A business lunch starts to heat up.

You and Mandy Marx adjourn to the tiny private courtyard behind Marx Marx and Hastings' catering shop. An awning screens you from the upper windows of the neighboring buildings. Mandy has a notebook that she scribbles in while you talk, finalizing the menu.

Mandy starts her lunch with the piece of squashed cake from the layer Hastings had ruined in a fit of pique. "Life is uncertain, so eat dessert first, as I always say!" she announces.

You bite your lip, hoping the "spiced" cake won't distract her too much from the task at hand. For all her protestations, she looks like she must be too busy to eat dessert very often, or perhaps she just works it all off somehow.

Mandy seems to have some good ideas for a menu that won't drive off the bride's whole-grain vege-holic friends and relations.

"...and I think ratatouille. Martha also has this wonderful quiche. Or perhaps the Tuscan vegetable tart..." Mandy rattles off. She makes expansive gestures with her hands. "...there'll be the cake of course, we don't want to upstage it, but perhaps a little palate refresher, lemon and raspberry agar-agar whip. Like a fluffy gelatine, but it's vegetarian..."

You've been nodding and eating lunch as Mandy holds forth on the menu. With a bit of alarm, you notice you have just swallowed a big bite of the cake that was spiced with aphrodisiac. Delicious, but maybe not a wise move. You lay down your fork and listen to Mandy again.

Menu planning really seems to excite Mandy, and her face grows pink as she paints the picture of the reception lunch. She pauses and looks you in the face. "Weddings are so romantic, don't you think, Ms. Strong?" She smiles, and her eyes glow. She breathes deeply, and her breasts rise and fall.

You feel a little tingle inside. With Mandy so wound up, you're tempted to tease her, feeding her passion with a little hot food talk.