Chapter five
Luc
Running out of time.
“S o, how was it? Did she say anything?” I stand in front of the glass window, watching as she steps onto the small patio. It’s almost as if she senses me. Her eyes lift, locking onto mine—or at least where I am. For a second, it feels like she can see right through the glass, straight into me. My heart thuds in my chest, beating faster than I’d like to admit. Then she glances down at her phone and steps back inside.
“She was great, sir. Really nice, and a bit funny, too. She did mention wanting vanilla candles, and I told her she might find them in the shops downstairs.”
“Vanilla candles?” I turn away from the window to face Bertrand. “Alright, thank you. Can you pick me up a little earlier on Monday, so you still have time to pick her up after dropping me off?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll see you Monday.” Bertrand nods before leaving the room.
I turn back toward the window, still thinking about her. Picking up the phone, I dial the front desk. “Can you arrange a welcome basket for Penthouse B? And make sure it includes vanilla candles.”
I own the building, and though I have a mansion in Les Collines D’etoiles, I often stay here in the penthouse when I’m in Paris.
It’s split into two finished levels. I mostly occupy the top floor, so I thought it would be nice for her to stay on the bottom one. It gives her privacy, but I’m still here if she needs anything.
I fix my gaze on the patio below, holding my breath, waiting for another glimpse of her. It’s frustrating that she still has this hold on me. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me, yet here I am, caught up in her all over again. One look, that’s all it takes for everything to come rushing back.
What the hell was I thinking, inviting her back into my life? That’s the thing—with her, I don’t think. I wanted her back in my life, so I made it happen.
I glance at my watch, and it’s fifteen minutes past nine a.m. Merde . I’ve been standing here way longer than I should, completely consumed by her.
Exhaling through my nose, I turn away from the window. Ruby, my black Frenchie, follows me as I head to my office. She circles her bed once before settling in. Her bat-like ears perk up as she watches my every move.
I take a seat at my desk and open my laptop. I skim through my emails, making notes on anything important, before reviewing the finances. Time slips away, and by the time I finish, it’s already eleven a.m.—time for my lunch with Alain.
Leah will be here soon to watch Ruby. Even though she’d be fine for a few hours, I feel better knowing someone is here with her, and Leah loves her as much as I do.
Standing, I scoop Ruby into my arms, and she instantly melts into me. I’ve had her for almost five years, and she’s my other best friend—don’t tell Alain. She gets a few cuddles and belly rubs before I set her down to get ready.
After a quick shower, I pull on a beige turtleneck, khaki chinos, and matching boots. My watch clasps around my wrist, and my gold chain goes around my neck. A quick spritz of cologne, and I’m good to go.
Right on cue, the bell rings.
I grab my coat and head to the door. When I open it, Leah greets me with a bright smile.
“Hi, Leah.”
“Good morning, Monsieur Luc,” she says in French, her accent a little smoother than last time. She’s an American student, and her French is getting so much better.
“You look very, uh…” She pauses, searching for the word as she slips off her coat, hanging it by the door. “élégant,” she finishes proudly, glancing up for confirmation.
I nod, holding back a smile. “It’s getting better,” I say, still in French but slowly so she can follow. “Soon enough, you’ll be teaching me.”
She laughs, switching back to English. “I doubt that, but thanks. Ruby! Viens ici, ma petite (Come here, sweetheart)!” She crouches down as the dog trots over, already rolling onto her back for attention. “You missed me, didn’t you?” She looks up, grinning.
I lean against the doorframe, watching with amusement as she rubs her belly.
“D’accord (Okay), I’ve got it from here. Enjoy your lunch,” she says in French, a bit careful.
“Thanks, Leah. Call if there’s anything, okay?”
She nods and smiles as I step into the private elevator that takes me directly to my private parking. Most of my cars are back at the mansion, but I keep a couple here for personal use. Bertrand usually drives me to work and other business obligations. Today, I decide on the Bentley.
I make it to the restaurant before the lunch-hour traffic, and at least fifteen minutes early. Alain, of course, is usually fifteen minutes late—he loves to put it as “making an entrance”—so I have some time alone.
“Hello, Mr. Luc,” Nadia greets me with a warm smile in her Creole accent. I’m here often enough that she knows me by name, and I know she’s from Haiti. She gestures for me to turn around, and I slip off my small crossbody bag, handing it to her as she reaches up to help me out of my coat.
I catch her slight intake of breath, almost like a soft lingering sniff, as she slides the coat from my broad shoulders. When I turn around, her hazy eyes linger on me. Her breathing’s unsteady for a moment before she quickly composes herself. She hands my bag back, avoiding my eyes, and I smirk as I take it from her.
She passes my coat to the petite brunette standing beside her then turns back to me, her professional smile back in place. “Your table is ready.” She leads me through the restaurant. We pass a couple enjoying their lunch. The woman swirls her wine, bringing it to her nose before she takes a sip.
The scent of freshly baked baguette fills the air. Finally, she stops at a table with a perfect view of the Seine. The river stretching out beneath a hazy blue sky.
