When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(5)
It was Lucien’s stare that made her feel her shortcomings so completely. He saw a lot with those X-ray eyes. He always had.
He’d immediately seen her foolishness when they’d first met at his parents’ estate in Nice. Elise had been a headstrong, wild thing, desperate for her preoccupied parents’ attention, for the staff’s, other houseguests’ . . . anyone’s. Lucien had been a coolly elusive twenty-one to her fourteen years that summer. From the beginning, he’d seen her ragged neediness, although she hadn’t realized it at the time. He’d befriended her, much to her delight. She’d been like a pitiful, neglected puppy, in awe of every scrap of attention he threw her way. It had been the best summer of her youth, those golden months on the shore of the Mediterranean.
Of her life.
She hadn’t realized until years later that their fathers had implored Lucien to take her under his wing. More than likely he’d been paid well for spending time with her, riding, swimming, and boating during that unforgettable summer. The knowledge shamed and infuriated her to this day.
“You must realize this is an unexpected—not to mention ridiculous—situation, Elise,” he said, his tone softer than it’d been before. She tensed when she suspected it was from pity. “You can’t work at Fusion.”
“I told you. I have a contract.”
“You have a contract with Mario, not with Fusion or me. I understand that master chefs take on stages. I allow them to arrange that on their own, respecting a talent I don’t possess. You aren’t one of Fusion’s paid employees, however, and as you just witnessed,” he said, wiping off the snifter he’d just washed, “Mario no longer works here.”
She stood there, panic gripping her, her thoughts coming a mile a minute. Had she failed so quickly in her plans? Were they so brittle? Was she? Would she be forced to return to the sterile emptiness of her existence in Paris, once again the vanquished fool?
No. It would not happen.
“Why did you change your name?” The random question just popped out of her throat she was so frantic.
For a moment, he didn’t speak, just finished wiping off the snifter and hanging it with the other glassware, leaving her with her thoughts. Taking his time, he strolled around the bar. He approached her and stood close. Closer than she’d expected. The spice scent of his cologne filtered into her nose.
“I’d actually already changed my name during our last meeting in Paris. Apparently, you’d been partying too much. You likely are a bit cloudy about a few things that occurred that night.”
She stilled, suddenly growing wary. Something about his reference to their encounter at Renygat and the subtle suggestion that she might be mistaken in her memories of it triggered a warning signal in her brain.
She’d left her companions and sought out a private meeting with Lucien that Saturday night two years ago, nervous, but eager to reconnect with her childhood infatuation now that she was a woman. True, she’d known he was in Paris for a while, but her parents’ pushy desires about Lucien had made her standoffish about approaching him. She’d been embarrassed, lest he think she was just enacting her parents’ wishes like some kind of robot socialite, bent on marriage to one of the most eligible males in the country.
She’d tapped lightly on the only door in the hallway, taking a moment to realize when she got no response that the door only led to a shorter hallway—an entryway of sorts. It led to the true door to Lucien’s office. The outer door had been shut, but as she went through it, she’d seen that the inner one was cracked open an inch. Standing in the entryway, she’d accidentally overheard that puzzling conversation between Lucien and a German-accented stranger.
“I’ll need top-notch insider information on Noble—his background, his family, his financials.”
“That won’t be easy. Ian Noble is known for being a control freak about security.”
“That’s why I hired you,” Lucien had replied, sounding preoccupied. “You’re supposed to be the best.”
There had been a grunt of acknowledgment followed by a pause.
“What’s that expression on your face?” the German man had asked, sounding vaguely amused. “You’re not feeling guilty, are you? About what you plan to do with Noble?”
“Subterfuge isn’t pretty, no matter how you dress it up. Sins of the father haunting me, I suppose,” Lucien had said in a subdued, sardonic voice. “We carry those ghosts with us, no matter what.”
The man had given a harsh laugh. “Forget all that, and focus on your prize. Trust me. What you’re planning with Noble doesn’t compare to the crimes committed by your father.”
“I’m not cloudy about that night, Lucien. I remember it all,” Elise said, hesitant to bring up the volatile topic in this delicate situation. His expression remained impassive, but something flashed in his eyes. She swallowed through a tight throat. “I don’t recall you saying anything about changing your name, though.”
“I think you know why I changed my name and left France.” His quiet voice rolled over her like a sensual wave.
“You shouldn’t let your father’s crimes taint you. You’re your own man,” she whispered, referring to the fact that his adoptive father, Adrien Sauvage—wealthy industrialist, hotel chain owner, and head of a media empire—had been sent to prison two and a half years ago for corporate espionage. She knew Lucien had been questioned by the police about the possibility of him colluding with his father in the stealing of high-level corporate secrets. Elise had never believed he was guilty for a second. She had firsthand experience of Lucien’s quiet, restrained disdain when it came to Adrien Sauvage. In the end, Lucien had never been charged with anything, but it seemed the taint still clung.