“I don’t understand. Chance is an amazing cook, and what he prepares for us at home is literally to die for. How do I tell him how horrible this menu was?”
“Quinton said he’d want to know.”
“Yes, but my husband isn’t your son.” She grimaced and opened her purse. “I need a cigarette.”
I placed my hand over hers. “Allison, you don’t smoke, and even if you did, you couldn’t smoke in here.”
She sighed and closed her purse. “You’re right.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. You’ve already got your hands full with that insufferable Senator Wexler. I don’t understand how Elizabeth can put up with him.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
“I know.” She sighed again. “I’m the last one to talk. Did I mention Chance’s sister is studying for her real estate license? I can see I’ll have to throw business her way.”
“Why?”
“Would you believe because I want to make Chance happy?”