Chapter 7
Laurent
Two weeks later, I decided it was time to admit the truth—to myself, at least. I missed her.
Her scent lingering in my office. The way she moved through the space—always one step ahead of my needs, but never in the way. Never intrusive. She wasn’t sarcastic and droll like Allison. She was quiet. Present. Perfect.
Now? Now it was worse.
Because all day, every day, I wondered what she was doing—and who she was doing it with. Why did they all go out every Friday night? Who was she seeing from that lower floor?
So here I was. Outside the pub. Looking for Lucia Hart like a goddamn stalker through the window.
My eyes narrowed as I scanned the crowd until—there. Allison appeared, raising her glass with some triumphant proclamation. Laughter followed. Lucia threw her head back, clutching her belly as she laughed.
Then Evelyn—fucking Evelyn—sat beside her and kissed her. On the lips. A big, fat, lingering smack.
Lucia turned to hug her—chest to chest. Full-body contact. Her breasts pressing against—
I clenched my jaw.
Someone bumped into me from behind, muttering “weirdo,” but I didn’t look away. Allison slid onto the seat beside her. Evelyn leaned in, whispering something in Lucia’s ear.
Wasn’t that woman married?
Why were they breast buddies?
“Are we going in?” Garrett asked, moving in behind me, voice casual.
“Look at that woman in red and the one in white. Do you think they’re lesbians? Or bisexual?” I muttered, barely blinking.
Lucia patted Evelyn’s cheek with that damn soft smile of hers, then turned to face Allison. My jaw flexed. No more touching. No more lewd affection.
But I stayed rooted to the spot.
“Hard to tell through a dirty window,” Garrett replied.
He didn’t say it, but I heard it anyway.
You’re the dirty one.
My hands curled into fists inside my coat pockets.
I should walk away. I had a life to get back to. I had a presentation on Monday and two investor calls scheduled first thing.
This wasn’t rational.
This wasn’t me.
But she was laughing again. Smiling like she’d never once had to shrink under my cold glares. Like I hadn’t bled her dry with impossible tasks and colder silences.
“You know what?” I murmured. “This was a mistake.”
Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Coming here, or standing out here for ten minutes like a bloke with a restraining order?”
I scowled at him, but he didn’t back down.
I turned back to the window. Lucia was reaching for her drink, face flushed, clearly tipsy. She leaned close to Allison now, whispering something—and the woman laughed so hard she slapped the table.
My stomach turned.
If I went in, I’d only embarrass myself.
If I left, I’d feel like I was running.
“Sir?” Garrett prompted.
“I’m thinking,” I snapped.
He gave a short exhale, which could’ve been a laugh if he had the balls for it.
“You want me to go in and pretend we got the wrong pub?”
“No.”
“You want to stay here and continue muttering about lesbians?”
I shot him a look. “You’re awfully mouthy for someone employed to shut up and watch my back.”
“I’m watching your back,” Garrett said mildly. “It’s twitchy as hell.”
I breathed out hard through my nose.
She wasn’t even looking my way.
I took one last glance, then turned on my heel.
“Let’s go.”
“You sure?”
I didn’t answer.
But he followed anyway.
?? ?? ??
The entire weekend was spent setting up a meticulous trap for Lucia during my trip to Paris.
I sent Monica an email, copying in Evelyn.
I’d have four days and nights with her on the extended itinerary.
She’d be on my private plane, then in my suite.
Her passport was on file, so travelling abroad wasn’t a problem.
I chuckled and took a sip of my scotch.
I’d tried everything else. It was time to give in.
Consequences be damned.
I wanted Lucia.
And an heir.
My days of coming home to an empty house were over. All I needed now was a good lawyer and an ironclad prenuptial agreement. The original NDA would stand—but I didn’t doubt that Lucia would reject my money.
Not when no one ever had.
I’d tried everything else. It was time to give in.
Consequences be damned.
I wanted Lucia.
And an heir.
My days of coming home to an empty house were over. All I needed now was a good lawyer and an ironclad prenuptial agreement. The original NDA would stand—but I didn’t doubt that Lucia would reject my money.
Not when no one ever had.
I tracked my finger over the laptop pad until it loaded her employee profile page.
There she was.
Her hair twisted up, yet in a neat bun resting on her head like a golden crown. Wisps of hair curled around her cheeks and neck.
I enlarged the picture to inspect her features. Her blue eyes were bright and hopeful.
And those lips?
Soft and pink.
She didn't look twenty-eight. That facade of sweetness and innocence didn't fool me.
No. She was an experienced little minx—a tease.
I trailed my finger slowly along the screen, tracing the curve of her mouth.
All that sweetness. And no idea how dangerous it was to look like that.
Soon, she’d understand.
When she was full of my seed and ready to bear my fruit, nine months later.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, but it didn't help. All I could picture was Lucia Hart, heavy from carrying my child, and nothing had ever felt more right than that image.