Page 200 of Boss of the Year

He was watching me, like he always did. Waiting for me to begin the interrogation. Ask the questions that needed to be asked. Open the door for him to say or do whatever had brought him here after months of silence.

Fatigue fell over my shoulders like a mantle.

I knew the conversation would wring me dry. And I just didn’t have it in me to start that process now.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked softly.

I chuffed. “How exactly would you do that? You don’t know where anything is.”

“I could figure it out. Something to drink, maybe? Another soda water or some tea? I noticed you didn’t have wine with your guests. Was that just for tonight, or have you given it up completely?”

“Oh, it’s just that—” I started to explain, then realized my hand was over my stomach. “Actually, Lucas?”

He leaned forward. “What, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t know the way his endearment shot through me like a bullet, piercing the armor I’d been carefully rebuilding for the last few months.

Or maybe he did, and it was just one more thing he weaponized against me.

“I know there are things to say,” I said as I pulled my feet from his lap and slid them back into my shoes. “I know you didn’t come all the way here just to sit in front of my fire and rub my feet.”

“If that’s all you ever let me do, I would be all right with that.”

His frank admission cut my breath from my lungs. Especially when his dark eyes met mine with such naked longing, it was everything I could do not to launch myself into his lap and kiss that sadness away.

“Right,” I managed. Somehow. “Well, be that as it may, could we possibly wait until tomorrow to talk?”

A wry brow lifted. But before he could respond, I rattled on.

“It’s just that it’s almost three in the morning, and I’ve been up since five getting ready for this event. I know we need to talk—I’ve got some things to say too—but right now, I just want a bath, a cup of tea, and my bed, in that order. Can I offer you a cottage and a promise to talk in the morning?”

Lucas worried his jaw a moment while the dying fire flickered over his face. “Of course,” he said a moment later. “I can stay in the village. I have a room at an inn there.”

“No need.” I found, to my dismay, that the idea of him enjoying the hospitality of anyone else put a nasty taste in my mouth. “Tonight was the grand opening, and I’m running a soft launch with a continental breakfast for everyone staying overnight. After that…we can talk.”

41

SOURDOUGH PUFF PASTRY

*Let it rise at its own speed.

Islept maybe a few hours before nerves woke me ahead of my five-thirty alarm.

Early?

Yes, especially since I’d barely managed to fall asleep just after three.

I’d take a nap in the afternoon. I had a soft launch to run before we welcomed official guests next week. I needed to know where the kinks were in my operation, and the only way to find out was while I still had people here.

Quickly, I showered and dressed in a wool skirt that had become one of my staples since moving here, paired with a thick cardigan and knee-high socks that saved me the discomfort of tights, even in the winter.

As I descended the narrow wooden stairs from my quarters, the chateau was silent except for Nonna’s light snore from the second-floor guest wing and the occasional whistle of a breeze sneaking in through the chimney. Breakfast wasn’t served untilnine, but just like my schedule at Prideview, my day needed to start much earlier to have all items on the table.

Today, I was swinging big with a few new recipes: chestnut muesli, loganberry skyr (an Icelandic-style yogurt), and a variety of pastries made from a sourdough puff I’d been experimenting with for the last two months. It had taken weeks of working with the local starter, but I felt confident that I had finally found the right hydration and flour blend to make the tangy flavor shine.

It just needed enough time to rise, and in the unpredictable winter weather of the Dordogne valley, sometimes that took hours, but sometimes it took days.

Lucas was letting himself into the reception room, carrying his cashmere coat and wearing casual jeans, boots, and a button-down wool flannel when I landed on the bottom stairs. With the addition of his facial hair and the plaid shirt, he looked like a cross between a lumberjack and a model.