Breaking Their One Rule

Chapter One

Lorenzo Léon Cortez removed the leather band holding his waist-length and bone-straight jet-black hair back from his face as he entered his apartment. The October weather in Paris brought a cool and rainy day. He was glad to be home out of both. After a busy lunch and dinner service as the executive chef of one of the top restaurants in France, CRESS V, he was ready to unwind. He ran his fingers through his hair as he kicked off one of the many pairs of custom shoes he had designed specifically for the long hours he spent on his feet. Thankfully, his love of his craft outweighed any fatigue.

His home was where he hit reset. While sitting on his wrap-around terrace, he was eager for his nightly routine during the last five years since he permanently moved to Paris. Sipping from a flute of his favorite Nicolas Feuillatte champagne while watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle against the darkness of night had become his respite.

He tensed and frowned at the sound of a knock on the door. It was nearly one in the morning. “Who could that be?” he asked in his native Spanish.

The six-story apartment building in the 8tharrondissement, or district, of the capital city of Paris was secured, so he turned to open the solid ebony front door. His face shifted from curiosity to surprise and pleasure as he eyed his new next-door neighbor, Margot. He leaned against the door frame and allowed a slow perusal of her, from her glossy red curls to her perfectly painted neon green toes. The caftan she wore–that clung to her curves–caused him many delays in between. It was clear she wore little—if anything—beneath the colorful silk.

Just as it was clear from her soft gaze up at him, she wanted him to remove the garment.

“I hope it’s not too late for that tour of your apartment you offered?” she asked, her French accent heavy.

“Il n’est jamais trop tard pour toi, Margot,” he said, letting her know in fluent French that it was never too late for her.

Lorenzo locked eyes with her and bit back a smile as he lowered his head. He stepped back to allow her to breeze past him into his apartment. The soft scent of her perfume teased him—along with her hand gently stroking one of his well-defined biceps. He fought the egoic urge to stiffen it to show off his rigorous workout routine.

Besides, it doesn’t matter.

It was clear Margot had already sized him up and liked what she saw.

The question is: for what? Harmless flirting?Or more?

As he shut the front door, Lorenzo decided he was game for more, but the choice was entirely up to her.

“You really did renovate,” Margot said, easing her hands into the pockets of her garment, causing it to pull tighter against the curves of her buttocks.

Lorenzo bit back a chuckle and cleared his throat as he stepped to stand beside her. “Sí. About two years ago,” he said as he looked at the space that was now modern with just hints of its historical characteristics like the herringbone patterned wood floors, dormer windows, and wood moldings.

“It’s hard to believe our apartments were once identical, Lorenzo,” she said, walking past the pair of low-slung ivory suede chairs and matching leather sofa on either side of a circular acacia wooden table with black iron legs.

He nodded in agreement, knowing the changes were drastic. He had gotten rid of the dining room area and doubled the length of the kitchen with a massive wood island topped with black marble. Upper cabinets in ivory and lower cabinets in black were the perfect backdrop to a row of gold and black pentagon-shaped pendant lights. Tall and wide windows flanked the custom wood hood above the eight-burner gas stove. The black fireplace with a wood mantel was now centered between the kitchen and living room on the far-right wall and flanked by modern steel French doors that flooded the apartment with light during the day. The artwork of paintings and sculptures throughout the space were a tribute to his dual cultures of Native American and Mexican.

“It’s all incredible,” Margo said as she spread her hands across the smooth top of the island before looking at him. “Plenty of room to...cook.”

“I entertain a lot,” Lorenzo told her, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

“So do I,” Margot said with a wink and bright smile. “We’ll have to team up and throw a private party.”

He took note of her boldness but still held back from approaching her. He had plenty of experience with women and knew that some enjoyed the chase but weren’t truly looking to be caught. After many years as a bachelor who wanted his freedom, he was sure to let all his dates take the lead. Besides, his mother and younger sister had made sure to drill him on the autonomy of women and to always respect it.

Margot turned to lean back against the island and looked across the space at the wall of ebony closet doors with bronze handles. “In my flat, there”s a hall to my two bedrooms there,” she said before glancing at him.

He entered the kitchen to remove a bottle of champagne from the double-door fridge.

Lorenzo smiled as he withdrew two flutes from one of the many glass front cabinets. “Those serve double duty as closets and hidden doors,” he told her as he quickly opened the magnum.

