Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Emma had visited the hotel café a couple of times even before her series of unfortunate matseons, but she had never actually seen any of the hotel’s accommodations. She had no reason to stay overnight since she only lived forty minutes away. And there was also the small matter of the hotel being a wee bit out of her price range.
When Michel invited her to dinner at his place, her heart had clamored to exit her chest. His place? Her mind had immediately conjured breathless, sweaty scenarios, but she’d dragged her thoughts back, instinctively knowing he didn’t have ulterior motives for the invitation. She honestly couldn’t say whether the little dip in her stomach had been relief or disappointment.
His next message had revealed that he was actually a guest at the hotel, and her heart had plummeted at the reminder that he didn’t live here. But her heart rallied, remembering that he was a visiting professor at USC, which meant he wasn’t leaving the next day or anything. By the time he revealed that he was staying in a suite in one of the most luxurious hotels in LA, her heart couldn’t do much but lie down on a fainting couch to recover from the back-to-back acrobatics it had performed.
He was rich—really rich. Red lights had flashed through her mind as the word incompatible rang in her ears. Auntie Soo never would’ve matched Emma up with someone that rich. She’d stopped herself short at the thought.
Michel had asked her out on a date, not proposed marriage to her. Her date with Michel had nothing to do with marriage. She was going out on one date with him—for fun—because she deserved to do something nice for herself.
If Emma were to marry, and she had assured her godmother that she would, she still intended to choose her future husband through the Madame Ddu Method. A love match wasn’t for her. Without a solid, common background, she would have nowhere safe to land when love faded.
Emma found Michel unbelievably attractive, which meant she shouldn’t trust her instincts when it came to him. Case in point, going on this date with him was impulsive and irresponsible. But she fully recognized that, and she didn’t intend for it to happen again.
She would let herself have this one date as a treat for herself, then focus on her matseons. It was actually a very clever and efficient plan. If she didn’t go out with him, she would waste time wondering what it would be like. This way, she would spend one evening with him and he would be out of her system.
When Paul Lim texted her soon after their matseon, Emma hadn’t outright refused his invitation to go out to lunch with him this weekend. It had more to do with not wanting to disappoint Auntie Soo than any real desire to see him again, but at least the thought of a second date with him didn’t make her want to blow her nose in a cloth napkin.
Emma smiled as she pulled her car up to the valet, remembering the shared laughter with Michel over her antics. After handing over her keys, she caught a brief glimpse of her reflection on the sliding glass doors leading into the hotel lobby. She’d chosen a midnight-blue, one-shoulder dress for a confidence boost. It hugged her body in all the right places and stopped a few inches below her knees, so she felt sexy and powerful without feeling too exposed. Her strappy Manolo heels and ruby-red lipstick added to the sexy and powerful theme.
She might have overdone it. They were having dinner at his place, after all. He could very well be waiting for her in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, not that he would look any less devastating. But Emma stopped second-guessing herself when the distinguished-looking gentleman at the front desk straightened to his full height as she approached.
“How may I be of service?” he asked with a formal incline of his head.
“I’m here to see Michel Chevalier.” She sounded cooler than she’d intended as renewed nerves slammed into her.
“Of course.” The man didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as he beamed at her. “Please allow me to show you to the elevators.”
“I could find…” Emma trailed off as he joined her at her side with lightning speed.
“This way, please.” He stretched his arm forward, and she had no choice but to start walking.
When he led her past the main elevator bank to a small alcove to the side, she realized she wouldn’t have been able to find her own way. He called the single elevator nestled in the private nook, and the doors opened immediately, revealing a rich, wood-paneled interior with gold trimmings. She stepped inside at his beckoning, and the man reached toward the elevator panel with a key card. Once it beeped, he pressed the button marked “PS” out of the four total buttons on the panel.
“I hope you have an exceptional evening,” he said with another bow of his head.
Emma felt nervous laughter bubbling up inside her. She wanted to look good tonight, but she definitely overshot it if the hotel staff was treating her like royalty. With a brisk shake of her head, she got her nerves under control and said, “Thank you.”
After a fast, dizzying ascent, the elevator opened up to a posh foyer as big as her living room, adorned with champagne-colored wallpaper and burgundy carpeting. Michel wasn’t rich. He was filthy rich. In all honesty, she might have bolted back to the lobby if he hadn’t been waiting for her on the other side of the elevator with a heart-stopping grin. She bit down on her bottom lip with a soundless whimper. He looked irresistibly gorgeous in his navy suit.
“Emma,” he said in a rush of breath. A beat passed as his appreciative gaze traveled over her—making heat spread through her body—then he stretched his hand out, palm side up. “Shall we?”
She hesitated as her gaze darted to the foyer behind him, intimidated by the opulence despite herself. His smile dimmed and uncertainty crept into his expression, and a pang of regret spread through her chest. She had a feeling his unguarded grin wasn’t something that often made an appearance. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his and stepped out of the elevator.
“Nice place,” she said in the most carefree voice she could manage. She wanted to smooth away the crease she’d put between his eyebrows.
“This is a shared foyer.” He cleared his throat and waved vaguely at the two double doors on opposite sides of the hallway. Emma nodded as though having all of two suites on an entire floor was totally pedestrian. He placed a hand on her lower back, and she shivered at the light touch. “We’re this way.”
When he guided her through the doors, she had to clamp down on a gasp. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the LA city lights while sparkling crystal chandeliers lit up the interior. Every piece of impeccable furniture probably cost more than her monthly mortgage, but the place was undeniably beautiful. And the soothing earth tones of the walls and the exquisite area rugs adorning the rich walnut floors added a warm, inviting feeling to the elegant suite.
