Page 57 of Her Cruel Empire
“As expected.” I slide into the back of the car, already mentally cataloging the afternoon’s remaining appointments. “The Consortium’s French interests are secure.”
“You seem distracted,” Leon observes as we pull into traffic.
I give him a sharp look. “Mind your own business.”
Leon doesn’t flinch. He never does. “Youaremy business. And as such, I need to ask about the girl.”
The girl. As if Robin Rivers weren’t all woman. I ignore him, looking out the window instead.
“If things are getting serious with this girl,” he says carefully, “I should arrange closer protection for her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The words snap out harder than I intended. “She’s a way to blow off steam, nothing more. And anyway, I thought we had someone on her?”
Leon’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. He knows me too well. “We do. But they are hanging back, as you asked. Allowing the girl to think she is free.”
“Sheisfree,” I say belligerently. And after a pause, I hear myself ask, “What has she been doing today?”
“Wandering Paris. Getting lost. Eating many, many pastries.”
I catch myself smiling before I can stop it. She’ll make herself sick on sugar, like a child. Like someone who’s never had unlimited access to the world’s finest patisseries.
“We are in Paris,” Leon says stolidly.
“Yes. I am aware.”
“Last time you were in Paris?—”
“Alright, you don’t have to remind me,” I snap. I glare moodily out the window now, the pleasurable anticipation of seeing her again dying down. “But for her safety,” I say after a moment, “perhaps we should assign a closer watch tomorrow.”
Leon arches an eyebrow but says nothing.
“She means nothing to me,” I add coolly, “but outsiders won’t understand that. I don’t want her suffering needlessly.”
It’s not about her, I tell myself. It’s about optics. That’s all.
“As you wish,” is all Leon says.
The hotel suite is quiet when I enter, but I hear a soft groan from the bedroom. My mind fills at once with the most erotic images, but I find Robin sprawled across the bed, still in the dress I bought her this morning, one hand pressed to her stomach.
“I think I’m dying,” she announces dramatically.
“Too many pastries?” I ask, fighting back amusement.
“Somany pastries.” She rolls onto her back, looking up at me with self-pitying blue eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. Everything looked so good.”
I lean against the doorframe, studying her. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup.
Gorgeous.
“I booked us dinner at L’Ambroisie,” I say. “It has three Michelin stars. But I can cancel.”
Robin bolts upright so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t fall off the bed. “No! I can totally eat more.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hell, yes.” She stands, smoothing down her dress. “I just hope I still fit into the clothes you bought me.”
“If they don’t fit, we’ll buy new ones.”
