“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.
“I don’t let his crimes affect me. I’m very aware that I’m not him.”
His voice had gone quiet and husky as his gaze ran over her face. She stilled, the back of her neck prickled in anticipation. He reached up and touched her hair. She shivered at the sensation of his fingers sliding over it and gently tucking a lock behind her ear. Her entire body quickened, tingling with excitement. It felt strange, being so acutely aware of a man. She hadn’t let herself get close to many men romantically—let alone a man as attractive as Lucien—since she’d thrown herself into her cooking career and begun to support herself. She hadn’t ever let men get too close to her, truth be told. She’d had a major crush on Lucien as a girl, of course, even though he hadn’t known she’d existed in a romantic sense. But this was different. She was a grown woman now, one who was much clearer on what she wanted out of life.