Page 130 of Boss of the Year
“You were serving someone. Offering them the special. At one point, you said, ‘of course, Daniel.’”
I covered my face. This was mortifying. Lucas had come to pay me a compliment and found me in the middle of a daydream about his brother while I wasworkingfor him.
“I’m surprised you gave me the promotion at all.” I cringed, still reeling from the fact that it had been Lucas all along who had been responsible for it. “I might have been eighteen, but you basically found a little girl playing make-believe.”
“I saw a beautiful young woman who was dreaming.” He smiled a little, more to himself than to me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Which is why I knew it would be better if I stayed out of the kitchen from that point on.”
I sat there, digesting what he had shared.
Had Lucas just admitted what I thought he was saying?
Had he seen me that day, almost eight full years ago now? Homely and small in my ugly maid’s uniform. My hair tied back, and my glasses smudged, the definition of mousy. Hardly ever speaking, and when I did, only in platitudes or silly pretend-dreams to myself?
“So you—” I stammered. “You saw me—and then you—are you saying that?—”
“Yes,” he answered my unspoken questions. “The answer to all of them is yes.”
I had no more words. No more thoughts. Shock had replaced them all.
Lucas reached out like he was approaching a wild animal and gently cupped my cheek, running a thumb across my cheekbones, then over my lips.
“It’s you, Marie,” he whispered so quietly I wondered if I’d actually heard him. “God help me, it’s always been you.”
26
PLATEAU DE FROMAGE
*arrange mildest to sharpest. Also include a blue cheese, which may be an acquired taste.
Isat on the edge of Sofia’s bed, wrapped in one of Frankie’s thick terry cloth robes, my hair damp from the shower. My suitcase lay open beside me, clothes scattered across the coverlet, but I couldn’t bring myself to get dressed.
Everything in there felt like a lie.
The tailored clothes.
The cute haircut.
The pretty makeup.
I liked them. I did.
But if I were telling the absolute truth, I had bought all those things, gone out of my way to “bloom” because I had hoped that someone—okay,Daniel—would finally see me.
And now I’d discovered that someone had seen me all along. For seven, almost eight years, since I’d been little more than a mouse in a nun’s habit with smudged glasses and barely a word for anyone new, Lucas Lyons had seen me.
And he’d liked what he saw.
He liked what he saw now too.
He liked me, it seemed, in any form I took.
Lucas had disappeared into the guest room with a mumbled “good night” and a look riddled with something like pain. I could hear the distant sound of running water—he was showering too, washing away the chlorine and our conversation on the roof.
What do you want, Marie?
His question kept echoing through my mind. I’d told him about the restaurant, about my tentative dreams for the future. But I hadn’t told him the one truth that had been replaying in my mind for days now, growing louder with every stolen glance, every accidental touch.
I wanted him.
