Passing into the air-conditioned corridor, then through to the main room and the maitre d’s podium, he resisted the temptation to look around and see if Al was here already. Even if he wasn’t, he’d be here soon, he was sure of it.
“Can I help you, sir?” The maitre d’ said without cracking a smile.
“Yes, please. I’m Dale Smith. I’m here to meet Mr. Winchester. Alaric Winchester.”
The man’s slightly haughty attitude changed immediately. He glanced down at the list on his podium, then straightened, smiled—it was instantly clear he didn’t do that very often—gave a tiny bow, and said, “Certainly, sir. I’ll take you to your table right away. Mr. Winchester is expecting you.”
Dale had to bite back a grin as he fell into step behind the man. It was funny how he’d gone from indifferent to ingra
