When I'm With You: The Complete Novel (13 page)

Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she knocked on the carved wood door, graphic memories of her former meeting with Lucien in his office flooding her consciousness and mounting her anxiety.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked a moment later when Lucien opened the door. Today he was dressed in black jeans, a simple black crew-neck shirt, and an ivory blazer that highlighted his broad shoulders and the smooth, beautiful color of his skin. He was such a sinfully gorgeous man, some rare, magical blend of unknown origins, the mystery of his existence somehow perfectly fitting the magnetic enigma surrounding him. She recalled how once during her fourteenth summer, she’d bluntly asked him about his ethnic heritage. They’d been fishing off the dock, a pastime they’d both gravitated toward that summer, a simple, wholesome activity that stood in such contrast to the complex machinations of their parents’ business and social lives. It was obvious to anyone that Lucien couldn’t be the natural child of his blond, painfully thin mother, and Lucien towered over his paunchy, balding father. Lucien hadn’t taken offense, probably because he’d sensed her childlike sincerity and simple curiosity.

“I never knew or saw my biological parents. My mother and father adopted me when I was still a baby,” he’d replied, nodding at her fishing line. She’d obediently lifted it, and sure enough, a fish had stolen her bait. He took it from her without comment.

“I’m adopted, too,” Elise had told him. She’d thought it a thousand times before. It must be true. How else to explain how she felt as if she were interacting with a different species when she related to her parents? Lucien’s smile had struck her as a little sad.

“You are the spitting image of your mama.”

“I am?”

“Yes, but you will surpass even her beauty one day,” he’d said as he rebaited her line. He’d glanced aside and noticed her expression. “You
look
like her. What is on the inside is whatever you make of it.”

She’d stared at the sunlight dancing in the azure Mediterranean Sea, not wanting him to know how much his words meant to her. “Don’t you ever wonder about your true mother, though? Don’t you ever miss her?”

She recalled how he hadn’t answered immediately.

“I wonder about her once in a while,” he’d said, handing back her pole. “But it’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.”

What you’ve never had
. Neither Lucien nor she had known much about what it meant to have a nurturing, available mother.

Lucien waved her into his office, snapping her back to the present. “Come in. Elise, I’d like you to meet Denise Riordan, Fusion’s new chef.”

Elise’s startled gaze flew to the other occupant of the room. A tall, auburn-haired woman with a stern expression that was softened by kind brown eyes stood to greet her.

“I hadn’t realized Lucien had gotten so far along in the hiring process. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Riordan,” Elise managed, despite her surprise.

“I understand from Lucien that you’re a talented chef. I would be glad to take you on as my stage, if my qualifications are suited to your school . . . and to you, of course,” she said.

“I’m sure that anyone Lucien would hire has the best qualifications,” she said, glancing sideways at the distraction of Lucien’s tall form when he approached.

“I’ve already taken the liberty of sending off Ms. Riordan’s applicant information along with an explanation of the alteration in plans to your school in Paris. We should be hearing back quickly,” Lucien said.

“Thank you,” Elise replied, dumbfounded by the fact that he’d taken pains to smooth the path with her school.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to speak with Sharon. I’ll just leave you two to get better acquainted,” he said politely.

Denise Riordan and she sat in the chairs before Lucien’s desk and got to know each other. By the time Lucien returned twenty minutes later, she felt certain she could work well with the older, knowledgeable woman. Two chefs in a kitchen was never an easy scenario, but Elise was eager to learn, and she had no problem with taking on the subservient role. It’d been what she’d expected when she came to Chicago, and she was convinced Denise Riordan had significant things to teach her.

“Please stay for a moment. I need a word,” Lucien said to Elise after he’d returned and Ms. Riordan was saying good-bye.

Neither of them spoke for a moment after the new chef closed the door behind her. A prickly, electrical atmosphere descended.

“I received the medical exam results you left me,” he said. “Did you receive mine?”

“Yes,” she replied airily, as if she discussed such things all the time despite the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks.

