“One hopes,” he said.
They walked across the paved drive and through the front doors into the expansive lobby. An older man dressed in a suit, with black hair that looked as though it might have been dusted in snow, stood there with a woman at his side. She was near his age, Amelia guessed, and perfectly put together in a blue pantsuit that Amelia herself would never be caught dead in, but could respect.
“Mr. Chevalier.” The man, Don Fleischer, she presumed, extended his hand.
“Mr. Fleischer,” Luc said, confirming her initial thought. “And this is?”
“My lovely wife, Anna.”
“Pleasure,” Luc said, his lips wrapped around the word as if it was decadent chocolate. Why was his voice so sexy?
Anna Fleischer was not unaffected. And really, who would be? The other woman flushed slightly and extended her hand to shake his. “Very nice to meet you.”
“I’m very pleased to see you’ve brought your girlfriend—or is that fiancée,” he said, his eyes dropping to her left hand, “with you. I prefer to have something of a family meeting, rather than a true business meeting. And I particularly like it when a man includes his partner in important business affairs.”
“Naturally,” Luc said, moving nearer to her, his arm sliding around her waist. “I would hardly make such a decision without the woman I love by my side.”
CHAPTER THREE
AMELIA STIFFENED, HER EYES widening. “Uh...”
“You must be starving, Amelia, darling,” Luc said.
She curled her hand into a fist, feeling conscious of the ring on her finger, the one that had been there for four years. The one she’d spent most of the day considering removing.
And now it had gotten them into this.
Though, why Luc was touching her instead of correcting Fleischer she didn’t know.
She felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate dimension. What was the man going on about? “I did have the scone on the plane.”
“Just one scone,” he said. “I thought you wanted an omelet.”
Don laughed. “We do have good omelets. Right this way into the dining area.”
Amelia and Luc followed, Luc with his arm still wrapped around her waist. He was making her all warm. And it was weird.
Then when they reached the table he held the chair out for her. She sat, giving him the best and most subtle side eye she could manage.
The breakfast really was a personal visit, peppered with talks of business. Luc was adept at mainly keeping the personal topics relegated to Don and Anna, and to use those moments to push through to a discussion about the running of the resort. They were moving to be in warmer climates, to be nearer to their grandchildren, but the resort was special to them and wouldn’t it be nice to have another couple interested in taking it over?
Luc, to his credit, did remind them that he owned many properties, and would likely not personally run things in Aspen. But they were both sold on his charm, so neither seemed to mind.
Amelia, for her part, mainly sat quietly, shoveling egg, ham and cheese into her mouth. It was a good omelet. That, at least, in this crazy mixed-up world, was a surety. Cheese would never fail her.
Every once in a while she would nod enthusiastically in agreement with Luc, because that much she knew would be appreciated. That she did as part of her job. The touching stuff, though, was not a part of her job, and every time he brushed his fingers over her knuckles she had to fight the urge to leap up out of her chair and shake the warm fuzzies off her hand.
She didn’t, though. She sat still. And she was pretty sure she was accomplishing the playing it cool act.
“Well,” Don said, standing when all the plates were clear. Everyone else at the table followed suit. “I suppose I should let you get to your room.”
“I...It is no trouble at all to have Amelia put in her own room,” Luc said, stumbling over his English. She’d never heard him do that before.
Anna laughed. “We’re not that old-fashioned, Mr. Chevalier. We put you in the Aspen Suite. Of course we didn’t realize Amelia was coming, but it is the best room in the lodge.”
“Faaaabulous,” Amelia said, heat rising in her cheeks and other...places.
“Everything was taken up already,” Don said.
“Oh, very kind of you,” Luc said, smiling. “Now...which floor?”
Don handed him a card with a code written on it. “The top floor. And you have a passcode to get into the room.”
“Fantastic.” Luc took it and tucked it into his suit jacket pocket. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” she said, smiling far too brightly as she walked with him to the elevator. They got inside and when the doors slid shut, she rounded on him. “What the?”
“I could have corrected them, but to what end? We’re here for a day, to look the place over and to try and get the best deal possible. Forging something of a...personal relationship with the Fleischers is obviously the way to go. And will make my somewhat low offer look okay.”
“This is awkward. Like...fourteen-year-old boy walking by the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition in public, while wearing sweatpants, awkward.”
“That is some kind of awkward.”
“Isn’t it?” she snipped.
“Amelia, you and I have worked together for four years, I’m sure we can sleep in close quarters for an evening without being terribly bothered by it. Unless you’re bothered by it.”
“What? Me? Pfffft.” She blew out a breath. “Bothered. Why would I be bothered?”
“You seem bothered.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts and determinedly stared the elevator doors down, as if that might make it move faster. “Nope,” she said. “Not. Bothered, that is. Not even a little. You’re my boss and...and...a friend kind of, when you aren’t being a grumpy.... Well, you’re grumpy most of the time but...why would it be weird? It’s not weird.”
