"Perfect," Cesare replies. "Wednesday. At one. Le Gavroche." He smirks, barely resisting the urge to say it's a date. He wonders how many johns of hers Nancy has gone to lunch with. He suspects it isn't too many, particularly if there's no payment made beforehand.

"I wonder if we'll hate each other," he says with a smirk. After all, there's certainly a possibility. They don't truly know each other much at all. Not in a sociable sense, at least.