Page 23 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

“I didn’t offer you a drink,” I say, sliding out of the bench. “What can I get you?”

“Water’s fine,” she says.

I return to the table with two glasses of water. Hers with ice and lemon. Mine at room temperature. Even after living here most of my adult life, I still don’t understand why Americans want their drinks crowded out with a mountain of ice.

“Thanks,” she says. “This is really good.” She points to the linguine with her fork.

“I’m so glad you like it.” I’m not going to make this easy for her. I’ve still got the bruises on my kidneys from where she booted me out of bed on Sunday morning. There’s got to be some kind of payback.

“So why does Worth think you’d be able to help us in our situation?” she asks.

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t?” she asks. “So you wouldn’t be able to help?”

“Are you asking me to help you?” I say, trying to stop the twitching at the corners of my mouth.

“I’m asking, hypothetically, how would you help, if you were going to?”

I can’t tamper down my smile. “I have no idea,” I reply. “I’d need to know a lot more detail.”

She pulls in a breath, and I can tell she’s getting irritated. “You don’t know how you’d help?” Her tone is a little sharper. “So how would you charge?”

“It depends,” I say. “I usually take a percentage.”

“A percentage of what?”

“A percentage of the deal value,” I say.

“Huh,” she replies. “So if you’re not successful and it doesn’t go through, you don’t get paid. And if it is successful, you do get paid.”

“Right,” I say.

“So no one gets pissed off, because they don’t pay you if it doesn’t go through. But maybe they feel like they owe you, because you did a load of work for free. And if the deal does go through, you get paid, plus you get to be the reason the deal went through. Either way, they feel like they owe you.”

I don’t respond.

“That’s smart,” she says.

I laugh. “Thanks.”

“So the whole of New York owes you favors?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t say it’s limited to New York.”

She holds my gaze, and I can see her mind whirring. “And I bet if your dad had a restaurant now, it wouldn’t get closed down. Right? Because you could pull in some of those favors and make sure it never happens.”

The veins in my neck throb. I’m not sure anyone has ever made that connection before. But the woman is exactly right.

“You’ve avoided being vulnerable like your dad by making yourself one of the most powerful people in New York.”

I take a mouthful of pasta.

“So I need your help,” she says. “Tell me your percentage.”

I like this Avril. The straight shooter, the takes-no-prisoners woman who gave me her martini.

“Oh, you get a special rate,” I say.