Page 77 of Boss of the Year
This wasn’t just a party. Some of the most important people in the world were here tonight. Lucas had been invited, that meant he was one of them.
And then there was me. His shy cook.
“Right, deep breaths.” I smoothed my hands over my skirt one more time. “I can do this.”
“Youcando this. And if it helps, just remember that half of these people probably couldn’t even boil water if you asked them. You have skills none of them could ever hope to attain.”
We edged forward in a line at the largest tent, where a military aide was announcing attendees one at a time after security approved them.
Lucas presented someone who looked like an event planner with an official-looking invitation, but she didn’t need any verification as she handed it to the announcer.
“SenhorLucas Lyonse SenhorinaMarie Zolados Estados Unidos,” he droned as we were waved into the party.
At least fifty pairs of eyes looked up when they heard the names. While I was certain they didn’t recognize mine, many of them zeroed in on me when they saw whose arm I was holding on to like a life preserver. Their questions were palpable from many feet away.
Who was this girl?
Why wasshewith Lucas Lyons?
What was she even doing here?
“Oh God,” I muttered. “Oh, God, Lucas, I don’t think I can?—”
“Just breathe, baby.” His hand found the small of my back again and turned me to face him. “I have you.”
I looked up into his stormy eyes, though the gray had become a comforting heather variety, like a rainy day that made me want to curl up in an armchair with a cup of tea and a good book.
Soft.
Inviting.
Safe.
“You’re with me,” Lucas reminded me. “I won’t leave you alone.”
We stayed lost in the moment until my heart rate returned to normal.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, I’m good now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Monsieur Lyons!” a voice called across the party in heavily accented English while the announcer continued with other guests’ names.
We turned toward a spritely older gentleman in another tuxedo, who was approaching with a warm smile beneath a thin gray mustache.
“So glad you could come” he said. “O presidentewill be ecstatic. You know how he loves his good press, and your name will make the paper. But who is your lovely date?”
“Ambassador Rousseau.” Lucas extended his hand for a handshake, though the other remained at my back. “May I present my friend, Marie Zola. Marie, Ambassador Rousseau serves as France’s representative here in Brazil. He’s also the devil who talked me into coming here tonight.”
“My table needed some better company,” the ambassador admonished. “And Lyons Corp needs to close that contract with the Brazilians tomorrow morning, no? The French want their peace too. No reason we can’t do it with some decent steak as well, eh, Marie?Enchanté, ma chérie.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the man’s jovial personality. “Le plaisir est pour moi, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur.”
The ambassador’s eyebrows rose with obvious delight. “Ah!Vous parlez français! Vous avez vécu en France?”
“Marie just returned from studying in Paris,” Lucas cut in, clearly bemused by the sudden shift in conversation.
I nodded. “AtL’Institut Culinaire de Paris.”
