11. Lourdes
Lourdes
Head spinning from the craziest morning of my life, I let myself into the apartment, still not entirely sure how I ended up agreeing to a fake date with Ares Zervas. As delighted as I am for David not to be here, looking at this dump is a slap in the face compared to how I’ll be spending my day.
How will I be able to work at an upscale, elegant place like Zervas & Company, then come home to this hellhole and not want to throw up?
Still not believing my great luck, I spend the rest of the afternoon going through the new laptop and securing it like the previous one, so David can’t break into it and find my shell account.
I won’t be adding any more embezzled money into it.
But with the stipend account Ares talked about, I will hopefully get to where I need to be sooner.
Hours later, a text comes in from my new boss telling me to be ready at seven p.m.
That leads to a manic hour going through my closet. I spot the boxes in the back filled with my father’s belongings. I’d been meaning to go through them since he passed five years ago, but it’s too painful.
My fingers itch to look, but I don’t have time now for a trip down memory lane. I push the thoughts of Dad and Sandrine out of my head to finish getting ready.
With my one little black dress barely zipped, a knock on the door has me rushing into the living room. I come to a halt, seeing Ares standing there. He looks painfully out of place. I feel bad for him.
But wait… What is he doing inside my apartment?
“How did you get in here?” I stuff down my anger at the personal intrusion.
He produces a key. “This is how.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where did you find that?”
He steps back through the doorway and points to the door frame. “It was taped to the upper molding.”
“I never saw that before.” I reach for it, and after a moment, he drops it into my hand.
“That’s very poor security.”
David never mentioned putting a key on the door frame. Are strangers coming into this apartment when I’m not home? How fucking creepy.
“By the way, will dinners with you be a regular thing, Mr. Zervas?” I stick the key into my purse, wondering how I’ll explain all of this to David.
“I asked you to call me Ares. And it depends.” He smooths out the front of his waist-length wool jacket.
He’s dressed down, casual. Or what passes as casual for him.
Dark jeans and a burgundy sweater that make his tawny skin look warmer, softer.
He looks almost approachable. “If I need you, I expect you to be available.”
“David won’t like me going out at night without him.”
“You are my assistant.” The possession in his voice makes my pulse jump. “Business dinners are part of the job. And if he has a problem with that, you tell him to come see me. I’ll make sure he leaves…agreeable.”
That makes my head spin. Like all the other secrets I’ve been keeping from David, this will be one more. It won’t be forever. Just a couple of months until I have enough money to escape to Chicago.
“Okay. Can you wait in the hall? My place is…” I’m appalled at how small my apartment suddenly feels. “And I’m…”
His eyes take me in, settling on my shoulder. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Your dress. It needs to be zipped.” He gets close enough that I feel buzzing in his veins.
I turn, and notch by notch, feel the zipper teeth connect. Suddenly, I have an intense need to feel his hands on my skin.
“Thank you.” I turn back around, my cheeks warm with my dangerous thoughts.
“There is no need to be embarrassed.” He brushes his cool hand against my face.
I wince, still sore from the backhand a few days ago.
“If you can believe it, back in the early days, my family lived like this for a short time,” he says non-descrip, glancing past me. “When my father nearly bankrupted us.”
I wasn’t expecting him to open up like that. “I never would have guessed that. How did you get it all back?”
“Fighting.” His gaze returns to mine, steady and penetrating. “I fought for the things I wanted. I still do.”
“I expect there’s not much fighting to do now when you can just write a check.”
“Not everyone can be bought. And money doesn’t solve every problem.” He puts his hands behind his back, really not looking around anymore. There’s just not much to take in.
I motion to my plain black dress to change the subject. “Is this appropriate?”
“Not quite.” From his jacket, he takes out a leather box. “You’re pretending to be my date.”
I try not to gasp when he opens it to reveal a floral-shaped necklace of violet-blue sapphires.
“That’s not necessary.” I squeeze my hands behind my back.
“It is for tonight.” He drapes the necklace on my chest while standing over me.
Even without seeing the clasp, he manages to secure it. The heat of his skin and the smell of his cologne twist me inside out.
“Let me look at you,” he says.
I step back and touch the stones. “It’s heavy.”
He steps closer. “It’s perfect.”
Warmth spreads through my chest before I can stop it. “Thank you.”
“Shall we?” He opens the front door for me.
I toss my coat over my shoulders, grab my purse, and follow Ares downstairs, stopping short on the sidewalk. A gold Bentley idles at the curb, shiny under the streetlight.
