Page 35 of Boss of the Year
Lucas’s brows furrowed into deep grooves. “I don’t remember ‘frumpy.’ I remember you had much longer hair, wore glasses, and preferred more conservative clothing. But, Marie, there was nothing nun-like about you.”
I closed my eyes; it was like the year in Paris had never happened. I was back in my giant sweaters and ankle-length skirts, terrified of being seen, of being heard, of being noticed at all despite wanting more than anything for it to happen.
Until I started working at Prideview, the only people I regularly spoke to were family members. High school was a purgatory where I ate my lunch alone and spent free periods in the library. I’d watched everyone else in my family grow and blossom. I saw my older brother and sisters erupt like tulips in the spring, the bulbs having gestated through the hard winters of our childhood.
Eventually, I had come to the conclusion that my bulb was a dud. Smaller than everyone, a fraction of the people my charismatic family members were becoming, a mediocre student, a paralyzed social idiot. I had nothing to offer.
But what started with chicken soup and a chance in the kitchen had brought me down a path to be something more. Ever so gradually, the wall of anxiety and fear cracked with every eggshell I broke, every batter I mixed, and every plate I served.
Now my bulb was finally starting to flower. It had taken time as Ondine’s protégé, a full year in Paris, a degree from the best culinary school in the world, and a world away from my overbearing family to acquire the courage to be whoIwanted to be instead of the leftover Zola sibling that everyone forgot.
But it was still only preparation.
Tonight—thisnight—was the first real action.
And it started with a kiss that meant nothing.
I didn’t realize that tears were slipping freely down my cheeks until I felt the gentle press of fingers wiping them away. I opened my eyes to find Lucas standing close while he stroked my skin with his thumbs.
He had nice hands. They weren’t a laborer’s hands, but were broad and capable, cradling my jaw with an even blend of tenderness and strength. Just as it was plain that Lucas Lyons could and would take charge wherever he saw fit, it was equally evident that he would never in a million years hurt me.
I couldn’t explain it.
I had spent only a few minutes with the man that everyone else in this house and probably large swaths of the world feared.
But I had never felt safer.
I hiccupped.
His dimple reappeared along a remorseful, lopsided smile. “All right?”
I nodded and tried to ignore the wave of sadness that flowed through me when he dropped his hands and straightened.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just…overwhelmed for a moment.”
“No, I apologize.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He did that a lot. “I didn’t know.”
“That I’m a loser?” The word was bitter on my tongue. I felt too old for the designation that had been thrust on me since grade school. But a new haircut and some makeup didn’t change fundamental truths, did they?
His more typical stern expression resumed. “I’d just call it inexperienced.”
“It’s pathetic.” I hugged myself again. “Do you know what other twenty-five-year-olds are doing right now? A lot of drugs, that’s what. Dancing until three a.m. Sleeping with strangers and having the time of their lives.”
“Not all of them. I certainly didn’t.”
“Oh, really? You were a virgin until you were twenty-five too?”
Maybe Lucas wasn’t plastered all over the society pages, but he was still good-looking. More than good-looking, if I were being honest. When that uncertain smile made an appearance, he was almost as beautiful as his brother. Certainly more…something. Something complicated. Like the way the most delicious sauces were made from the long simmer of complex elements or the deglazing of a pan that had layers of caramelized ingredients.
“Twenty-four, actually.”
I jerked. “Are you serious?”
“Though I was led to believe that was rather late as well, for someone like me.”
Lucas dropped back to the bench beside me. It was nice. I still had to look up at him, but our height difference wasn’t quite as pronounced. From this vantage, we were almost equals.
I laid my hands flat on my knees and examined them. I hadn’t had time to do my nails before the party. It hadn’t seemed necessary when I would just have to remove the polish first thing tomorrow morning, since I couldn’t risk anything flaking into the food I would be preparing.
