Since Eric was, this time, wearing a tie — a muted silver and mauve paisley number that blended nicely with his dark grey suit — they were, as he'd predicted, fine. It also didn't hurt that the maitre d' knew him, greeted him by name, and ushered him to a riverside table which appeared to be held specifically for passing VIPs. Emmy suspected that he'd have received the VIP treatment even if he'd turned up in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.
He ordered champagne, as a matter of course, and a silver ice bucket materialized on the table within seconds.
"What can I tempt you with?" he asked. "Oysters? Lobster?"
She laughed.
"What, no caviar?"
"They have excellent Petrossian here, if you like," he batted back at her with a wolfish grin that showed entirely too many teeth.
"I was kidding," she muttered, and he was the one laughing.
"Since you seem to have tagged me as a heartless, money-grubbing plutocrat, the least I can do is behave like one."
"Well," she said, clearing her throat, "you've been doing great so far — although I must admit Bargemusic is a little on the modest side. I would've thought Carnegie Hall, or a gala at the Met, was more your style."
"Funny you should say that — there's a gala coming up in a couple of weeks for the opening of a new production of Carmen, and I was thinking of inviting you — consider it done. As for tonight, I have to admit I really wanted to come to this concert, and I thought you might enjoy it. I don't think I was wrong, was I?"
She was left reeling from the combination of breathtaking arrogance and uncanny charm that seemed to define him, not to mention the irritating fact that he was absolutely right. But she was mortified about the Met comment, which made it sound like she was fishing for an invite.
"You were right. But I hope you don't mean it about the Met — aren't those events absurdly expensive and full of New York's high society?"
"Compared to what I shell out annually for that august institution, they're almost a bargain," he said drily. "And yes, they are a magnet for wealthy socialites, hence rather dull, which is why I would very much appreciate your company."
"If I didn't know better, Eric, I'd say you were trying to impress me."
"Oh, believe me," he said, and his voice, already deep, dropped lower, "if I really was trying to impress you, you would notice."
Maybe it was because she'd been spending the past couple of hours listening to music and was more attuned to her own ears, but Emmy was increasingly aware of his voice and its seductive potential, as if she’d needed more reasons to fall for him.
"Promises, promises. I certainly hope to see what you consider impressive..." she said, twirling the stem of her champagne flute between two fingers, and she was gratified to see him draw a sharp breath.
It was good to know Mr. Millionaire wasn't as unflappable as he thought.
"Sounds to me like you're envisioning the possibility of seeing me again."
"I think it would be difficult to avoid seeing you altogether now that you own my building, but who knows?”
"Anyhow, I believe you were hungry — so let’s say oysters, lobster and caviar, right?” He quirked an eyebrow at her as he signaled the waiter, and all Emmy could do was nod yes, sure, because clearly once Eric Oswell had made up his mind he wasn't easily derailed.
The caviar — her first ever taste — was amazing. Salty and pungent and delicious, although she found it hard to believe people paid as much as they did for the small pot that turned up on the table.
"So? What do you make of it?"
"What makes you think it's the first time I have caviar?" she said, a little indignant.
"I was merely inquiring if you liked that one," he said, ever polite, but there was a knowing look in his eyes that belied his words.
Arrogant son of a bitch. She simmered, quietly, ate a little more caviar on blinis and took a long draught of champagne.
"If you don't mind me asking — are you a musician? You seemed to be very absorbed by this evening's performance," he asked.
"It's been a while," she said, and God, it had. "I used to play the violin when I was a kid."
"When did you give up?"
"When I was fifteen and became more interested in hanging around with my friends, dating boys