“Do you like her? Denise?” Lucien asked quietly from where he stood near the door.

“Very much. I don’t suppose there’s a reason you chose a female chef, is there?”

“I chose the best qualified candidate.”

She gave him a dry glance. “I wasn’t going to fall into bed with any male chef that you hired.”

He gave a small grin. She stilled at the appearance of the twin dimples, the flash of white teeth. “What about Mario?”

“What about him?” Elise asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“Wasn’t that where things were headed on that night I caught you two here?”

“No. I had no intention of sleeping with Mario.”

“What, precisely, were you doing here with him then?”

“He was going to supervise my training. When he asked me to dinner, I didn’t really feel I had the option of saying no. I didn’t know he was planning on trying to get me into bed.”

He gave her a weary glance and walked toward his desk. “Right. That dress you were wearing screamed a practical day at the office. I hired the best candidate for the job, but I’m not at all unhappy that she’s a female, the truth be told. I know the effect you have on men. They lose about forty points off their IQ in your vicinity. No need to light the fuse if it can be avoided.”

“I resent your constant allegations that I’m promiscuous.”

“That’s funny,” he said, unconcerned by her offended act. He lowered to the chair behind his desk. “Because
I
resented learning about your constant displays of promiscuity. I even witnessed them a time or two.”

She stilled. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly, not sure she actually wanted an answer.

“Half of Europe saw that photo of you dancing nude on top of a cocktail table at the engagement party for the son of the archduke of Luxembourg,” he said dryly.

“I was wearing a thong,” she defended, chin up. Lucien’s sharp, annoyed glance made her wilt on the inside, however.

“And how about the night I came upon you in a secluded alcove at the Opéra de Paris? You were busy demonstrating what was apparently your enthusiastic,
deep
affection for a married, middle-aged politician. I believe you were nineteen at the time. Do you recall?”

“I . . . you . . .
wait
.” Her heart squeezed tight and seemed to stop in her chest. “Was that
you
who interrupted when I was with Hugh Langier?”

His sarcastic expression was her answer.

Enthusiastic
, deep
affection
.

Oh no. She shut her eyes, but Lucien’s stare continued to score her. She hadn’t seen who had walked in on her tryst with Langier; she only knew someone had. Knowing that
someone
was Lucien made her feel light-headed with shame. How could she have been so impulsive—so
stupid
—at times?

No. She wouldn’t think of it. She
wasn’t
that person anymore.

“I doubt you’d like what I did to your paramour when he came into Renygat two nights later,” Lucien muttered. “Slimy sod.”

“He
wasn’t
my paramour,” she bit out, but then she fully absorbed what he’d said. “Did you hit him or something?” Lucien gave her a bland glance. “You got in a fight with a
senator
?”

Over me?

He didn’t comment further, but she saw the way his nostrils flared, a sure sign he was subduing his anger. What he’d referred to had occurred during the height of her careless self-indulgence. There’d been a time when she found life meaningless, when everything had been a joke. Her only concern was to have as much fun as she could, and damn the consequences. Acquaintances in Paris—not to mention her parents—had looked the other way during her wildest, most desperate, period.

Wasn’t it better that Lucien was angry versus uncaring?

“I know you believe in me, Lucien. Even if only a little bit. I know you’re not so callous as you behave. I wish you’d quit putting on the act,” she said, plucking up her façade of confidence.

“What do you mean?”

“Ms. Riordan told me that you specified that her job was provisional upon her taking me on as a stage.”

A silence stretched between them. She’d been stunned and pleased when Ms. Riordan had revealed that morsel of information during their discussion.

“And I told you, if you are to live in this city, I’d just as soon have you nearby where I can monitor you. Speaking of which,” he said, talking over the disgusted sound she made. She knew very well he’d just sidestepped her revelation that he’d done something kind for her. “I’d like to escort you tomorrow evening to Ian and Francesca’s party.”

