The Lawyer Read Free Page B

“It’s really no trouble at all, Madame. If you please.”
              Johnson nodded again at the opened door and for the sake of getting on with the night, I quietly slid onto the leather seat and Johnson closed the door. I fastened my seat belt and wiggled for a moment until I felt comfortable.
              “This car is pretty nice,” I told Johnson, once he was seated and had started the car.
              “Yes, Madame.”
              “Have you been working for Alex for a long time?” I queried.
              “Long enough, Madame.”
              “It’s really no problem for you to call me Elizabeth. Or Liz. That’s what everyone else calls me, really.”
              “If you would prefer.”
              “I would.”
              We rode in silence the rest of the way, and I was incredibly relieved when the car finally stopped in front of a fancy French restaurant. I hurried out of the car before Johnson could get my door. Alex was waiting with a grin on his face. Did he think I looked out of place? Was he laughing at my dress?
              “You don’t like being pampered,” he said simply, as I approached. Oh. So he was laughing because I’d hurried out of the car. I shrugged, but said nothing as I gave Mr. Johnson a slight wave as a thank-you. He nodded curtly before pulling off.
              “You look nice.” Alex said simply. Taking my hand, he led me into the restaurant. The maître de seemed to know him and, without a word, led us to a quiet table in the back of the restaurant.
              “This place is really nice,” I whispered to Alex.
              “Yes, it is, but you don’t have to whisper. It’s a restaurant, not a library, Elizabeth.”
              I winced at the remark, but said nothing. What was Alex’s problem? He had seemed so nice at the café, but here, well, he seemed like a pretentious snot. Did girls usually like that sort of thing? Did most people enjoy being bossed around by a total stranger? I wasn’t sure what to think, so I simply picked up the menu and began looking over it.
              When the server appeared to take our drink order, Alex ordered two glasses of wine.
              “Actually,” I said, taking charge, “I’ll just have water, please.” The server glanced at Alex, who nodded slightly, and then disappeared.
              “You don’t drink?” he questioned.
              “I’m not a bit fan of wine.”
              Alex seemed amused at my comment. What did he find so funny? First my “inability to be pampered” and now the fact that I didn’t want an overpriced glass of wine?
              “So, Alex,” I said, placing the menu on the table. “What did you want to talk about tonight?”
              Before he could answer, the server appeared again with our drinks. That was fast. I wondered if Alex was some sort of special client. Everyone seemed to give him the utmost respect and a huge amount of attention.
              “Shall I order for us?” Alex queried. Sighing, I nodded. The entire menu was in French and I had no idea what it said.
              “But no shellfish,” I said quickly. “I’m allergic.”
              Alex began speaking French to the waiter, who nodded aggressively and then vanished again. The man hadn’t said three words, yet the service we were receiving was outstanding. I wondered if Alex was a good tipper, but then let the thought slip away. Of course he was. He was also, apparently, filthy rich and incredibly bossy. What a wonderful combination.
              “What did you order?”