With a Twist by Deirdre Martin

guffawing in her head. “I know how important it is to make guests feel special. I know how important it is to treat fellow staff with respect.”
    “Your sister’s restaurant is very small, I believe.” He gestured around him. “As you can see, my restaurant is very large.” He peered at her closely. “Have you ever waitressed in a restaurant larger than your sister’s?”
    “No.”
    “Mmm. You’re Parisian, aren’t you?”
    “Yes,” said Natalie proudly.
    “It’s been my experience that Parisians think they can do anything, even when they can’t.”
    “Perhaps you haven’t encountered the right Parisians,” Natalie replied politely. A provincial who hated Parisians. Forget it. She would never get the job.
    “You’re from Normandy, oui ?” she asked him. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.” She wasn’t lying. She had many friends in Paris who regularly went on holiday there. Perhaps, by complimenting where he was from, he’d see she was personable and polite, and not just Parisian.
    Simon looked unmoved. “I’ll be blunt with you: since you have no real management experience, I think a leap from waitressing at your sister’s bistro to a restaurant of this size and reputation is too great. I’ve known a lot of managers who started out small. But this is a giant step. My recommendation to you would be to try to get a job managing a medium-sized restaurant first. You have to work your way up, you know.”
    “Of course. I appreciate your advice.” She looked at him inquisitively. “May I ask you another question?”
    “Certainement.”
    “Was this even a serious job interview? Or did you speak with me purely as a favor to Anthony Dante?”
    Simon was silent.
    “I see,” Natalie said primly. She rose. “Thank you.”
    By the time she was out on the sidewalk, she was panicked. What if this interview was a harbinger of those to come? What if every restaurant she managed to get an interview with said the same thing? What if she didn’t get another interview for months and was forced to keep working at the Wild Hart?
    She’d made enough in tips to take a cab back to her—Bernard’s—apartment. As soon as she got home, she’d call and thank Anthony for getting her an interview with Simon. It wasn’t Anthony’s fault that his acquaintance had no intention of ever taking her seriously.
    Disheartened, she hailed a cab and slid into the backseat. She wished she didn’t have to work tonight. God help Quinn O’Brien if he went out of his way to make her life difficult, the way he always did. God help him. She was in no mood.
    “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
    Natalie turned from helping Liam behind the bar to see Mason Clement sliding onto a stool. He was dressed immaculately in a starched white shirt and navy blue tie, nothing rumpled about him at all. Natalie liked him.
    “Bonjour,” she replied, approaching him. “What can I get you?”
    “A Stella Artois would be great,” Clement replied in French.
    Stella Artois . . . she wasn’t sure what that was. “A Stella Artois?” she said to Liam uncertainly.
    Liam nodded, indicating he’d get it.
    She turned back to Mason, catching a whiff of his cologne. It was lovely. She liked a man who paid attention to his grooming.
    “You speak French?” she asked him.
    “Of course,” he replied in French. “Having worked for years in Europe, one needs to speak more than just English.” Natalie was impressed. A man fluent in French. Sophisticated.
    “May I make an observation?” Clement asked, still speaking French as Liam put the beer down in front of him.
    Natalie swallowed nervously. “Yes, as long as it’s not rude.”
    Mason laughed. “I don’t think it’s rude.”
    “All right, then.”
    He leaned in close to her. “You seem a bit too classy to be working here.”
    Natalie flushed with pleasure. This Mason Clement—he saw her. “It’s just temporary,” she murmured, “until I find a job managing a restaurant. I’m just