Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Emma thought he wanted a brief interlude with her… and she was agreeable to the idea.
“Bloody hell,” Michel growled as he reread her text.
I want a break from the matseons.
A part of him was thrilled to spend more time with her, but it riled him that she wasn’t willing to give him a real chance. He would only be a “break” for her. She clearly intended to resume her search for her perfect-on-paper husband as soon as he returned to Rouleme—without her. What about him screamed bad husband material ?
He was tempted to text her again—he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say—but he pushed his mobile to the far side of his desk. No matter how impatient he felt, he could wait until after office hour. It was a privilege to teach these bright minds, and they deserved his full attention.
He opened his office door and said to the first student in line, “Please come in.”
“Hi, Professor Chevalier.” A young man with a mop of brown hair plopped down on a chair across from his desk. “Thank you so much for seeing me.”
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.” Michel tore his eyes away from his mobile and focused on his student. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing specific, really.” The kid blushed, scratching his head. “I wanted to hear more about your thoughts on the practicality of an international treaty on climate change. How can we trust so many countries to take steps to achieve carbon neutrality?”
“Sometimes trust has to be the catalyst for change. No one wants to be made to look foolish, but expecting subterfuge will paralyze the countries from taking the bold, courageous steps that the world needs right now. It can’t always be about coming out on top.” He threaded his fingers together on his desk when his mobile buzzed. He gripped his hands harder to stop himself from reaching for it. “May I recommend some fascinating new papers for you to read?”
It was quite possibly one of the longest hours of his life. But when the clock struck five, he invited his students to return for his next office hour and firmly closed the door on them. He all but lunged for his mobile and unlocked it.
Emma:
Hi.
The message felt a bit anticlimactic, but he gladly responded.
Michel:
Hello.
Emma:
Where are you?
Michel:
At USC. Just finished office hour. About to head out.
He stopped himself from adding even more details to hint that he could see her anywhere, anytime. Preferably as soon as possible.
Emma:
Do you like Peruvian food?
Michel:
Yes. Absolutely.
He was sure he would like it once he tried it. He enjoyed all kinds of food.
Emma:
Can you meet me in an hour? I’ll send you the address to the restaurant.
His thumbs felt big and clumsy in his rush to respond.
Michel:
Yes, I can. Meet you.
Emma:
I’m glad. See you soon.
Michel:
See you. In an hour.
Eloquence had been bred into him. It was a royal superpower, if you would. Then why did he become a bumbling muppet every time he attempted to communicate with this woman? Maybe that was why she didn’t see him as husband material.
According to the address Emma sent him, the restaurant was in Old Town Pasadena, and he felt a spark of excitement at discovering a new city. He hadn’t visited many places in the Los Angeles area—or anywhere, for that matter. He’d traveled the world, but he went where his duties required. This meeting and that function. Endless embassies, auditoriums, and ballrooms.
Well, he had two months to actually see Los Angeles, and he might get to do that with Emma by his side. With his heart thudding and a smile spreading across his face, he gathered his briefcase and rushed out of his office. Sophie appeared beside him before he stepped out of the building into the bustling campus.
“You seem to be in a rush,” Sophie murmured with a sideways glance at him. “You also seem extremely happy about it. Care to share where we’re headed?”
Michel bent his head over his mobile, not slowing down his pace, and forwarded her the restaurant’s address. “I hope you like Peruvian food.”
“I haven’t had it in a long time, but I do love Peruvian. So thoughtful of you to suggest it.” Sophie held her arm out in front of him as a maintenance cart rambled past them. “But there’s no need to run into oncoming traffic for lomo saltado, my prince.”
“That golf cart was going less than five miles per hour,” Michel grumbled. “What’s lomo saltado? Never mind. I’ll find out soon enough.”
“Other than delicious food, what awaits you in Pasadena?”
“Emma.” He still loved the feel of her name on his lips. “I told you I didn’t mess this up.”
“Dear Lord. Did you just sigh?” Sophie arched an eyebrow at him. “Anyway, do you have any idea how you’ll explain my presence?”
“I actually hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He switched his briefcase to the opposite hand and rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps we could use the same arrangement we have for my visits to the hotel café.”
“You mean you want me to hide behind a potted plant?” She unlocked the car and waited for him to get in to the passenger seat—since he’d forbidden her from opening the door for him—before sliding into the driver’s seat.
“A fish tank or a large decorative vase would suffice,” he deadpanned.
Sophie’s lips twitched at one corner. “If this restaurant is a tasteless establishment with neither, I can always hide under the table.”
“Quite.”
Pasadena wasn’t very far from USC, but the famous LA rush hours made the trip interminable. Michel drummed his fingers on his knee, growing more impatient by the mile. He checked the dashboard clock for the tenth time. He might be late for his date.
“You won’t be late,” Sophie said, noticing his impatience. “And she’s an Angeleno. She knows what traffic is like.”
“Hmm.” Emma would certainly understand, but he didn’t like the thought of wasting even a minute of his time with her. He needed to spend that time convincing her that he was indeed husband material. In fact, he would become boyfriend material, lover material, father material… He would become everything she needed him to be.
“I bet you’re missing your royal helicopter right about now,” his friend teased.
“Just drive,” he muttered, tugging off his tie and tossing it in the back seat.
They arrived at the restaurant with three minutes to spare, and Michel stepped inside, relieved to be on time. Until he spotted Emma sitting at a table by the window. Damn it. She’d beaten him here.
“How many in your party?” the host asked.
“I see my friend is already seated,” Michel said, tearing his gaze away from Emma. She looked so lovely. “I’ll show myself to the table.”
“Of course. Enjoy your evening.” The host nodded with a smile, which Michel barely returned in his rush to get to Emma.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” He reached for the back of his chair. “May I?”
She turned her gaze away from the window and smiled up at him. “By all means. Unless you prefer to stand all night.”
He sank into the seat across from her with an answering smile. “I wouldn’t want to give you a crick in your neck.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Her dimple deepened and snagged his attention.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out and ran a thumb over the spot—light and quick. God, her skin felt so soft. He immediately withdrew his hand, not trusting himself to let his touch linger.
“I still like your dimple,” he said huskily.
“Thank you.” A blush stole across her cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
He opened up his menu to stop himself from staring at her. “I have a confession to make.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve never actually had Peruvian food.” He caught a glimpse of Sophie slipping into the restaurant. She pointed out a table at the back to the affable host. “I enjoy trying new things, but some guidance would be very much appreciated.”
“Oooh. You’re in for a treat, my friend.” Emma hugged the menu to her chest and leaned forward. “We’ll start with Inca Kola. I normally don’t drink soda, but there’s something irreverent about having golden cola. Are you in?”
“Yes.” He drew closer to her, hoping to catch a whiff of her scent, and… just to be closer to her. “I’m entrusting myself to your capable hands tonight.”
“That’s either really brave or very na?ve,” she said with a roguish wink.
In an instant, he grew achingly hard. Fuck . He felt lightheaded with lust and wanted nothing more than to put himself in her hands. He needed to pull himself together. She was talking about food, and he was behaving like a slavering beast. She was talking about food, right? Her voice always had that husky, breathless tone.
“I like to believe that I’m being exceptionally smart.” He sounded a bit strangled but coherent. “You are a food expert, after all.”
“Well then. Prepare to be impressed.”
“Oh, I assure you,” he said, “I already am.”
Their eyes met across the table, and breathing became secondary to survival. This attraction. This connection. He’d never felt anything like it. They had found something extraordinary in each other. If Emma didn’t believe it to be anything more than a passing fancy, then he would prove her wrong.