The Killing League

12.

Nicole

“Hey, we’re cutting into tonight’s profits!” Jay Lucerne bellowed as he popped the cork from their second bottle of champagne. Nicole laughed at the sheer delight on her partner’s flushed face. She thought he might be a little drunk, but he always had a car and driver at the ready.

He leaned across the table and topped off Nicole’s glass, then refilled his own. The wait staff had gone home for the night, as had the kitchen staff. It was now just Lucerne and Nicole.

“I still can’t believe it,” Nicole said.

“Believe it,” he said. “Thicque is here to stay. I didn’t hear one complaint, there wasn’t one mishap, and my sources tell me that at least two of the critics who dined here tonight were wowed. We can expect raves in tomorrow’s paper.”

Nicole smiled. Jay Lucerne had more connections than a gossip columnist. She sipped from her champagne glass, not really wanting any more, but the slight buzz was helping her come down from the high of the evening.

It had been a deliriously fantastic experience. The customers had poured in. Her friends showed up. The critics received their food on time and flawlessly prepared. It had been a boisterous, loud, warm, loving evening of food and wine and drinks and laughter. It had been the kind of opening night she had always dreamed about. Already, Nicole was looking forward to the next night and the next and the next.

She looked at the empty seat next to her and thought of Mack. The idea popped into her head that the evening would truly be perfect if he were sitting next to her right now.

Nicole looked up and caught Lucerne studying her.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not drunk,” she said. The corner of her mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. She pushed the image of Mack from her mind.

“I’m happy.”