Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,100
close to him in age, wore a purple dress that I recognized from my very brief visit to the Absalon design house. I wondered if it was one of Jean Claude’s. Oh, the irony. Then I looked at her face and saw the Frida Kahlo unibrow. Eleanor!
Of course I recognized Robbie Severin immediately, but if I hadn’t, Eleanor’s presence would have clinched it. Severin was of average height but built thick and strong. His gray hair was cut short but with sideburns that framed his angular face. Meanwhile, Eleanor, who was petite, walked beside him with clipped steps, her thick heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Mr. Severin, it’s good to meet you,” I said. I held out my hand in greeting. Severin looked at it and shook his head. He pushed Eleanor forward. She shook my hand as if doing it for both of them. I went with it. “Ms. Curtain, it’s nice to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you, Ms. Martin,” she said. She gave my hand a firm shake and then dropped it.
“Please call me Chelsea,” I said.
“Robbie.” Severin pointed to himself.
“Eleanor,” Ms. Curtain chimed in. Her dark hair was in a ball on the top of her head, and her rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She reminded me of an inquisitive little bird, one who sported a very thick brow over both of its eyes. I tried not to stare—in fact, I turned my head away to keep from doing so, but it really was as if someone had attacked the poor woman with a Sharpie and drawn a thick line across her forehead. Wow, just wow.
“Terrific,” I said. So far, so good. I tried not to think about the rejection of my handshake. I remembered Severin was a germophobe and wanted to kick myself for forgetting. Did Jason know? I debated how I could signal to Jason not to offer his hand when he joined us. My stomach cramped. All I could think of was the $10 million being snatched out of our grasp if we messed this up.
“My colleague Jason Knightley just went to check on our table. Shall we join him?” I asked.
Robbie gestured for me to lead the way, so I strode forward, keeping my back straight, hoping I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. I knew there was no need to be, not really. If anything, I was overprepared. But I had never had to perform my numeric dog and pony show with a coworker who was less than happy with me, a coworker who hadn’t held my gaze longer than absolutely necessary since we’d left our apartments. This was the apex of the uncomfortable day after. Maybe I should have slept with him. I gave myself a mental shake. No, if anything, things would have been much, much worse.
Jason was standing with the maître d’ when we arrived. I could see from his expression that he recognized Robbie right away. He said something to the master of the house, and the man nodded.
“There he is,” I said. I turned and met Jason’s gaze, widening my eyes and glancing up, trying to warn him about the incoming unibrow. He wasn’t looking at me, however, but at Severin.
I stopped beside Jason and performed the introductions. Robbie insisted on first names again, and I was relieved to see that Jason never offered his hand in greeting.
Instead, he gestured for Robbie to follow our hostess, who had conferred with the maître d’ about our table, and we fell in behind Robbie and Eleanor, passing a grand piano where a man played softly, surrounded by more of the towering vases filled with purple irises.
“How did you know?” I whispered.
Jason turned to look at me. “What?”
“That he doesn’t shake hands.” I leaned close and kept my voice low.
A small smile spread across his full mouth. He winked at me with his good eye. “Research, Martin. Surely you knew he hasn’t shaken anyone’s hand in over ten years.”
“Of course I knew,” I lied. “I’m just surprised you did.”
“Sure you did.” His low laugh sent a ripple of awareness right down my back.
I ignored it, naturally.
The dining room was beautifully done in gold, cream, and mauve, with pristine white tablecloths that draped all the way to the floor, chairs with plush round backs and upholstered arms—the sort of seating that encouraged lingering over your meal—and a thick carpet done in floral swirls that felt like walking on a pillow.