Page 165 of Boss of the Year
Another part told me to wait and see how he would respond. To be smarter this time. More careful.
To my surprise, Lucas nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Not yet.”
“It—it doesn’t?”
He shook his head. “Trust has to be earned. And I know that might take years, if it’s even possible. But Marie, I’m going to try. You say you don’t know me? Well, here’s your first lesson:I’m the most tenacious son of a bitch on the planet. When I want something, I go after it until it’s mine, and right now, the only thing I want in the world is a future with you. I’m willing to spend another ten years waiting if that’s what it takes to prove it to you.”
“Even if I never forgive you?” I was pushing, but I had to ask.
Lucas didn’t blink. “Even then.”
The certainty in his voice broke something open in my chest. This man—this impossible, complicated man—was willing to spendyearstrying to earn back something he’d thrown away in a moment of deception.
For me.
Before I could stop myself, before rational thought could intervene, I was leaning across the table and kissing him.
It was supposed to be angry, a way to shut him up and prove that his words didn’t affect me. But the moment our lips met, anger transformed into something else entirely. Hunger. Need. The desperate acknowledgment that despite everything he’d done, despite all the lies and manipulation, I was still hopelessly in love with him.
I really was pathetic.
I didn’t seem to care.
“Marie,” Lucas mumbled when he realized just what we were doing. “Marie, does this?—”
“Don’t.” I kissed him again. Then again. And again, until I chased the doubt away again. For now, anyway. “Don’t make this more complicated than it already is.”
“Then—”
“Just take me somewhere,” I told him as I stood. “Anywhere where it can just be you and me again. We’ll deal with the rest of it later.”
33
CRÈME BRÛLÉE
*finish with a torch. Nothing matches real fire.
Inever knew Lucas could move so quickly until he was dragging me down the narrow Parisian street to hail a taxi. His grip on my hand was firm and unyielding, and I had to jog to keep up with his long strides. Thank God I had opted for flats instead of my other shoes.
I didn’t even realize his standard security team was trailing us until a taxi pulled up like it had been summoned out of thin air, followed by another sliding to the curb behind it.
Lucas paid neither of them any heed, simply dragging me into the back and barking out the address. The stern, no-nonsense CEO was back. But instead of taking over an industry, he was planning a takeover ofme.
We reached his hotel in a matter of minutes, one of the many expensive places near Pont Neuf and the Louvre. One where the snooty concierge and nearly all the staff offered a friendly “Bonjour, MonsieurLyons” to one of their premier guests.
It was like they hadn’t spoken as Lucas towed me through the lobby to a bank of elevators and then up to where his room was shockinglynotthe penthouse.
Not that this suite was any less luxurious. The whole thing was about triple the size of Louis’s little garret, complete with two balconies that overlooked the river, Sainte-Chapelle, and the Eiffel Tower in the distance. He pulled me through an anteroom containing a dining table and a small desk surprisingly bereft of any computers, papers, or any business paraphernalia, then into a bedroom in which the center stood the biggest bed I’d ever seen, dressed in a cloud-like duvet and a mountain of pillows.
It was funny, I mused as I looked around, taking in the space. I’d never actually seen any of the bedrooms Lucas booked when we traveled. My quarters were lovely, but lower-level guest rooms compared to the primary suites he always occupied. Had they all been like this? Massive, luxurious, overflowing?
Rooms like this must have cost a fortune, and we’d been traveling between them, to much larger accommodations, for several weeks.
And Lucas thought nothing of it.
“Marie.”
The door clicked shut behind us, and I turned to find Lucas approaching. He looked like he was ready to pounce.