“No!” she whispered in surprise with widened hazel eyes before moving across the apartment to the wall. She gripped one of the bronze handles and pulled it to reveal an empty closet with just a copper-tinted mirrored back wall. “I don’t get it.”

He chuckled before walking over to her with a flute in each hand. He offered her the drinks to hold before gently pushing the left side of the frame. The hidden door opened, revealing a ⒈／⒉ bath in ivory and black.

“Ooh. Clever, Lorenzo,” she said, studying the contraption he had custom-made to his specifications.

With a few steps, he pressed again to open the door leading into his private bedroom suite. “I had the two bedrooms and adjoining bathrooms reconfigured,” he told his guest, reaching to take one of the flutes from her and enjoy a deep sip.

“Just one bedroom?” Margot asked before having a taste of her drink as well.

“That’s all I need,” he said.

“No children?” she asked, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“No,” Lorenzo said with emphasis. “And no plans to ever have any.”

He felt no qualms about a decision he’d made long ago. Having a child was one thing. Deciding to be a parent was another. It was a massive responsibility and required sacrifices he wasn’t willing to make.

“Lots of safe sex. Oui?” Margot asked him as she reached to smooth the front of his embossed chef jacket.

“Always,” he assured her, although he remembered years ago, there was one woman with whom he had never used protection. She had also been his last significant relationship.

“Good to know,” she said before entering his suite instead.

He had plenty of condoms in his nightstand drawer to ensure they had a safe and sexynight.

“And no plans to sell either?” Margot asked when he stepped inside the space beside her.

“Paris is home for me. This is my dream residence,” he said, looking around at the reading area lined with filled bookshelves, a reclining leather chair, and an ottoman to his left. A fully stocked glass bar cart separated it from the sitting area to his right that flowed to a left angle to his bedroom with a king-sized bed.

“Behind that wall, my walk-in closet leads right into my bathroom,” he told her.

Margot sat in one of the suede barrel chairs at the foot of the bed, facing the television in the sitting area. “I really love this,” she said, placing her flute atop the glass table. “And not just because I’m curious if you’re as good in this room as in the kitchen.”

“I’m excellent in both,” he assured her, talking into his flute before taking another sip.

She bit her bottom lip. “We’re different then,” she said, crossing her legs.

“Are we?” he asked as he leaned back against the wall covered in gray suede wallpaper.

She nodded. “I’m better in here,” she said, swiveling in the chair to point to the made bed.

Lorenzo smiled.

This should be fun.

Margot stood up and began to gently pull her caftan up her body.

Lorenzo watched the show as she revealed long, shapely legs and then her bare bottom. He pushed off the wall and took a long stride towards her, taking her move as an invite to do so.

His cell phone vibrated loudly.

“Cress, INC.,” said the caller ID announcement.

They both paused–Lorenzo mid-stride and Margot with the edge of her caftan at her hips.

“I better get this,” he said, pulling the device from the back pocket of the black pants he wore as a part of his chef’s uniform.

Margot lowered her caftan and looked back at him with an expression of surprise—and perhaps a bit of insult.

Cress, INC. was the culinary empire that owned and managed the restaurant where Lorenzo was the executive chef. Although he was close with the entire Cress family who owned the conglomerate, especially his best friend Gabriel, this wasn’t a call from a personal cell phone. It was from the corporate offices in New York.

“Sorry,” he mouthed to Margot before answering. “Lorenzo Cortez.”

“Hey, Zo, this is Gabe. Sorry to call you so late in Paris, but we have an emergency here.”

Lorenzo leaned in the open doorway, feeling concern line his face. “Business?” he asked.

Gabe paused. “No,” he emphasized. “There’s someone here asking to speak with you–”

“Is that my dad?” a young girl’s voice said.

Lorenzo stood up straighter and frowned.

The call suddenly ended.

“Que?” he asked in confusion, scowling as his heart pounded.

The phone vibrated again.

“Gabe,” the phone announced.

Lorenzo answered the FaceTime call from Gabe’s private cell. “What’s going on there?” he asked when his friend’s face filled the screen.

Gabe looked flustered.“A handful,” he drawled.

“Rude!” the voice of the same little girl exclaimed.

Suddenly, Gabe disappeared from the screen, and the round face of a girl in her preteens filled it. She had a light brown complexion, bright doe-shaped eyes, and black hair pulled into a curly top knot. “Hi there. I’m Zoie. I’m your kid,” she said, very matter-of-factly. “And it’s your turn to take care of me.”