“I… um…” She cringed at the slight wheezing in her voice and collected herself. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a nice home before. But to stay in a suite as big as a good-size Southern California house? He belonged in a world different from hers. “Is that a grand piano?”
“I believe it’s a baby grand.” He tugged at his light blue tie, then dropped his hand to his side as though catching the nervous gesture. “The dining room is this way.”
The dining room was as tasteful and luxurious as the living room. But Emma almost burst out laughing when she saw the twelve-person table with two place settings at opposite ends—the long ends. “Are we seriously going to sit this far apart? We’d have to throw the saltshaker to pass it to each other.”
“I’m sorry.” His flustered gaze bounced from one end of the table to the other. “I didn’t realize the staff had set the table like this.”
“Maybe they thought you were expecting more people,” she said, eyeing the three sleek dining carts filled with at least ten covered dishes.
“I didn’t know what you liked.” A blush spread across the bridge of his nose as he ran a finger under the collar of his shirt. “So I ordered several different entrées for you.”
Emma forgot about her flash judgment that he was different from her. All she saw now was Michel, sweet and shy, and she just wanted to enjoy his company. With a soft smile, she murmured, “I think you might’ve accidentally ordered the entire menu.”
He didn’t respond right away to her teasing, as his eyes dropped to her lips, and her breath caught in her chest. After a sharp shake of his head, he managed a slightly dazed smile. “You may be right.”
She crossed over to the carts. “May I?”
“Please,” he said, his gaze following her every move.
As she lifted the covers one by one, Emma studied the artful setting of each plate and inhaled the delicious scents wafting toward her. Filet mignon nestled atop a delicate mound of polenta. Chicken breast with crispy, golden skin. Fluffy little pillows of gnocchi in a trio of flavors—cream, pesto, and tomato sauce.
“Everything looks so good. I don’t know which one to choose.” She couldn’t have asked for a more delightful dilemma. Like opening presents on Christmas morning, she uncovered even more delectable dishes. “Hmm. What are you having?”
“The Dover sole.” He came to stand beside her, and the air around her seemed to heat up by ten degrees. He glanced sideways at her, and she blushed for no reason whatsoever. “And what will you be having?”
“Everything,” Emma said, coming to the only possible decision. She replaced the covers on all the dishes and gave Michel a cheeky grin. “So are you.”
“I am?” Amusement lit up his warm brown eyes.
“Yes. This is what we’re going to do.” Emma moved their place settings so they could sit facing each other without the entire length of the table separating them. “First, we’ll each select a dish without peeking under the lids. Come on. Pick one.”
He graciously complied with her command and waited for her to make her choice. Once they were seated across from each other, he said with a smile, “What next?”
“Second, we’ll unveil the dish with a flourish.” She lifted the cover and waved her free hand around the filet mignon like a game show assistant.
With a low chuckle, he followed her example and held out a dignified hand toward his—she peered closely at his dish—sea bass. “This is the most flourish I can manage.”
“I’ll accept it. Just this once.” Her attempt at a stern glare failed miserably. “Third, we take a bite of our respective dishes, then switch.”
“Switch?” His eyebrows rose.
“Yes, so we could taste each other’s…” She trailed off with sudden self-consciousness.
Emma loved sharing food because she loved food. Sharing meant she could try more of it. And in Korean culture, family and friends ate banchan—small side dishes to accompany the rice—from the same plates, so sharing food came naturally for her.
Of course, there were people who balked at eating off other people’s plates. Which was totally fine. But it just hadn’t occurred to her that Michel might be one of them. She’d assumed that he was her kind of people because being with him felt so effortless.
“Brilliant,” Michel said, cutting through her thoughts. He gleefully rubbed his hands together. “Then we’ll repeat steps one through three until we’ve tried all the dishes, right?”
“Right,” she said, relief flooding her veins. He was her kind of people. Which didn’t matter at all since this was going to be their first and last date. The point of tonight was to have fun. “After we taste every entrée, we can each pick our favorite.”
“What if we like the same dish?” He leaned forward, his lips curling up in one corner.
“We fight to the death… with rock, paper, scissors.” She winked. “Or we could always share.”
Unable to wait any longer, she sliced into the filet mignon, revealing a perfect, pink center, and took an eager bite. Her eyelids fluttered shut as a happy hum escaped from her. She would have to search deep for a reserve of willpower to pass her plate to Michel.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with an expression she could only describe as hungry —as though he wanted to snatch the filet mignon out of her mouth. She hurried to swallow just to be safe.
“Wine,” he said with enough urgency to make her jump. He pushed away from the table and shot to his feet. “Let me bring you some wine.”
“Uh, okay.”
He was halfway across the dining room when he rounded back and came to stand in front of her. His shirt stretched across his broad chest as he inhaled deeply, and his words spilled out in an embarrassed rush. “Do you prefer red or white? Do you even drink wine? I should’ve asked you that first.”
“I drink all forms of alcoholic beverages,” she murmured distractedly, absorbing how well he filled out his impeccably fitted suit. Tailor made for sure.
“I… see.” He cupped his chin, strategically placing his fingers across his twitching mouth. If she peeled his fingers away, the mirth she could see building up inside him would spill out of him. She loved the sound of his laughter, but embarrassing herself wasn’t the best way to hear it.
What possessed her to say that? It wasn’t something you said on a first date. It probably wasn’t something you said at all. Never mind that it was true. Her love of food extended to adult beverages. The perfect drink could elevate a meal to the next level. Korean fried chicken was a delicious meal—but Korean fried chicken with ice-cold beer was a celebration.
“Maybe you should bring a bottle of each since we haven’t chosen what we’re having for dinner yet,” she said, deciding she wasn’t humiliated enough to refuse wine.
Why just have dinner when they could have a celebration?