Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“No, I’m okay now. It’s still sore, don’t get me wrong, but I took an Epsom salt bath this afternoon, so it’s just a little achy, that’s all.”
I grin while ushering her to the door.
“Good,” I say. “Because I plan on using it again tonight.”
With a smack to her round rump, we’re on our way, and soon, I’ve ushered her into the majesty of the Merovingian Hotel, owned by my buddy Dane. Dane Merovingian and I are friends, sort of, as well as rivals. He’s a rich motherfucker who’s too handsome for his own good, so he gets under my skin on occasion. But even I have to admit that Dane Merovingian knows his shit when it comes to the hotel business.
I lead Tanya to a fancy Italian restaurant inside the Merovingian, and we’re seated immediately.
“Wow, this place is absolutely magical,” she breathes, looking around at the white table cloths, elegant place settings, and flickering tea lights.
“The restaurant or the hotel?” I ask.
“Both! What’s the hotel called again? The Merov…”
“Merovingian,” I rasp. “My friend owns this place.”
She shoots me a look.
“Do all hotel operators know each other in this town?”
I shrug.
“Yeah, basically. I mean, there are a ton of hotels in Vegas, but there are only a dozen big ones on the Strip, so yeah, we all know each other.”
She nods.
“That makes sense,” she murmurs, while picking up her menu.
“I thought you might like it here,” I rumble as Tanya squints, looking at the selection. “After all, my buddy Dane did this place up with Versailles in mind. You know Napoleon Bonaparte’s French chateau out in the countryside? It’s supposed to look like that.”
Tanya looks around again, clearly awed.
“I can tell,” she says. “I noticed that the waiters even seem to speak French.”
I frown.
“Yeah, I think Dane forced them to pick up a few stock phrases. I’m not totally sure though. We definitely send our staff to waiter school, and they’ll teach shit like French there, although I have a feeling Dane went even further. He’s probably forcing them to get fluent, come to think of it,” I remark.
Tanya giggles.
“Getting fluent is tough,” she says. “Americans generally only speak English.”
“I know,” I growl. “Yours truly is in that boat. But yeah, Dane’s like that. He goes the extra mile, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was forcing French lessons on these guys in order to up the quality of service. Who knows? Maybe I should do it with La Bella Trattoria,” I grunt, referring to an Italian restaurant in the Corinthian.
Tanya giggles again.
“OMG, I had their lobster ravioli last night, and it was fantastic. You did a great job with that restaurant, Stone.”
I grin.
“Thanks, although sometimes I wonder whether we should even be serving ravioli. After all, ravioli actually has Arab origins, did you know? But it was imported into Italy centuries ago.”
“So it’s Italian now,” my girl burbles with a smile. “That counts. Centuries ago is ages and ages in the past.”
I nod.
“Yeah, I guess sometimes I get too caught up with being ‘authentic’ as opposed to delivering what customers want to eat. Always keep your eyes on the prize, baby,” I wink while leering at her playfully.
Tanya giggles again, but before she can speak, the waiter comes to take our order. I manage to order in stilted French, making my date titter a bit, and then the two of us begin savoring the House red.
“I like your French,” she teases. “I thought you said you were monolingual!”
“I am,” I nod. “But it’s fun to try and speak on occasion. I started taking lessons when I was in my 20’s just as a hobby, but you can see where it’s gotten me. After two decades, I’m still only able to order food, and barely even that.”
Tanya laughs, the sound making my heart contract.
“That’s okay,” she says. “Again, most Americans only speak English, so you’re already ahead of most people. Me? I only know Spanish, and not even real Spanish. It’s just Spanglish I picked up from talking with Spanish-speaking friends.”
“Like George W. Bush?” I ask.
She winks.
“Exactly like him. It’s real though! We can communicate with people, and Bush even did some televised campaign ads in Spanish.”
With that, we both laugh, and the conversation flows as the meal is delivered and we begin eating. Tanya has me enthralled because this is clearly a woman who enjoys food. She digs into the coq au vin, as well as the bouillabaisse while helping herself to a copious portion of mussels. Even the way she dips her mussels in sauce before popping them into her mouth is cute.
But then, she looks up.
“OMG, I’m a total pig, aren’t I?”
I shake my head.
“Quite the contrary, sweetheart. I love a woman who eats. Most ladies sit around nibbling at leaves of salad while downing gallons of wine, so this is a nice change.”