I just want that on the record. It was business. It was supposed to be food and drinks and schmoozing. A semi-hard sell, sure. I mean why would he want me to redesign his restaurant when his lovely wife was a budding designer? Why? Because I am good. I am beyond good. I am outstanding. And I was going to prove that to Samuel Radcliff. I really am a bitch. I have to admit it. I heard his wife. Sitting at my table for one, picking at my hot and sour soup of the day, I heard her gushing over her project for her design class. And I heard her go on to say that one day she would totally redo The Tarnished Spoon. The name is why I eat here. Really. How can you resist a name like that? Anyway, Deborah was going on and on about colours and swags and all of that as Samuel half-listened and nodded. He smiled but busied himself with lists and a calculator. ‘Mmm-hmm,’ was what he said. Deborah was completely ignorant. She grinned and chattered and looked around with a great wide-eyed gaze as if she had never seen her husband’s restaurant before.
