Chapter 20
Caroline
“It’s a mistake,” Harrison told me as soon as Lucien was gone. “He wants something from you.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said.
“I know you can. But Lucien has a way of getting what he wants.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Thanks for the warning. But I’ll be fine.”
He sighed, and looked like he wanted to say more. Then he turned and went back into his office, closing the door behind him.
Rafael fell in beside me as I walked back to the elevator. Only when we were inside and the doors were closed did he finally clear his throat.
“Something you want to say?” I asked.
“Lucien Moreau has a way with women,” Rafael said slowly.
“I am aware of his reputation. And I can see why. He’s a handsome man. Not to mention, you know, the fact that he has a pile of wealth large enough for a dragon to guard.”
Rafael looked at me sideways. “Is that a Lord of the Rings reference?”
“The Hobbit. But yes.” I turned to face him directly. “Are you jealous of him?”
“Of course not.”
“It seems like you’re jealous.”
“I’m not. I’m…” He sighed and turned to look down at me.
“I’m concerned about you, Caroline. Lucien is a frustrating man to deal with in the business world.
And he has a reputation for being even more infuriating in his personal life.
He’s like a tornado, leaving a line of wreckage everywhere he goes. ”
“I am familiar with his messy breakup with that French singer,” I said. “And I think you’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I told you, I’m not jealous.”
I leaned close enough for my elbow to brush against his. “I think it’s cute.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things. Rarely cute.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then I find it incredibly sexy when a man is possessive.”
“I can’t be possessive about something that’s not mine,” he replied.
“I don’t belong to you,” I said, turning and pressing myself against his chest. “But you’ve definitely had me.”
A deep rumble escaped from his throat. “You know there are cameras in the elevators. Joshua, the guard downstairs, is probably watching this in the security office.”
I sighed and took a step back. “That’s too bad.”
When the elevator stopped on the ground floor, I let my hand brush across the front of Rafael’s slacks as I left the elevator.
We had come here straight from Teterboro, and I craved a shower and a nap.
But as much as I wanted to go home, I instead walked over to the Wall Street Journal.
Eddie was in his office, shouting into the phone at someone.
He waved me into his office, finishing the conversation and then hanging up the phone.
“Long time no see,” he said dryly. “How’s the billionaire doing?”
“Which one?” I replied.
I spent a few minutes catching him up on everything.
“The scope of that biography keeps growing,” he finally said. “I’m going to reassign one of your pieces to Belinda.”
“No!” I said. “I can handle the workload.”
“You already missed a deadline,” he pointed out.
“And I already apologized for it. That won’t happen again, Eddie. We’ve worked together a long time. You can trust me.”
He clenched his jaw, but nodded. “If you get overloaded, you need to tell me. There’s a reason we have junior associates to help with workload.”
“I can handle it. I want this, Eddie.”
“I know you do,” he said, sounding resigned. “I’m just worrying because it’s my job.”
After spending two hours at the office, I finally went home and took a shower. I even spent the extra time washing my hair. I told myself it was because it was overdue, and not because I wanted to look my best for Lucien.
He was staying in a penthouse in the One57 building, which was known as the original Billionaire’s Row tower overlooking Central Park.
The doorman escorted me to the elevator and then upstairs to the ninety-second floor.
The doors opened up directly into the suite; apparently it took up the entire floor. Because of course it did.
I tried not to gawk, but it was hard not to.
In New York, an apartment was considered massive if it was over a thousand square feet.
But this place was five times that size, at least, with high ceilings and a second floor loft that overlooked the living room.
A servant was waiting just inside, dressed all in white.
He guided me to an open door leading onto a long balcony.
Lucien stood by the railing as if the city were his to command, jacket draped effortlessly over his broad shoulders, the collar open at his throat like he had decided to shrug off formality this evening.
His slacks fell in clean lines, dark and tailored, and the gleam of his Berluti shoes catching the soft light.
There was nothing ostentatious about him, yet every detail whispered money, restraint, and power.
