Nick was handsome in an Orlando Bloom-meets-Johnny Depp sort of rugged way, like he'd been stranded on an island in the middle of the South Pacific for 2 years before rescue came.
Of course everyone joked that he was only the boss because his father owned the company. But Nick didn't need to work, he was the sort that could charter a plane to Paris for dinner on the Eiffel Tower and be back in Manhattan after.
That was the thing about Nick though, he didn't charter planes often and the only sign of luxury was his "home" - a suite at the Metropolitian on Lexington, where no expense was spared to keep it from looking homey. The one thing Nick couldn't stand was that home-sweet-home feeling, he didn't know why it bothered him so but there it was.
Nick flashed his perfect set of pearly whites at the waitress, "Bring us your finest red, and we'll have some oysters, money is no object, we're celebrating." He clutched Jeanie's hand under the table and smiled, remembering how Francey had known he'd clinch the deal. He'd have to call her afterwards, he could already hear the awe in her voice.