When I’m with You (Because You Are Mine #2)(9)
Author: Beth Kery

“She is light itself. And I’m not.”

For a second, neither of them spoke as Lucien absorbed Ian’s words. A powerful kinship with the other man rose in him, an amplification of a connection that neither of them spoke of but seemed to mutually sense from their first meeting. They shared dark souls, stained from the moment they first drew breath in this world.

“I just feel that if Francesca and I marry, no matter how happy we are, a dark cloud hovers on the horizon. My decision to bind her to me could change things, open up”—Ian paused as if trying to find the words—“un sac de nœuds.”

Lucien smiled sadly at the French phrase—a sack of knots. He thought of Elise out there in the kitchen. He sighed resignedly. Well, sometimes there was nothing for it. Knots must be untied, one by one, no matter how intimidating the task. He would not back down from his personal sac de nœuds now that it’d been shoved in his face so provocatively by gorgeously packaged trouble.

“Who isn’t afraid of the future when making such an important decision?” Lucien asked quietly. “You must believe in yourself and your ability to make your own fate. Everything else is bowing down to fear.”

A strange look came over Ian’s fierce expression, a distant light dawning in shadow. “You think it’s just a matter of cold feet then?”

“I do. You must trust in yourself. You must trust in Francesca.”

Ian’s glance was like a blue-skied storm. “In Francesca, I have complete trust.”

In myself, I have precious little.

Lucien remained seated as his friend gave his thanks and left the room, the unsaid words ringing like a familiar echo in his head, the voice his own—not Ian’s.

* * *

The lunch rush had died out by the time the elegantly dressed woman who had introduced herself as Sharon Aiken entered the kitchen.

“Lucien has asked to see you in his office, Ms. Martin.”

Elise paused in the process of arranging vegetables on a plate of grilled shrimp and pearl couscous.

“Can’t it wait?” she asked warily. She’d been expecting the summons from his royal highness, but that didn’t make hearing it now any easier.

“Lucien says Evan can finish up for you. There’s only one table left to serve. He says for you to report to him immediately. He has a polo match later this afternoon, and he wants to speak with you before you become involved in the dinner prep.”

“Of course,” Elise said, taking pains to keep her voice cool and professional when she noticed the pointed curiosity in Sharon’s expression. Obviously Lucien had warned the manager that Elise might try to wriggle out of a meeting with him.

You have given me no other choice. Consider your challenge accepted, ma fifille.

The memory of Lucien’s low, ominous threat played back in her head for the hundredth time. Well, the moment had come. What was he going to say? What was he going to do about her bold decision to show up here today, pretending to be his new chef? Part of her still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Another part—the part that had stared hopelessly at the rundown décor in the Cedar Home Extended Stay Hotel last night—told her that she’d had to do something, no matter how crazy or brash, to try to keep her dream for a future from dying. She would not concede failure this time. Lucien was a fearsome presence, but he was a familiar face in a country full of strangers. He was furious at her, but he would help her when no one else would.

Wouldn’t he? He sent you away once before.

Yes, but he’d said something about the dinner prep to Sharon, as if he expected Elise to be completing her day there. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Her brain had been spinning in overdrive ever since Ian Noble had walked into the kitchen earlier. She’d sensed Lucien’s edginess, even though he’d outwardly appeared calm. The voice of the strange man she’d heard in Paris echoed yet again in her brain.

You’re not feeling guilty, are you? About what you plan to do with Noble?

Had Lucien relocated his entire life to Chicago because of Ian Noble? If so, why? What did Noble have that Lucien wanted? It made no sense to her, given everything she knew of Lucien. Lucien was an extremely wealthy man in his own right, so she couldn’t imagine that his motives were financially motivated. Although extreme wealth never vanquished greed. If anything, it did the opposite, she thought, reminded of Lucien’s father.

One thing was certain. Lucien hadn’t denied it when Ian assumed that Lucien had hired her as an interim chef. Clearly, Lucien hadn’t wanted the compelling billionaire to know about their past connection . . . or about what she’d overheard in Paris.

But what did Lucien’s father’s crimes have to do with Ian Noble?

She washed her hands, her anxiety mounting by the second. Irritation spiked through her when she saw that Sharon waited for her when she turned to wipe off her hands. Did she plan to escort her like a jailer to Lucien’s office?

“Thank you, I know the way,” she said, even though it was a lie. Mario had disappeared alone last night when he’d apparently gone to raid Lucien’s private store of premium cognac. She lifted her chin and breezed past the manager, noticing from the corner of her eye that Sharon followed her out of the kitchen. In the main dining room, she paused next to a busboy.

“Which way to Lucien’s office?” she muttered without moving her lips.

“All the way at the end of the rear hallway, last door on the left,” the busboy said so loudly that she grimaced and rolled her eyes.

She started down the long, empty hall, hearing the sounds of the restaurant becoming muted until she could hear only the throb of her escalated heartbeat in the thick silence. By the time she knocked on the massive carved door of Lucien’s office, she felt as if she were willingly walking to her own execution.

She started when the door whipped open suddenly. He looked dark and intimidating standing there, wearing a pair of black trousers that hung elegantly on his tall, athletic form, a dark gray shirt, a black and silver silk tie . . . and an unreadable expression. He nodded once and she entered the room, glancing around nervously at the masculine, luxurious office. The heavy door closed behind them with a loud click. She heard another snick of metal and spun around, alarmed.

“Did you just lock that door?” she asked, her already rapid heartbeat redoubling its tempo.

His nostrils flared slightly as he stared at her. “If you decide to stay, I think you’ll prefer that the door was locked.”