I felt like I’d stepped into the lair of someone who could undo me with the snap of his fingers.
Suddenly, I understood why Harrison and Rafael had warned me.
“Caroline.” He spread his arms like we were old friends. “Please, come, admire the view. New York is not as stunning as Paris, but it does have its own quaint charm.”
I had never heard anyone call New York quaint, but I decided not to rise to the bait. “Thanks for having me.”
He snapped his fingers at the servant who had met me in the foyer, speaking in quick French. It was a stark contrast to Harrison, who seemed to treat all of the people beneath him—which was practically everyone in the world—with some measure of respect.
I guess that’s the difference between old money and new money.
We drank a strong, full-bodied Merlot while making small talk on the balcony.
He asked about the knife attack with what seemed like genuine concern, but I was suspicious.
Then we retired to the dining room inside, where two settings had been made at the long table—one at the head of the table, and one at the corner next to it.
Lucien pulled back the chair at the head for me.
“Please,” he said.
I allowed him to push in my chair. Then he took the next seat and snapped at the servant again, waving him over impatiently. “We are ready for the first course.”
The servant hurried away like he was afraid he would be whipped for not going fast enough.
“You have worked with Harrison for—” I began.
Lucien cut me off with a gesture. “Please, let us not delve directly into business. I realize now that we know so little about one another.”
“I know quite a bit about you, actually,” I said.
His smile widened. “Then you have me at a disadvantage, as I know nothing of you. Tell me, Caroline, what drew you to journalism?”
I doubted that he was actually interested in my career, but I decided that maybe a little small talk would help ease the tension that I felt. “I got into journalism by accident, actually.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Accident?”
“It’s all because of my friend Kim,” I explained.
“We played field hockey together in high school. She injured her knee during sophomore year and couldn’t play, and her parents insisted she find another extra-curricular activity.
She joined the school newspaper, but was scared of meeting new people, so she begged me to join with her.
I didn’t have any interest in it, but I wanted to be a good friend.
I originally planned on only doing it for a few weeks, until she got comfortable, but I ended up loving it.
By the time I graduated, I was the senior editor. ”
Lucien cocked his head to the side. “That is a good story. There are so many little moments like that which change our lives forever. I wonder how many happen without us ever knowing.”
“I think about that a lot,” I admitted. “What if Kim hadn’t torn her ACL? What would I be doing with my life? Would I be living in New York? Probably not.”
He nodded, but there was a distant look in his eyes now.
“Do you have any moments like that?” I asked. “Instances that changed your life in a blink?”
“Yes.” He sipped his wine. “I fear it is not as pleasant as your story, however.”
“I’d like to hear it anyway.”
He flashed a smile, but I could tell it was forced.
“Very well. When I was six years old, only a boy, a man attacked me on the street. My mother was a practicing Catholic, and we were walking home from mass. The man came out of an alley and stood in front of us. I didn’t understand what was happening.
I thought he knew my mother. He waved his hand back and forth, swish swish.
I never felt the knife. Suddenly, there was a wetness on my arm. And then my mother screamed.”
He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, rolling up the sleeve to reveal his left arm. A long, white scar ran from the elbow up his bicep, disappearing into his sleeve.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“He was caught later that evening. He was an unwell man with, ah, what is the phrase, mental issues,” Lucien explained while rolling his sleeve down.
“He had escaped a facility that day when a guard fell asleep. We were not intentional targets; it was random. But the attack shook my father. He hired three men to watch over us. Bodyguards. We were never alone again. We always had an escort.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. Maybe his concern about my own knife attack was genuine after all. “At least it was only on the arm. Who attacks a child?”
“Who indeed.” He forced another smile, his tone becoming somehow even more devoid of emotion.
“My father was quite paranoid after that. He stopped driving us in the car, and had one of the bodyguards do it for us. And that bodyguard was drunk one night while driving my parents home from the symphony. And that is how I inherited their immense wealth at the age of fourteen.”
I felt myself gasp. “No.” I had known that Lucien had inherited family wealth, but I didn’t know the circumstances.