Lorenzo dropped his phone as if shocked by lightening.

“Mon Dieu!” Margot softly exclaimed from behind him.

“Where’d he go?” Zoie’s voice echoed through the phone, now face down on the polished wood floors.

“Hopefully not on the floor, too,” Gabe said. “Lorenzo? Zo? Say something. Are you okay?”

Lorenzo looked at the mobile.

“I’m your kid.”

His gut clenched.

Margot appeared at his side. “Raincheck?” she asked, giving him a soft look of consolation. “I have a feeling you are definitely not in the mood.”

“What’s a rain check?” Zoie asked. “And in the mood for what?”

Gabe groaned aloud. “Zo?” he said. “A little help here, please.”

“I’m your kid.”

Lorenzo continued to stare at the phone on the floor even as he nodded in agreement with Margot as she eased past him to leave the apartment.

“I’m your kid.”

“But that’s not possible,” he said aloud.

“He’s alive!” Zoie declared, her voice echoing from the phone.

Lorenzo looked up at the ceiling before covering his face with both hands.

“Zo!” Gabe barked, obviously annoyed.

Running one hand through his hair and fighting the urge to tear a chunk of it from his scalp, Lorenzo bent and picked up the device to turn it over in his hand. He looked down at the little girl’s face close to the screen as she blocked Gabe’s view.

“Hold on one sec, Zo. Let me take control of this situation,” his friend said, rising from his seat. “Zoie, stay here. Touch nothing. I’ll be right back.”

Lorenzo felt relief to have a moment from the expectation in the little girl’s eyes—hauntingly familiar eyes. He didn’t want to break her heart by having an old-school “The Maury Povich Show” moment by exclaiming, “I am not the father!”

But that was the truth.

Right?

Lorenzo entered the living room and sat on the sofa before propping his phone against the Mexican ceremonial mask serving as the centerpiece on the coffee table. “What the hell is going on, Gabe?” he asked brusquely.

“A bright kid with a pretty good sense of humor showed up early this morning and demanded that lobby security put her in contact with you because you’re her father,” Gabe said as he undid his silk tie and the top button of his shirt before pacing back and forth in the wide hall outside his office. “She was so insistent that they called me.”

Behind Gabe, through the glass wall of his office, Lorenzo looked at Zoie standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the metropolis. There was a maturity in how she tilted her head to the side or smiled at something she saw in her view, far beyond her years. His mother would say she had an old soul.

Wait. How old is she?

“I had her brought up to my office and agreed to call you so that you can get to the bottom of it,” Gabe said, stopping his pacing to look into his office.

“Did she say who her mother is?” Lorenzo asked.

Gabe looked back at the screen as he chuckled. “She refused to answer any questions unless she spoke to you,” he said with a shake of his head.

In the background, Zoie turned to pull Gabe’s ergonomic chair back to sit. She gripped both arms and lifted her chin as if envisioning running the world.

She’s a dreamer.

And if he was honest, he could see a similarity between the girl and himself at around the same age. “She looks like me,” Lorenzo admitted.

Gabe nodded. “I didn’t want to say it, but yes, she does,” he agreed.

“That doesn’t guarantee I’m her father,” he said.

“It doesn’t,” Gabe said.

Zoie spun the chair and raised both arms straight up into the air.

Lorenzo chuckled. He liked her spunk.

It, too, was very familiar.

“Any idea who her mother could be?” Gabe asked.

A memory rose of a dream-filled brown-skinned beauty with wild curls, a beguiling smile, and doe-shaped eyes filled with light and laughter.

And plenty of spunk.

∞

At the first sight of her daughter—after hours of envisioning the worst—Josephine Rivers slowed her steps. Relief freed itself from her in a long breath and weakened her knees until she leaned her back against the wall with her trembling hand pressed to her mouth. Through the glass wall of one of the many offices of Cress, INC., she looked at Zoie and the man sitting beside her.

Lorenzo.

The years had been more than good to him. Although his features were more chiseled and his hair much longer, he didn’t look very different.

Still handsome.

Still tall.

Still broad.

Still Zo.

With her heart suddenly fluttering, Josephine shifted her hand to press against the white cotton shirt she wore with a sensible grey pantsuit. It had been hours since she received a text from her far too independent daughter saying she had an errand to run and wasn’t going to school. The nerve!

