Page 25 of Playing Dirty
I rub my temple, feeling a headache that began with doves finally bloom into a full-scale throbbing. "And let me guess, they want a certain aesthetic."
She shrugs. "It’s a strong look. But I meant what I said, it’s not mandatory. The sommelier angle is just very chic, and you two lookremarkablyattractive together. That’s why. But say the word and I’ll find a backup."
I fiddle with the edge of my notebook. "Ugh, fine. I’ll do it," I groan.
"Excellent. I appreciate the team spirit," Carol says with a wry smile.
"I just hope these tech investors aren't expecting a full performance, like a photoshoot of me making out with Mr. Athletic Charisma."
She laughs, looking amused. "Goodness, you've really developeda particular thorn for him, haven't you? Normally I have to practically interrogate you to extract even a whisper of a negative opinion about anyone."
"That isn't entirely accurate. I have very little patience for Harold's tech lectures."
"Nobodyenjoys a conversation with Harold, Margot, so he's hardly a benchmark for your social tolerance."
I shift my weight. "Cillian is fine, he just rubs me the wrong way a bit."
"Well, I'm certain you'll survive one meal for the sake of your brainchild," she says with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, and at the risk of being murdered where I stand, the team also needs us at the big hockey game for a press appearance next week, the day before the gala. This oneismandatory."
The hits just keep on coming.
"For the optics?" I sigh, already mourning my quiet evening with a book.
"Precisely.” She nods. “It'll be me, Elaine of course. Plus a few faces from marketing. It's not my usual thing either, but we all need to show our support. They've already clinched their playoff spot, so apparently the night will be more of a celebration than a game."
I nod. "Alright. I'll... I'll be there."
"Wonderful. Just show up, have a glass of something, and it'll be over before you know it. And I'm referring to the game, gala, and dinner." She flashes a satisfied smile. "Ready for the challenge, superstar?"
I lift a fist in a gesture of mock enthusiasm, and she laughs.
I pull into the lot of the restaurant and am surprised to find Celeste's car already tucked into a corner spot. I'm ten minutesearly and usually am the first to arrive anywhere, but I'll happily hand the title over to a fellow punctuality devotee.
I kill the ignition and step out, the herb-scented air reaching me before I've even shut the car door. The restaurant is a charming little French gem owned by my best friend Isabelle and her fiancé Alex—Sous le Figuier. Or "Under the Fig Tree," for those of us who didn't inherit the linguistic flair.
It's a homey sanctuary where a massive fig tree stands guard out front and rows of lavender run along the stone path. It feels more like a home than a business, with family photos lining the walls inside and a lush garden patio spilling out the back.
Quite simply, it's the best kind of escape.
I wander in to find Celeste and Isabelle already deep in conversation at a corner table. They both look up, breaking into matching smiles as I approach.
"Hey!" Isabelle says, rising to pull me into a hug. "I was just getting to know Celeste, who is every bit as cool as you said. Also, you conveniently failed to mention she's half French too."
I laugh, settling into my seat. "Yeah, apparently I'm only recruiting French Americans into my circle these days."
"A wise strategy," Celeste says, looking amused. "We're a delight to have around, after all."
"Celeste was just giving me the highlights of her family's wild wine history," Isabelle says, leaning on her elbows. "And I thoughtmyfather could be intense. Though to be fair, he's much better these days. But man, your family really takes the prize."
Celeste gives a sheepish shrug. "Yeah, the stories I could tell would fill a very long, very dramatic memoir."
"Do you still see them much?" I ask.
I knew about her family's legendary wines well before I ever met Celeste, and she's practically a celebrity in the wine world. Born in the States but raised between here and France, where her family hasmassiveold-money wine strongholds. She walkedaway from the gilded life and the controlling purse strings to work as an architect.
"We still talk plenty," Celeste says, swirling the water in her glass. "But they can be so controlling and weird that I have to keep really clear boundaries, otherwise it spirals into pure chaos. My family is basically a Shakespearean tragedy. Feuding houses, poisoned cups, the whole business."
I shake my head, leaning forward. "I'd heard whispers about the drama over the years, but I figured it was mostly industry gossip."
