Chapter 20 #2
“Yes.” He shrugged. “I think about those circumstances often. A security guard fell asleep at a mental hospital, and I became a teenage billionaire. How different would my life be? Would my mother and father still be alive to this day? Would I have gone to University? We will never know.”
I watched him with a new set of eyes as he refilled our wine glasses.
It was easy to roll my eyes at a wealthy man who made chaotic, disruptive investments on a whim.
But now I saw a man who had been forced to grow up quicker than he deserved, who was thrust into a new life and struggled to learn how to handle it.
“I am not in a position to complain,” Lucien said idly, studying the red wine as it swirled in his glass. “Tragedy occurs every single day in every single city in the world, and most people do not have immense wealth to comfort them. I am lucky.”
I suppressed the desire to reach over and put my hand on his. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you can’t complain.”
“And who would listen to the complaints of a wealthy Frenchman?” he asked with a chuckle.
“I’m listening,” I offered.
He blinked at me, then gave a very small nod of appreciation. We shared a few moments of mutual silence as the chef brought out our salads.
“I am relieved that you were unharmed by the attack in Paris,” Lucien said while lifting his fork. “And I hope you do not allow it to negatively affect your life. Or your opinion of my beloved Paris.”
I grinned. “I don’t blame Paris at all. I’m already looking forward to going back.”
“When you do, I will show you the city. The real city.”
We finished our salads, then the chef brought out a thick crab soup that was served with a splash of sherry. I devoured it and wished there was more.
“So, Harrison Blackstone,” I said while we waited for the main course. “Do you want to tell me how you first met?”
“I would rather discuss my biography,” Lucien said smoothly. “And my desire for you to write it.”
I laughed. “So that’s what this is all about. You’re in New York to try to steal me away from Harrison.”
“I am in New York to visit my friend Anthony,” he replied, eyes narrowing like a predator that had found a target. “Meeting with you is a secondary benefit.”
“I’m not writing your biography, Lucien,” I said bluntly.
He smiled like this was all a game. “Perhaps you will elaborate for me?”
“I don’t have the bandwidth right now.”
“Bandwidth?”
“Time. I don’t have the time. Between Harrison’s biography, and my regular responsibilities at work…
I could maybe write a shorter piece about you.
Something for the Wall Street Journal.” I tried to sound casual.
Lucien Moreau never gave interviews. He was famous for it.
If I could land something for The Journal…
His smile deepened, like a cat playing with a mouse. “I will give an interview for your Wall Street Journal if you agree to write my biography instead of Harrison’s.”
“I can’t break contract with Harrison.”
“I will pay for your lawyers.”
“It’s not about the legal angle, although that’s certainly an issue,” I explained. “It’s about my integrity as a journalist. It’s about my values.”
“For the amount of money I intend to pay you,” he replied smoothly, “you can acquire new values.”
I took a sip of wine to avoid laughing in his face. Fucking billionaires. They thought they could have whatever they wanted if they just threw enough money at it.
Although, to be fair, they usually could.
“I can’t be bought, Lucien,” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and gave me a long, appraising look. I couldn’t decide if he was going to compliment me, or demand that I leave.
“You are an interesting woman, Caroline Fairfax.” He pushed back his chair and carefully placed his cloth napkin on the table. “Please excuse me.”
While he was gone, I took a sip of sparkling water. The servant rushed forward to refill the glass to the top.
“Relax,” I said. “I’m not going to snap at you the way Lucien does.”
The man blinked in confusion. “Oh, no. Lucien is a kind and generous man.”
“Sure. I guess you have to say that.”
But the man was shaking his head emphatically.
“I am not defending him because I have to. It is true.” He glanced over his shoulder, then pulled out his phone to show me.
The background was a boy straddling a bicycle and grinning at the camera.
“My son, Anthony, was diagnosed with leukemia four years ago. Lucien took care of the healthcare bills. He tried to do it anonymously, but the hospital administrator told me.”
The man spoke quickly, like he was afraid of getting caught talking to me.
“Lucien visited him in the hospital, and always insists on seeing Anthony when he is in New York. Whatever outward appearance Lucien gives, it is all an act to keep people from getting too close.” He glanced over his shoulder again.
“He pays me a good wage. Enough to live in the city instead of taking the train in from Long Island. He is a good man. But you can never tell him I said this.”
Lucien was walking our way, so the servant dipped his head and returned to the kitchen. The French billionaire glanced in that direction, then sat down and asked, “Did he speak to you?”
“He was refilling my water,” I replied. I couldn’t decide if that was a genuine interaction, or if it was all orchestrated to make Lucien look better. But he had said that he was in town to see his friend Anthony.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to spy on me? Interrogating my people for a story in your Journal?”
“I assure you, I am not.”
“Anything you wish to know about me, you need only ask. I will tell you anything you wish to know about me. I find myself trusting you, Caroline Fairfax.”
“You can save your flirting for someone who will write your biography,” I replied.
“Flirting?” He chuckled. “When I am flirting, you will know it.”
The main course arrived, and the conversation finally moved on to Harrison Blackstone. After some gentle prodding, Lucien told me the story of how they met. It wasn’t as interesting as I had hoped.
A key lime pie was placed on the table for dessert, sliced and plated right in front of us. “This is my favorite,” I said, my mouth watering as I stared at the slice on my plate.
“I am aware. I did my research.”
“That’s kind of creepy.”
Lucien shrugged and took a bite. “I take care of the people who work for me. Something to consider when you decide to write my biography.”
I glanced at the servant standing by the wall, who smiled back at me.
Lucien walked me to the elevator when I left. “I very much enjoyed our evening, Caroline.” He braced me by the arms, then kissed me on both cheeks, soft and slow.
I returned the gesture and tried to ignore how good he smelled. Whatever cologne he was wearing was expensive.
“Au revoir, Caroline. Until we meet again.”
As the elevator doors closed, I had a feeling we would.