Josephine’s emotions had run the gamut. There was anger when Zoie’s cell phone kept going straight to voicemail. Fear reigned as the hours passed. Pure frustration took the lead as the police delayed an official search, waiting for more time to pass. Even as she thought of a hundred different scenarios surrounding Zoie’s disappearance, a call from Lorenzo revealing that Zoie was safe with him had not been on her bingo card.

I honestly thought I would never see him again. Ever. But here we are.

Lorenzo looked up suddenly, and his gaze landed on her through the glass wall.

Her heart pounded, and she licked her lips nervously because it was clear that his eyes quickly darkened with anger.

At me.

Zoie followed his line of vision and then winced at the sight of her mother standing there before giving her a weak smile and wave.

Josephine gave her a stern stare with an arched brow that instantly led to the child’s smile fading. As Lorenzo rose to stride across the spacious office, she crossed her arms over her chest and she prepared herself for a conversation she was not ready to have. Not at all. When he stepped into the hall and closed the door, she felt overwhelmed by his height, and the breadth of his shoulders made the wide hall seem smaller.

And me, too.

He was nearly a foot taller than her, and her black work heels didn’t offer much to bridge the gap.

“Is she mine?” Lorenzo asked, his voice stern and his Spanish accent thick.

She wanted to lie but knew that time had passed. Instead, she lowered her eyes to avoid his hard, unrelenting stare. “Yes, Lorenzo. She’s your daughter,” she admitted. Softly.

“Should I believe you?” he said.

It dripped with sarcasm. And judgment.

She understood.

With a deep breath that shook with her uneasiness, Josephine dared to look up at him again. She studied his handsome profile as he stared down the opposite length of the hall at a view of Manhattan through a window.The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. His well-toned frame was tight with his feelings.

Certainly anger, but she knew there was hurt, too.

I used to know him well…

When Josephine met Lorenzo in 2009, he was working as a chef in a small but popular New York restaurant, and she had been a carefree, self-taught artist willing to starve for her art. Back then, they both had leaned heavily into their passions for their creativity and each other. Their year-long relationship had been ripe with good times and great sex. They had been nearly inseparable, loving each other out loud and deeply. Wildly. Passionately.

And then I found out I was pregnant.

“Lorenzo,” she began, daring to reach out and touch his upper arm. “You were adamant and outspoken during our entire relationship about not wanting children.”

He turned his head to look down at her hand as if it offended him. “And that justifies your choice?” he asked, slowly raising his eyes to glare at her.

Josephine lowered her hand. “To have my baby?” she asked.

Lorenzo’s hooded eyes widened. “Not telling me about our daughter,” he said, his tone accusing. “How dare you keep this from me.”

The pain that flashed in his dark brown eyes caused guilt to radiate across her chest. There was a time in her life when her love for him had engulfed her. She had been more than content to be submerged.

Their eyes locked, and she was swept back to the good days of their past.

Back in the depths.

“Josephine?”

Hearing her name, she saw her fiancé, Brent Anderson, walking towards them. His boyishly handsome face was lined with concern. She’d forgotten that he drove her to pick up Zoie, concerned she wasn’t in the right state of mind to operate a vehicle.

“Brent,” Josephine said as he came to stand beside her with a quick glance through his spectacles up at Lorenzo. “This is Zoie’s biological father–”

“Biological father. Wow,” Lorenzo said before pointedly staring down at the floor with a sarcastic chortle.

“Lorenzo, this is Brent Anderson,” she said, feeling so awkward. “My fiancé.”

“Hey,” Lorenzo said with a brief nod that was dismissive. “Could you excuse us? Josie and I have a lot to talk about.”

“Josie?” Brent asked, looking confused.

“It’s an old nickname,” she explained to him.

That I once loved.

She shook her head to free the thought and turned to face her ex. “Lorenzo, Zoie was missing all day before you called,” she said, seeking to stay in the present.

He nodded. “She came straight here–”

“And you waited to call while I was worried about all the worst possible scenarios?” Josephine snapped, glaring up at him as Brent gave her upper arms comforting strokes from behind her.

“I was in Paris and caught the first flight straight here, but she wouldn’t answer any questions until I arrived,” Lorenzo said, his eyes filling with disbelief at her. “I called you as soon as I found out you were her mother and demanded your number.”

