Chapter 10
Lucia
What the fuck was he harping on about?
Had the pressure of his job finally got to him? Know my place? What, like a dog? Why was he smiling at me? It made him appear handsome in publications, but in real life, it was freaking me out. He’d never smiled once at me, and now he’d graced me with several.
Sheesh, poor Allison. No wonder she was desperate to switch positions with me. I glanced away from my window and hit reply to Allison.
To: Allison Durant
Subject: RE: I’m throwing a party!
Hey, Allison,
When I get back, I owe you an apology. I thought you’d been exaggerating about the Dubois Drama? production. He’s clearly living on the edge of sanity. Should we set up a GoFundMe for your therapy sessions?
Love, Lucia. X
Lucia Hart
Send Help Trapped With Laurent Dubois
Dubois Enterprises
I placed my phone facedown and chanced a glance his way.
Then did a double-take.
He had his thumb and finger spread out, stroking his jaw like some cartoon villain. But it was his eyes. They were devouring me like a starving man sizing up his last meal.
Had he always been like this?
The captain’s voice crackled through the speakers. I barely registered a word until he confirmed the flight time: an hour and twenty minutes.
I could survive four days of—whatever the fuck this was.
Famous last words.
?? ?? ??
The air conditioning was on, but I could feel the cold sweat. This had to be illegal—or against some kind of workplace rule.
He picked up another slice of cheese and parted his lips.
Had they always been so shapely?
The next red grape vanished between his lips.
Then the moan.
My mouth watered, and I snuck a piece of the cheese—salty and creamy. So damn rich. The obscenely wealthy ate very well.
How was he not a big fat bastard?
“Here,” he said, holding a grape to my lips.
I barely parted them, and he pushed it in. His eyes were locked on mine when I bit down on the grape. It was crisp, fresh—and when the sweet juice flooded my mouth, mingling with the saltiness of the cheese, I almost moaned.
He poured me a glass of champagne, but I held up my hand.
He ignored me and filled the flute anyway.
“I’m not very good with alcohol,” I protested, but his smile only widened.
“That’s good to know.”
I gasped, staring at the glass he held out in front of me.
“Unless you’re too scared to drink in front of your boss,” he taunted.
Oh, he didn’t.
“I’m sure I can handle one glass of champagne,” I said coolly, though my eyes drifted to the crackers, olives, and slices of meat.
Drinking on an empty stomach was not a good idea.
?? ?? ??
“You know, this champagne’s not too shabby,” I said, swirling my glass. “Oh—you ate all the red grapes.”
The green ones were nice, but nothing like those red ones.
I think I was drunk.
I suspected this because I wanted to sleep, and I’d lost count of how many times he’d filled up my glass.
“Mr Dubois—”
“Laurent.”
“Law-rent,” I parroted, dragging out his name and pointing a finger at him. “I think you got me drunk so you could fire me.”
“I assure you, Lucia, I don’t want to fire you,” he said, taking my extended hand into his.
I stared at his hand.
It was happening in slow motion.
Then I felt the heat from his giant hand surround mine.
He was the Dubois devil.
I was stuck in one of Allison’s productions.
“I don’t aspire to be a devil,” he said with a smirk, “but tell me more about this production.”
I yanked my hand out of his and pressed it to my forehead.
He’s in my head.
Danger.
“You didn’t lie when you said you can’t hold your liquor,” he mused.
“It’s because of the longitude,” I sighed.
“The altitude.”
“That’s what I just said,” I snapped at him. “Anyway, I usually have a two-drink rule.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
“Why two drinks?”
“Why are you so talkative all of a sudden?” I grumbled, curling deeper into the seat.
He said something, but it sounded distant. I’d deal with him later—I needed to sleep.
Something warm wrapped around me, and I instinctively snuggled into it.
Yes, sleep.