15. Açaí Bowl #2
“About exploring.” I kept my eyes fixed on the counter, not trusting myself to look at him directly. “And thank you. It’s our last full day here. I shouldn’t need someone to hold my hand every time I drum up a little courage. So, yesterday, I asked Robbie to find me a swimsuit?—”
“Apparently, he wants a raise,” he muttered.
“—and then asked Fabiano to take me to Santos for the day.”
Lucas looked up. “You’re going out?”
I felt the color rise in my cheeks again. “I—yes, actually. I decided to be a bit braver. Our little walk, well, I suppose it inspired me.”
Something softened in his expression. “Good for you, Marie. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Don’t worry.” I gathered the things for his lunch. “I’ll be back before dinner. I wouldn’t leave you without?—”
“No need for dinner tonight,” Lucas interrupted.
I frowned. He had already known the meal plan. Tonight was the grand finale of my Brazilian experiment: a rich bouillabaisse - moqueca stew with sea bass I was planning to pick up in Santos. The saffron stock had been slow-cooking overnight.
He was watching me again with his intense focus that made me feel like I was the only person in the world. But something else flickered that I hadn’t seen before.
Was Lucas Lyons nervous?
“There’s a formal dinner I have to attend,” he said as he ran the towel through his hair.
“Policy crowd, the sort of thing where they serve tiny portions of overcooked food and everyone talks about taxes. I’m sure the stew you’ve planned is a thousand times better, and I’ll want it on the flight to Tokyo if it transports.
But I’m expected to attend this function. ”
I nodded as I mentally reconsidered my plans for the day. “All right. I’ll make sure it’s packed up and heated correctly?—”
“No, Marie. I’m saying I need a date.”
I froze. “A date?”
“Correct. Someone to sit beside me, make polite conversation, laugh at terrible jokes when I can’t do it anymore. This is the type of event where showing up alone sends the wrong message, and I can’t have that.”
“Oh.” Briefly, I wondered why he was telling me this. “Isn’t Robbie the one to help here? If he can find me a bikini that actually fits in two hours, I’m sure he could locate a Brazilian matchmaker for the rich and famous or something like that.”
“No, sweetheart.” Lucas’s hand landed on mine. “I’m asking you to come with me.”
The words reverberated through the air like a newly rung gong.
Mouth agape, I stuttered. “What? Why—why me?”
His eyes flickered down my body, then back up again almost immediately, as if he didn’t want me to remember that he thought I was attractive but couldn’t quite hide it either. He was quiet, studying my face as if making a decision.
“Because I’d rather go with a friend, not a stranger.”
Friend. Not employee. Not the cook. Not Daniel’s little infatuation.
Friend.
But cooks weren’t friends with their clients.
A personal chef who spent hours every day creating masterpieces for a family that ate two or three bites, downed a bottle of wine, and left their plates for me to clean up after, was not their friend.
Lucas is different , a small voice told me.
He showed me this truth daily.
He’d polished off every bite I’d made for him.
He hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol.
He complimented every dish I had created, made polite requests when he wanted something different, and even took his dishes to the sink though I’d told him several times it was my job.
“I…” I swallowed hard. “Okay, sure. I could probably be your plus one, although, as you know, it’s a little out of my wheelhouse. I can’t guarantee I won’t have a panic attack in the restroom.”
Lucas chuckled. “You did say you wanted to experience something new.”
“So I did. All right.”
Relief skipped across his features, followed by a quick smile that lit up his sharp features so quickly I almost missed it.
Almost.
“Great. Although—damn—you’ll have to cancel your beach trip. I’m sorry for that.”
The thing was, I believed him.
“I’ll make it up to you in Japan, I promise.”
I shrugged. “Fine, sure.”
“Robbie can help you find whatever you need to get ready—hair, clothes, whatever. These events are…” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Quite formal. He’ll know what’s needed.”
I nodded, already mentally cataloging the limited wardrobe I’d brought with me. “Okay, yeah. I’ll figure something out.”
Lucas opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to hesitate. He cleared his throat, his eyes skimming over my body once more before looking away.
“It’s on me, of course. And maybe find something not quite so…” He trailed off, and his hands grabbed the edge of the counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “Pretty. Otherwise, I’ll be a bit distracted.”
Just like that, I was pressed against the fridge again. This time, in my imagination, he didn’t move, and his mouth floated down my neck before finding mine.
“Oh—okay. I’ll try to find something inconspicuous.”
At that, something shifted in his expression. The combination of heat and fear was replaced with a different emotion—something angry, simmering under the surface.
“You know what? Ignore that.” His voice dropped to a low growl I felt in my bones. “Wear whatever the fuck you want, Marie. We’ll all be lucky bastards to see it.”
On that note, he took his empty bowl to the sink, then grabbed his lunch and made for the exit.
“We leave at six.”
The door swung shut behind him.
I sank onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, my legs unsteady. What, exactly, had just happened? One moment, I was making the man coffee, the next I was invited on a date?
Was it a date? Or was it just an extension of my job?
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I saw a text from Robbie:
Heard you need formal wear for tonight. Give me an hour and I’ll have options. Sorry about the beach, but yay for a spa day!
I stared at the message, disappointed that my carefully planned day of independence had just evaporated. But as I typed back my response, agreeing to the dress shopping and postponing the beach trip, the flutter in my stomach returned.
It felt suspiciously like anticipation.