Ares helps me into the car, and after giving a signal to the driver, the Bentley glides along the asphalt like it was paved five minutes ago. The smell of leather and the feel of Ares’s power sucks me into a dangerous fantasy.
A dark SUV comes up along the side of us and then takes the lead. I notice a similar SUV tails us from behind.
“Umm…” I point, in case it’s not obvious.
He smiles. “My guards.”
“Guards? How many do you have?”
“Seven.”
I stare agog at the silent choreography of security.
Shifting, my knees brush Ares’s when the car turns one way, our hands bumping at another turn.
Every accidental touch feels deliberate.
His cologne is the only scent I smell in the car’s interior.
It’s clean and expensive, something woodsy and dark.
I hate that I notice it. Hate that I like it so much.
He knows I’m married and doesn’t look like a man who wants a married woman as a best friend. He doesn’t look like a man who wants a best friend at all.
Maybe that’s the problem.
We stop in front of a small, charming restaurant tucked beneath a jet-black portico. Even in the evening darkness, “French Craft” jumps off the fabric in bright white script letters.
Ares’s muscular arm stretches across my lap. “Wait,” he murmurs.
I watch through the windshield as men from the SUVs enter first. Only after a subtle signal from one does Ares step out of the Bentley and reach back inside for me.
I let his hand close around mine. It’s the first time he’s touched me directly, and the warmth of his palm sends a shock up my arm.
Even when I’m out of the car, he doesn’t let go. And I don’t pull away.
Hand in hand, we step into the restaurant’s vestibule, and the smell of garlic and nutmeg kicks up my hunger to a new level.
At the hostess podium, a very tall woman in a body-hugging white dress, her tiny waist mismatched with gigantic breasts, smiles ear to ear at Ares.
“Ares Zervas, this is a surprise. Lucia didn’t mention you were dining with us tonight.”
“Hello, Eden. I assume you have a table for me and my guest.” He speaks to her in a different voice he uses with me.
Eden’s eyes drop immediately to our linked hands. “Guest? Who’s this?” she asks, delivering an underhanded attitude.
“This is Lourdes,” he says smoothly.
I note that he doesn’t say my last name or give any further details about our relationship status.
“Of course, I have a table for you.” Eden grabs two menus. “Follow me.”
I hate how stunning and polished she is. Like it’s effortless. Like some guy isn’t making her live on thirty bucks a week for food and shampoo.
At a curved banquette tucked into its own alcove, Ares gestures for me to slide in first, then sits close beside me, our thighs brushing.
“Is this the cellar wine list?” Ares asks, reaching for a leather billfold on the table.
“Why don’t you join me in the cellar, and we can pick out something together?”
I bite my lip at her shameless flirting. Maybe she thinks a blowjob in the cellar will be enough to smooth over the head chef being rude to his family.
“I’m here with a date, Eden.” He declines harshly.
“Of course.” Hearing date, Eden changes her posture. “How about the Kaiken Ultra Malbec?”
Ares scans the list and sets it down. “I’m not sure of that vintage.”
“It’s top tier, I assure you.” Eden takes the wine list off the table. “Blake will be serving you tonight. He’ll be right over.”
I’m grateful when she struts away, and that a male server will be taking care of us.
I didn’t like the way she looked at Ares or the way she blatantly propositioned him in front of me. In fact, I hated it. Will that be part of my job? Watching him date women? Making dinner reservations or romantic weekend getaways for him?
Not letting any of those useless churns of jealousy show, I glance around and say, “The food smells delicious. It certainly looks upscale. Fitting for a La Varenne graduate.”
“You remembered.” He smiles. “I vetted this establishment heavily before I allowed Lucia to work here.”
I’m about to remark how I looked up the school, but halt my words when I notice Eden back at our table.
She’s returned with her recommended wine and pours Ares a glass. “Here.”
He gestures toward me. “She’ll try it first.”
I admit, I don’t know the etiquette if the man is supposed to taste wine first. Or the date. Or both of us, but I feel his hand settle on my thigh. It’s a subtle squeeze that’s both intimate and assuring.
I lift the glass, forcing my hand not to shake as I take a sip. The wine is rich but tangy.
“That’s good.” I nod and offer him the glass.
“Good?” Eden snorts. “It won awards.”
Ignoring Eden, Ares takes the goblet from my fingers without breaking eye contact and drinks from the same spot.
Heat coils low in my stomach, taking in the way he looks at me.