“Then everything should be fine. I just saw no need to rock the boat.”
She took a deep breath and let it back out again, everything suddenly kind of unsteady. “But you lied. About us. And I don’t...I don’t really like that.”
“Why?”
“Because. Just...you know, forget it.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“Fantastic,” he said.
The doors slid open and Luc walked out without waiting, then strode down the hall to the room, punching in the code quickly. She followed, trying to process why exactly she was suddenly in annoyed territory, rather than just slightly uncomfortable territory.
Shades of Clint?
No. This had nothing to do with Clint, and all the garbage happening with him. That was a separate drama and would have to wait to be dealt with. Probably while they were all spending Christmas together. His parents and hers, and...just great.
Anyway, for her to be bothered by Luc’s little lie on that level would sort of require her to have feelings for Luc. And for him to be tricking her into thinking he had feelings for her. Which was not what was happening. So really, it was nothing like Clint. So she should just chill.
She walked into the suite and breathed a sigh of relief. It was large. With more than one room. There was a couch right in the main room, and there was what she assumed to be a bedroom off to the left. There was another door to the right that might just be another bedroom.
“There,” he said. “This will actually be quite convenient, because if I need you for anything, you’ll be right there.”
She nearly choked over the image that put in her head. Of Luc needing her. In the night. His big hands, dark on her pale skin as they skimmed her curves and...
“Yeah,” she said. “For work stuff.”
“What else would I mean?”
“No...per
sonal stuff.”
He arched a dark brow. “Amelia, does this make you uncomfortable? Because the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”
“No,” she said. “I’m fine. It’s a nonissue. We’re adults. We can manage.”
“Let me tell you,” he said, dark eyes blazing as he took two steps closer to her, his expression intense. “I know some men just take what they want, with no thought to how it might affect other people, but I am not that man.”
“I know,” she said, feeling breathless now.
“That is for men like my brother.”
She swallowed hard, her heart beating fast. “Yes, I know. Your brother the fiancée-stealing jerk.”
“Have you heard the story?” he asked.
“From you? Only every time his name is mentioned in the news. I also read the article in Vanity Fair about The Wedding That Wasn’t.”
“You didn’t even work for me then.”
“No, but I read that kind of thing. I’m interested in society and pop culture and it was...a big deal.”
“I know, Amelia, it was my wedding. Trust me, I know.”
She blinked. “You must have loved her a lot.”
Luc paused, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at Amelia, who looked especially wide-eyed, yet again, since their encounter with the Fleischers downstairs. Not that he could blame her, especially.
It had been a definite change in direction, but as he’d said to her in the elevator, he saw no reason to correct Don, not when it might work to their advantage in some way. He had no way of knowing, and it would be best if he could simply give himself every tool to work with.
Of course, somehow, all of that had led to a shared suite, and to her asking questions about Marie.
“No,” he said, his tone harsher than he’d intended. “I did not love her a lot. I daresay I didn’t love her much at all. It was a business arrangement.” Which was partly true. But she’d been the woman he was prepared to spend his life with and, in the end, she’d betrayed him.
And even more painfully, his brother had betrayed him. Yes, he knew Blaise had his own baggage. Raised mainly in Africa with their mother, Blaise’s life had been completely different from Luc’s. Luc had spent his childhood in a mansion in Paris.
And in his mind, he’d always seen Blaise’s stealing Marie before the wedding as some kind of revenge. Revenge for a charmed life that had never been as charmed as Blaise had imagined. As anyone might have imagined.
His father had been—was still—a tyrant. A mean drunk. Distant at best and violent at worst.
But all anyone ever saw was the facade. The mansion. The man in the suit.
Luc knew differently.
And while he’d paid lip service to forgiveness, while he’d told Blaise years ago to just forget it, forgiveness had never truly taken root in him. Because Blaise couldn’t return what he’d stolen. Because Luc could never forget.
“Well, if you didn’t love her then...” Amelia looked at him, pain in her blue eyes. “I hope she knew, Luc. Because I think it’s pretty bad form to use a woman like that. To use anyone like that.”
“She knew,” Luc said. “Though, in the end she said it wasn’t enough. The day before the wedding. Do you suppose she could have come to that conclusion faster? Do you suppose she might have...ended things with me before she jumped into bed with my brother?”
Amelia frowned. “Fine. Point taken.”
“I was not using her. I believe I just pointed out to you that I’m not one who does that.”
“And...your brother was using her?”
“My brother is with someone else now.”
Blaise and his wife, Ella, had been married for four years. Surprisingly, or rather not, Luc had not attended the wedding.
“I know,” Amelia said, pointing toward her breasts. At least, that was where his eyes went. “This dress is hers.”
“You’re wearing one of my sister-in-law’s designs?” he asked.