“Thanks, Nadia.” I smile at her, taking my seat.
“What can I start you with?”
“The usual.”
A few moments later, she returns with a basket of fresh baguette and a small selection of cheese. She sets them on the table before pouring me a glass of chateau noir—a favorite of mine, not because my family distributes it, but because it’s the best wine I’ve ever tasted—before stepping away, leaving me alone.
Needing something to do, I pull my small notepad and a sharp pencil from my bag, letting the familiar feel of the paper draw me in.
My lips press together as I guide the pencil across the paper, each stroke precise and intentional. I sketch on my iPad sometimes, but there’s something deeply satisfying about pencil on paper; each line feels more real and grounded.
Every now and then, I can feel someone’s eyes on me, or hear the clinking of glasses, but it all fades into the background as I sink back into my world.
This is why I love sketching so much. Most of the time, my mind is like a storm, pulling me in every direction. But when I’m sketching, everything else turns into white noise.
Occasionally, I pause to take a sip of wine. Nadia and everyone here have learned not to interrupt me when I’m in this state.
My focus sharpens on the design I’m creating. As always, there’s one person in my mind. How long her legs would look in the short dress, how well the white would stand against her dark brown skin. From the moment I met her, she’s been the inspiration behind all my designs. The Rylee’s Collection.
Time slips away, and I don’t even notice Alain’s arrival.
“What’s up mate?” He leans over to peek over my shoulder. “What you doing?”
“Nothing serious,” I say, putting everything back into my bag.
Alain raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got that look, the one you only get when you’re working on a very important design. Totally zoned out.”
Alain is the only one I’m comfortable sharing my designs with, and he’s been telling me for years that I should start my own fashion line.
I didn’t send you to the best school in London for you to waste your time doodling.
Doodles . That’s what my father called my designs the last time I showed them to him. I spent hours working on them. I’ve wanted to introduce a new, more modern line at BCAK, to reach the younger audiences. But he brushed them aside as if they were child doodles.
Alain steps back, dressed in slim black jeans and a beige sweater layered over a crisp, white collared shirt that peeks out at the neck. Black leather boots complete the look. His dark hair is perfectly styled.
He slides into the seat across from me with an easy smile, settling in like he’s right at home. “So, what’s up? Did you get into any trouble while I was gone?” Alain switches from French to English as he pours himself a glass of wine. Although he grew up in London, he speaks both languages fluently. Did I mention he also speaks Spanish? Yes, his dad is British, but his mom is Spanish. I, on the other hand, am half French and half British. I met Alain back at boarding school when I was studying in the UK.
His hands come together as he watches me, waiting for a story.
I signal for Nadia to come over, buying myself a few extra seconds before I have to tell Alain how screwed I am. When she arrives, I order my usual, while Alain is too busy ogling Nadia to focus on the menu.
“I’ll take the chef’s special,” he says, his French so perfect you wouldn’t even know he’s British.
Nadia notes down our orders with a polite smile, but I don’t miss the faint smirk she gives Alain, who’s still watching.
“Are you done ogling our waitress?” I ask him after Nadia leaves. “Seems like you’d rather eat her than anything on the menu.”
He grins shamelessly. “I bet she tastes amazing,”
I chuckle, my mind wandering to a certain person I’ve been craving to taste but didn’t get the opportunity to last time I was with her.
“So?” Alain shifts his focus back to me.
I take a deep breath. “The board didn’t change their mind about the marriage requirement. ”
“Fuck, man, you’re screwed.” He rubs the stubble on his chin. “So, when’s the wedding? I’m your best man, right?”
“Fuck off,” I tell him with a laugh. “First, I need to find a bride.”
“That’s easy. I’m sure there are women lined up to marry you.”
He’s right—I could find a bride tomorrow if I wanted. But I know they’d marry me for all the wrong reasons: my money, or because I can fuck them good in bed. I want a woman who’ll marry me because she loves me, who I can’t imagine my life without. But I don’t say any of that to Alain.
“What’s your plan?” Alain presses further. “You know Olivier’s gonna use this to kick you out of the CEO position.”
The mention of Olivier sends a tight knot twisting in my chest. My half-brother. The product of my father’s affair. He hates me—always has. I’ve never understood why the sins of our father became my burden to carry. Still, Olivier made it his life’s mission to destroy me.
I tried to be a good brother, but then he slept with my girlfriend Margot.
“He’s not married either,” I point out, clenching my jaw.
“Yeah, but you’ve got six months. He’s got five years. They can appoint him CEO temporarily until it’s his turn to get married.”
I nod, tension coiling through me like a spring. “I know he’s been talking to the board. Three of them might already be on his side.”
Alain curses under his breath, shaking his head. “And who’s on yours?”
“You, me, and my dad.”
“That leaves two.”
I nod again. “They’re undecided. If I can swing them, I can hold another vote and override the clause.”
Alain leans back, his brows furrowed. “Then you need to get to work. Fast. Olivier’s not gonna wait for you to play catch-up.”
I know that