoken your mind to me, I wouldn’t have been open to changing the design, I’d have lost HealthTec and instead of this champagne, I’d probably be drinking cheap whiskey alone in my apartment right now.”
She paused a moment and then clinked her glass against his. “Cheers, then,” she said. She didn’t want to seem ungracious.
The champagne was delicious, as was the first course of beef tartare followed by ricotta gnocchi so light and airy that they melted in her mouth, but as they chatted, Bridget couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Despite his assurances, this did not exactly feel like a business lunch, and as Harrington smoothly questioned her about her family and growing up in the Bronx, she felt her unease grow. Harrington was exactly the kind of man Bridget usually went for: smart, handsome, urbane and powerful. And in other circumstances, she might have enjoyed his attention. But this felt all wrong. Bridget made a point of wining and dining as many potential clients as she could. It was part of the job. She was all business, all day, and she did her best to be professional, but the nature of the job meant things could get blurry, and opportunities had been lost when men decided they’d rather date her than hire her.
“So tell me about college,” he said, leaning in a little. “I bet you were the kind of girl who was always in trouble.” His hand almost touched hers as he refilled her glass of champagne for the third time without asking.
She subtly pushed it away. If she were a man, he wouldn’t be chatting her up about her sorority days. She decided she had to change the dynamic before it was too late.
“I think we’ll have our preliminary budget on your original design ready for you soon,” she said, ignoring his question. “We’re making great progress.”
Harrington raised his eyebrows, “Oh? How soon?”
“Soon. Maybe even next week.” This was not true. Mrs. Hashemi told her that they were still at least two weeks away, but she was feeling a little desperate.
He nodded. “Really?”
“I’ve got my top people working on it. We’re giving it all we’ve got.”
Harrington smiled. “No beating around the bush, huh?”
“I know Steele Construction is a long shot. But no one will work harder on this project than I will.”
He looked at her for a moment. “You know, I might actually believe that.” He looked at her empty plate. “Digestif?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. My work day’s only half done.”
He nodded and sighed. “Mine, too. Too bad, really. This has been very pleasant. Thank you for coming out last minute like this. I really did want to thank you.”
“Oh,” she said, remembering Ava, “I wanted to ask. Are you considering another architect for your design change?”
He shook his head. “I want to give my original guy a chance to do a redesign.”
Bridget nodded, but inwardly she was rolling her eyes. She knew his architectural firm—they didn’t much believe in redesigning.
The waiter brought the check, along with a small dish of chocolate truffles and carefully arranged cookies. Harrington walked with Bridget out into the surprisingly bright sunshine, and Bridget hid a yawn, wishing she hadn’t had such a heavy lunch and that second glass of champagne. She was going to fall asleep at her desk.
She smiled to herself; maybe she’d call in sick again, then call up Jason, get him to play hooky with her.
“Can I take you somewhere? My car is on its way,” said Harrington.
She shook her head, leaning in for the double kiss goodbye that had become de rigueur in Manhattan society in the past few years. “Thanks, but I need to walk off the champagne.”
“So I’ll hear from you next week, then?”
She paused. “Next week?”
“The budget? You’d said you’d have it done?”
She blinked. Damn. “Right, of course. Yes. Next week. Thank you again for lunch.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you. It was an excellent distraction.”
She turned away, and inwardly, she sighed. Those did not sound like the words of someone who was taking her particularly seriously. Forget calling Jay, she had to get back on the phone and find out if Mrs. Hashemi could speed things up.
She took out her phone as she rounded the corner, checking for messages.
She wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. Why the hell was Jay asking her about towels?