Her heart leapt. Denise Riordan had been hired. Francesca was no longer his employee. Lucien would feel freer now to act on his proposed relationship. A thought struck her, deflating her ballooning excitement like a dead-on torpedo.

“You want to supervise me, don’t you? I told you I wasn’t going to tell anyone that I know you from before. Don’t you trust me?”

“Let’s just say that I’d rather be in close watching distance so that I know where I stand.”

“You don’t, in other words.”

“Trust is something that has to be earned, Elise,” he said quietly. “And don’t play the martyr. I know that you don’t trust me completely, either. Not yet, you don’t.”

His intensity took her by surprise. She absorbed what he’d said, feeling unsteady.

“Where shall I pick you up?” he asked after a moment, his quick topic change only increasing her sense of being off balance. “At the address you put down on your application?”

“No.”

She realized how abrupt she’d sounded. The last thing she wanted was for Lucien to see the rundown extended-stay hotel where she was living. It would only affirm his belief that she was scatter-brained and impulsive. She did some quick thinking when she noticed his narrowed gaze on her. “Can we meet here? In front of the Noble Tower building?”

His handsome face settled into an unreadable mask. “Of course, if you prefer it. Seven thirty?”

“That will be fine,” she said, starting to back out of the office. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Elise?” he asked sharply when her hand was on the door.

“Yes?”

“Your employment with me has ended now that I’ve hired Denise.”

She held her breath.

“Just remember. My rules,” he reminded significantly. “Denise being here means your salary will stop as well. You
do
have adequate funds to live here in the city, correct?”

“Of course. Didn’t you tell me that Papa would never see me starve?”

He raised his eyebrows slowly. Not liking the suspicious expression settling on his features, she hurried out the door.

Chapter Four

Lucien remained seated and unmoving once the door closed behind Elise. He thought of how pale she’d gone when he’d mentioned catching her in flagrante delicto with Hugh Langier, illustrious member of the French senate and renowned womanizer. He regretted embarrassing her, but the memory was still volatile to him; it still made something hot and unbearable swell in his gut, not to mention what it did to his cock.

He’d been looking for her that night five years ago, having noticed her luminous face from a distance during the opera. It had been a year since his father had first mentioned the possibility of him marrying Elise. He’d flat-out refused to even discuss the idea, of course. No one was going to choose his future wife but himself. But the idea had lingered in his consciousness: not heavily, but lightly, like a radiant, teasing smile, the prospect of a stolen summer day or a sip of the perfect champagne—light-filled and effervescent . . .

. . . like Elise herself.

He couldn’t help but be curious about what sort of a woman that smart, funny, sad girl had become.

Still, his curiosity hadn’t been so great that he’d sought her out when he’d moved permanently to Paris to open his first hotel and restaurant. It’d been completely by accident that he’d glimpsed her at the opera. Their boxes were almost directly across from each other. The curtain was about to go up when he noticed several faces in the audience flicker to the left of the stage. He’d followed their gazes idly, wondering what was causing the stir. His body sprung into instant alertness.

She’d stood and was making her way to the back of the box. The gown she wore was jaw-dropping. No, not the dress itself, but Elise in it. It was made of a pale ivory metallic material that clung to her ripe, svelte curves, the material giving off a pearl-like sheen that nowhere near rivaled the luminosity of her pale skin. She was completely covered, but the clinging fabric and its similarity to her coloring gave the impression of nudity. Her hair had been long back then. Lucien recalled that during that summer five years before, she’d forever worn her hair in a thick ponytail, tendrils increasingly escaping the band as the day wore on until by nightfall, her delicate face was surrounded by a riot of golden waves and curls. That night, she wore it up, but the casual twist gave a man the impression he could have the glory of it spilling down her shoulders and into his greedy hands with just a gentle tug.

He’d jerked up out of his chair, making a quick excuse to his companion.

Five minutes of searching later, he’d finally found the sweet, gawky girl he recalled, but that girl was no more.

She’d been on her knees in a velvet-draped alcove before an ecstatic-looking Hugh Langier.