“Sorry,” Josephine said, reaching up to press her fingertips between her brows. “I’m on edge. We all are. I was so afraid. I apologize.”

Lorenzo twisted the leather braided bracelet around his wrist as he gave her a sharp nod in agreement.

“Listen, I’m sure today was unsettling and chaotic for both of you,” Brent said, with a calm and reasonable manner that was a testament to his work as an actuary. “Perhaps a little breather is best. We’ve been frantic and worried about Zoie for hours.”

Lorenzo shifted his eyes from Josephine to Brent and then went through the glass door to Zoie, who was focused on her phone. “And I’ve been in the dark about my daughter for twelve years,” he said, his eyes not leaving her.

Josephine shook her head and lightly pressed a restraining hand to Brent’s wrist to stop the words he might speak. “I know we have a lot to discuss, and I have even more to explain. Right now, I just want to take Zoie home, hold her close, and talk to her about her unsafe actions today,” she said, reaching past him for the handle of the door.

“And make sure she’s safe,” Brent added.

Lorenzo took a small step to the side to prevent her from opening the door. “Safe with her father?” he asked the man coldly.

Uh-oh.

“I’m sure he meant that although you’re her father, you’re a stranger to her, Zo,” Josephine added.

“Zo?” Brent muttered at the nickname.

“Whose fault is that?” Lorenzo roared.

“Hey. Relax,” Brent said, stepping in front of her.

Lorenzo looked down at Brent and chuckled in his face like he was a joke to him.

Oh shit.

Josephine rushed around Brent to put some distance between the men.

Zoie stepped out of the office and into the hall, holding her winter coat and bookbag to eye the three adults. “Everything okay? Brent? Mama?” she asked, sounding unsure as she looked at her mother and then up at Lorenzo. “Daddy?”

Josephine felt alarmed at her daughter addressing Lorenzo as such. She shared a brief glance at Brent before forcing a smile to hide the emotions gripping her. Trepidation. Guilt. Protecting.

Lorenzo looked surprised at the term but then nodded. “Everything is fine,” he told her before patting her shoulder awkwardly.

Zoie smiled. “Now it is because I found you,” she said, her eyes bright with happiness, her smile toothy, and her dimples deep.

‘Everything is changing,’ Josephine thought. ‘Absolutely everything.’

“Alright, Zoie, let’s get going,” she said aloud. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“So do you and I,” Lorenzo muttered under his breath.

Josephine heard him. “Brent and Zoie, you two go ahead. I’ll be right behind you,” she assured them.

Brent looked uncertain as Zoie pulled on her bright pink puffer coat and matching sweater beanie hat with two huge fur balls.

“If you need a DNA test, I completely understand,” Zoie said as she looked down to zip her coat.

“Zoie!” all three adults exclaimed.

“What?” she asked with a wide-eyed look of innocence.

Lorenzo then chuckled, earning him a stern look of offense from Josephine. He topped that with a one-shoulder shrug.

“Daddy, I can’t wait to see Paris,” Zoie said as she pulled on her pink teddy bear bookbag and gripped the glittered straps.

“What?” Josephine asked.

“J”ai hate de vous montrer,” Lorenzo said in French.

“Translate, please,” Zoie requested with a giggle.

“I can”t wait to show you,” he told her.

“Wait,” Josephine said.

Zoie gave Lorenzo a final cheerful wave and turned to follow Brent down the hall.

“She’s not going to Paris!” she told him.

Lorenzo eased his hands into the pockets of the brown suede pants he wore with an off-white shawl-collar sweater. “I have every intention of getting to know my daughter, and I’m willing to use every legal action available...if need be,” he told her.

“So now you want to be a father?” Josephine asked, honestly feeling confused by his insistence.

“Now that I know I’m a father, it changes everything,” he told her before opening the office door. “I’ll be in touch.”

Josephine watched him enter the office and walk over to the window behind the desk, his long hair flowing down his muscular back as he moved. As he stared at the frigid metropolis, his profile seemed carved in stone, like art. In the past, it would be an inspiration to sketch, paint, or sculpt. To create. She had given up her art to focus on making a stable income to care for her child alone.

I thought I had no other choice.

Lorenzo looked back as if he felt her stare. Their eyes locked. His face shifted from pensive to painful disbelief. That evoked her guilt—something with which she was familiar.

She forced herself to turn and walk away as she released a heavy breath, wondering what having Lorenzo in her life meant for Zoie.

And for me.