“I wear Ella Stanton clothes all the time. She’s a genius. I like to mix her with vintage.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“So I can’t sing in my head and you don’t know how you feel about me wearing a certain designer? What next? Are you going to order me to take the dress off?”
She froze as soon as the words left her mouth, her gaze clashing with his.
He took a moment to appreciate the way her dress formed to her figure. One thing was certain, his sister-in-law was talented. The gray sweater dress made the most of every curve, covering skin, but tantalizing all the same.
And he wondered what exactly she might look like unwrapped for his pleasure. He’d done his best never to go there with her, really, he’d succeeded. She wasn’t his type. She was open, smiley and chipper. She wasn’t all self-contained and polished like an ice sculpture, not in the least.
She was all cheer and broad gestures. And she was not his fiancée. She was engaged to another man, and he would be damned if he ever sunk that low.
He would never be like his brother. Would never be like his father. Both seemed to do whatever they wanted in regards to women, but not Luc.
He ignored the fierce twist in his gut and turned toward the bar in the corner. “I could use a drink.”
“It’s still before noon.”
“Not in New York.”
“Blah!” she said. “So...what, I have to pretend to be your fiancée now?”
“Only until tomorrow,” he said, walking over to the bar and pulling out a bottle of whiskey.
“This ring,” she said, holding her hand up, “would be a pretty poor showing for a billionaire.”
“I’ve only just started up the company, maybe I’m saving my money?”
“Bah,” she said. “I would throw this back at you if that were your offering!”
“But it was Clint’s offering, and you don’t seem to mind it coming from him.”
“Clint,” she said, “is not a billionaire. He is a thousandaire, with an okay job. All things considered, this ring is pretty good.”
“Such a double standard.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “you’re also a lot more demanding than Clint is, so...I think you’d owe me for putting up with your shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans?” he repeated.
“Yeah, your shenanigans. This? This right here? This fake engagement brouhaha is the definition of a shenanigan. It may even be high jinks.”
“High jinks?”
“Madcap ones!”
He almost laughed at her. She was...she was just so very much. An explosion of color and movement, all the time. The ring, the one they’d just been discussing, caught the lights, glittering. Reminding him of the fact that he couldn’t notice. Not really.
There was a knock at the door and Luc put down his drink. Amelia was just standing there. “I’ve got it,” he said, “don’t worry.”
“Was I supposed to assist you in door answering? I’m not a butler.”
He turned and headed to the door, opening it. “Yes?”
There was a woman in a black uniform there, with a cart in front of her. “May I come in?”
“Sure,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her entry while he examined the items on the cart. An ice bucket, champagne, a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. There was also a white envelope with his name on it.
“Compliments of Mr. Fleischer,” she said. “He wanted you to experience the romance package the resort offers, both so that you could appreciate just what sort of draw couples might feel to the location, and for you and your fiancée.” She bowed slightly. “Enjoy.”
“Merci,” Luc said as she walked back out of the hotel room. Then he turned to Amelia who was uncharacteristically qu
iet. “What is it, Amelia?”
She shook her head. “Shenanigans.”
“Why not enjoy?” he asked. “You wanted time off. Doesn’t this feel like time off?”
“But I’m with you, and not my family or my...” she trailed off, worrying her lower lip.
“Am I so bad?”
“You are so my boss is all. Nothing personal.” She reached into the strawberry bowl and took out a piece of fruit, lifting it to her lips.
There was nothing wrong with watching her eat a strawberry. Just a moment of enjoyment. It wasn’t touching. It wasn’t violating her engagement or their working relationship.
It was just him taking a small moment, the first in a while, to remember that he was a man and not just an entrepreneur.
She parted her lips and closed them over the tip of the berry, her eyes closing.
He was getting heated watching that. And that was not appropriate workplace behavior. Even when that workplace was currently a romantic suite.
Romance meant nothing to him, these surroundings meant nothing. This woman meant nothing.
She hummed, low in her throat, the sound sending a kick of desire through him and proving his previous thought a lie. She did mean something. At least to his long-neglected libido. Fascination—which honesty compelled him to confess he’d felt for her from the moment they’d met—was twisting into something else. Something more intense. Something darker. Something he really couldn’t afford to feel.
“Nothing personal at all,” he said, taking a strawberry from the bowl and popping it into his mouth. Then he poured himself a glass of champagne and picked the envelope up from the cart and opened it. “Look at that. A brochure of all the activities we’re entitled to partake in today.”
“Goody. Since this is supposed to be vacationy, let me see.”
He handed her the glossy, trifolded paper and waited while she perused it. She reached into the bowl and took out another berry, this time putting it into her mouth whole. Her dark brows knit together. “A massage,” she said. “Hmm. Well—” she looked up at him “—I could use one. My muscles are knotted. I’m a little stressed.”
Christmas With a Billionaire: Billionaire Under the MistletoeSnowed in With Her BossA Diamond for Christmas Page 11