Crystal Lennox patted Celestine's hand and grabbed her purse. "Let's go. Today's meeting was just a sideshow—our real business hasn't even started."
"What do you mean?" Celestine cocked her head. "Did you book us in with another client?"
Crystal snorted. "Celly, do I really seem like such a heartless boss? Forcing my staff to schmooze through two business dinners in one day?"
Celestine bit back a laugh and shook her head, then looked at Crystal with curiosity. "So what is it, then?"
Crystal grinned. "We're celebrating your recovery, of course. Officially welcoming our Smile back to the team."
Crystal had suspected that, with Ramsey involved, they wouldn't get much actual eating done at that dinner anyway. She just hadn't expected it to end quite so quickly. Still, better to wrap things up early and not waste the reservation.
Celestine's cheeks flushed as she realized what Crystal was up to.
"Crystal, I really—"
She started to thank her, but Crystal cut her off with a mischievous smile. "Ah-ah, don't you dare say those two words."
The two of them made their way to Watersedge Grillhouse, the restaurant Crystal had reserved.
Watersedge Grillhouse was an old favorite in Oceanview City, known for its chef's-choice menu—every day, what came out of the kitchen depended on the chef's mood. Most places would crash and burn with such a risky business model, but Watersedge's food was so good that word of mouth had kept it thriving for years. Without the right connections and a reservation well in advance, you'd never get a table.
Standing outside, Celestine couldn't help but remember last year, when she'd gone all out planning Chester's birthday dinner—right here at Watersedge. But he never showed. She ended up seeing photos on the gossip pages: her husband out sailing with Joanna.
She barely touched her food that night. The chef actually came out himself to ask if something was wrong with the dishes. But Celestine, already miserably upset, just broke down in tears when the chef's concern came out sounding more like an accusation.
The poor chef had panicked—clearly never having dealt with a crying guest before.
"Hey, hey, Miss, I'm sorry! My fault, okay? Tell you what, next time you come, your meal's on the house. Order whatever you want, I promise!"
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