Chapter 10
When his brother had offered Evie a meeting with one of his director friends, James had not expected it to be Antoine Moreau.
The moment they walked into the restaurant and James saw him sitting there, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his ever-present charm radiating like some insufferable beacon, James felt his jaw tighten.
It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to walk out of that restaurant.
The restaurant was the epitome of elegance, all dim lighting and hushed conversations, the soft clinking of crystal glasses filling the air.
Evie sat across from James, looking radiant in a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, her natural beauty heightened by the golden glow of the candlelight. Beside her sat Antoine.
Antoine was everything you’d expect a French filmmaker to be—sharp, cultured, utterly magnetic, and ARROGANT.
His dark eyes sparkled with intrigue, his accent rolling off his tongue like silk as he spoke directly to Evie.
“You have such a rare presence, chérie,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “So effortless, so captivating. You’d bring something… magnifique to the role.”
Evie flushed under the compliment, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she glanced down at her wine glass.
“That’s very kind of you to say,” she murmured, clearly flattered.
“Kind? Non,” Antoine replied, his smile deepening. “I speak only the truth. Your beauty, your energy—it’s… irresistible.”
James’s grip on his fork tightened, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to take a steadying breath. He tried to focus on his plate, but every word Antoine said made his blood simmer.
Evie giggled a soft, airy sound that made James’s chest tighten. She was clearly flattered by Antoine’s attention, her cheeks glowing with a warmth that wasn’t entirely due to the wine.
Antoine leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.
“And your voice,” he continued, his tone dipping into something more intimate. “You could enchant an audience with just a whisper. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
James couldn’t take it anymore. His voice cut through the conversation—low and sharp. “Is that what you say to all your actresses, Moreau, or is Evie just particularly… captivating tonight?”
Antoine blinked, surprised, but quickly recovered, his smile never faltering. “Ah, Monsieur James,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence that only made James’s irritation spike. “I assure you, I don’t give such compliments lightly. Evie is… exceptionnelle.”
Evie glanced at James, her brow furrowing slightly at the tension in his tone.
“Of course, she is,” James said, his tone polite but laced with an undercurrent of steel. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To talk about a role.”
Antoine chuckled, clearly amused by James’s thinly veiled jealousy.
“Oui, of course. But a role like this requires chemistry, non? An understanding between the director and the actress. Something… intimate.”
His gaze flickered back to Evie, his smile turning softer, more personal.
James set his wine glass down with a little more force than necessary, the sound drawing both Evie’s and Antoine’s attention.
His eyes locked onto Antoine’s, his usually cool demeanor cracking.
“Evie’s talents speak for themselves. I’m sure any ‘chemistry’ needed for the role will come naturally. Don’t you think, Evie?”
Evie hesitated, clearly caught between the two men, her cheeks still flushed from the praise and the sudden shift in tension. “I—uh—yes, of course,” she stammered, glancing nervously between them.
Antoine’s grin widened, and he gave a slight shrug. “Naturally,” he said smoothly, though his tone carried a subtle edge of amusement. “But it doesn’t hurt to nurture such… connections.”
James leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. “I think Evie’s more than capable of handling any role without your… nurturing.”
The tension at the table was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Evie quickly stepped in, her voice light and cheerful, though her nerves were evident. James could tell he was stepping a line, messing things up for her, but he was so frustrated he didn't care.
“So, Antoine,” she said, steering the conversation back on course, “tell me more about the project. It sounds fascinating.”
Antoine obliged, but James remained quiet, his sharp gaze fixed on the director, his mind spinning. Antoine’s attention wasn’t just professional—it was personal—and it was making him burn with jealousy in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
Evie might not have noticed, but James had. And the thought of Antoine making sweet eyes at her for the rest of the night—and maybe beyond—made his blood boil.
By the end of the dinner, James was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. He sat stiffly in his chair, his fingers curled tightly around his glass of wine, the tension in his body palpable.
Antoine was still speaking, his smooth French accent weaving through a story about the intricacies of his directorial process, but James wasn’t really listening. His focus was on the way Antoine’s gaze lingered on Evie, the way his words dripped with admiration that felt too personal, too intimate.
James’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to stay silent, every instinct screaming at him to say something, anything, to wipe the smug grin off Antoine’s face.
But he couldn’t afford to. This was Evie’s chance, a golden opportunity to step into something big, something she deserved.
Messing this up for her would be selfish, and he knew it.
But a small, irritating part of him wanted to mess it up.
He wanted Antoine out of the picture—out of her orbit.
The idea of Evie spending hours, maybe days, working closely with someone like Antoine, who clearly found her captivating, made his chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to jealousy.
Antoine’s laughter cut through James’s thoughts, and he realized the man was looking directly at him as if waiting for a response. Evie turned to James as well, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nerves, her expression hopeful.
“Don’t you agree, James?” Antoine asked, his tone deceptively light, though there was a glimmer of challenge in his eyes.
James blinked, forcing himself back into the conversation. He cleared his throat, plastering on a polite smile.
“Absolutely,” he said smoothly, though his voice carried a slight edge. “Evie’s perfect for the role. Anyone with half a brain could see that.”
Evie shot him a glance, her brow furrowing slightly at his tone, but she quickly turned back to Antoine, her excitement undimmed.
“Thank you so much for considering me for this,” she said, her voice sincere. “It really means a lot.”
Antoine reached out, taking her hand in his briefly, his touch lingering just long enough to make James’s blood boil.
“The pleasure is mine, chérie,” he said warmly.
“I’ll have my assistant contact you as soon as we finalize the schedule.
I have no doubt you’ll bring something extraordinary to the screen. ”
James’s grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles whitening as he watched the exchange. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine to keep from saying something he couldn’t take back.
As they stood to leave, Antoine placed a hand lightly on Evie’s back, guiding her toward the door as he continued to talk about the project.
James trailed behind them, his mood darkening with every step.
The sight of Antoine leaning closer, speaking softly into her ear, made his chest tighten with frustration.
Outside the restaurant, Antoine finally turned to James, extending a hand with that same infuriatingly charming smile. “Thank you for joining us tonight, James,” he said smoothly. “It’s clear Evie has an excellent support system. She’s lucky to have you.”
James shook his hand, his grip firm, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said, his tone polite but clipped.
Antoine turned to Evie with one last lingering glance. “I look forward to working with you, Evie. Until then, bonne nuit.”
Antoine turned to James, extending a hand. “James, always a pleasure.”
James shook his hand, his grip firmer than necessary, his polite smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“Likewise,” he said through clenched teeth when Antoine offered his parting pleasantries. He stood stiffly, watching the man disappear into the waiting car, his stomach churning as he saw Antoine cast one last lingering glance at Evie before the door shut.
James exhaled sharply, trying to shake the tension as he led Evie to their car.
She slid into the passenger seat with an easy grace, her soft hum of contentment grating on him as he climbed in beside her.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as he started the car and pulled out into the quiet street.
The silence in the car was thick, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of her adjusting in her seat.
She was probably lost in thoughts about Antoine’s compliments and the opportunity he had offered. She didn’t notice the way James’s jaw was set, the way his grip on the steering wheel was tighter than it needed to be.
He kept his eyes on the road, every streetlight casting fleeting shadows across the dashboard, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still hear Antoine’s smooth voice, his praise for Evie dripping with admiration that felt far from professional.
The memory of the way her cheeks had flushed at his words, the way she had giggled softly at his compliments, made something twist in James’s chest.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, the tension coiled inside him was unbearable. He parked the car, stepped out, and walked toward the house without a word, the sound of her footsteps trailing behind him as she followed.