The Secret's Out

Chapter Six: Je T'aime

We pulled into the parking lot full of nothing but expensive, foreign cars. The building was big and luxurious, built from dark grey bricks, green vines growing in patches up the walls. A gorgeous patch of flowers surrounded the large, double doors. Above it, in elegance, cursive writing, “L'Ambroisie” was scrolled in black letters.

“Um, Mr–”

He covered my mouth with his hand. “I thought we talked about this?”

I rolled my eyes and smacked his hands away. “Mason.” He smirked, satisfied. “Isn’t this that fancy, high-class restaurant that everyone’s been talking about?”

“Is it?” he asked. “Someone from my meeting yesterday recommended this place to me. I figured we could try it out.”

“But… I’m not in the right attire to come to this kind of place,” I argued, indicating the Adventure Time t-shirt and black skinny jeans.

“Neither am I,” he pointed out.

I guess he was dressed in casual jeans and a loose, beige short-sleeve…

“But you would look like you belonged in a place like that even in a trash bag,” I retorted.

He chuckled. “So I’m that good looking, huh?”

“Not the point here.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you look gorgeous no matter what,” he said simply.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured me, draping his arm around my neck. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to try some overpriced fish.”

“Does French food have fish in it?”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” he said, opening the door for me.

A man in a white button-up and black, silk pants with a long, knee-length apron stood at a podium in the middle of entrance, staring at some form of book on it. When Mason stepped up to him, he looked up, eyeing him a way that told me he wasn’t used to people coming in wearing what he was.

“May I help you?” the guy said, trying to focus on his face rather than attire.

Mason’s crooked smile was as sexy as ever, only a corner turning up. “I was wondering if you had any tables opened.”

"Reservations?” he asked.

“Don’t have one,” he said easily.

The man looked a tad annoyed. “I’m sorry, sir, but you must have a reservation in order to be seated.”

Despite his refusal, Mason seemed unfazed. “Are you sure about that?”

I looked at him, wondering what he was doing.

“Is there a problem here?” A woman came to the poor waiter’s steed.

“I was wondering if there were any tables available,” Mason said innocently enough.

Her eyes widened noticeably at his accent and I felt sympathy for her – his voice always worked on me too, honey.

“Name?” She sounded calm, at least.

“Mason Carter.”

Now, she was gaping. Her mouth dropped a bit, eyes staring at him as if she’d just seen Ashton Kutcher. The man next to her also seemed to have gone still, gulping.

“Mr. Carter, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” the girl said, bowing. “Please forgive me; I did not know you were coming today.”