Page 50 of Boss of the Year

“No wild nights?” Daniel pressed. “No French lovers? Marie, you’re killing me here. Give mesomethingto imagine.”

Killing you, how?I wanted to ask. Did he want me to have had some torrid love affair in Paris? Was he looking for me to tease him or torture him?

He was playing another game, one my sisters would understand completely.

But it felt like a foreign language to me.

“Do you want to know about my favorite thing to do in Paris?” I tried.

Daniel leaned in eagerly. “Please.”

I looked up, imagining the sky in Paris, which, like the city of my birth, was too obscured by light pollution to see the stars.

“There are several music conservatories in Paris. So, to get performance experience, some of the students put on impromptu concerts, often in the little churches that are all over the city, and you don’t find out about them until you walk by one and see a flyer on the door. Five euros or sometimes nothing at all to hear world-class Chopin or Rachmaninoff.” I sighed with bliss. “It’s so peaceful. On my days off, I started to explore the neighborhoods more. I would look for the concerts on a Sunday, and then I could go into these little medieval churches, some of them more than a thousand years old, some decorating with priceless paintings from the masters, and I would spend hours just sitting and listening, totally immersed in art.”

For a moment, I was back in one of those churches, sitting with twenty other Parisians in the stone nave while the yearning notes of a piano or violin echoed off the high arched ceilings and back down to our ears, drowning out the cacophony of the city outside and offering a little peace and beauty.

I turned back to Daniel with a smile. Unfortunately, all I found on his face was confusion.

“That was your favorite thing to do in Paris? Sunday piano recitals?”

I deflated. “I…was there to become a chef. On my days off, I usually practiced in my apartment. Sometimes I went to a museum with Louis. By the end of my time there, I really started to enjoy walking around the city, but…”

What else was there to say? Somehow, I didn’t think “I’ve struggled with a suffocating social anxiety since I was a child, so attending church concerts was actually a huge step forward for me,” would make particularly good banter.

“But what about becoming a better you?” Daniel tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture intimate. Andpracticed. “Tell me something real. Something that scared you. Something that made you feel alive.”

I searched for an answer that would satisfy him, but everything that had truly mattered to me in Paris—the quiet satisfaction of mastering a difficult sauce, the pride in earning my instructor’s grudging approval, the peaceful hours spent walking the Seine—seemed small under his expectant gaze.

He wanted a wild night, the kind Joni would have had. I opened my mouth to tell him the truth—that I had never had a night like that. Instead, something else came out.

“Once, I got invited to this underground party in…Montmartre, yeah. It was at this crazy warehouse where people did all kinds of performance art. I was there with a man, and the host gave us these pills. And we just…took them, and they made everything bright and happy, and we danced and kissed all night until probably six in the morning.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Daniel’s grin returned. “I knew you had a little adventure in you.”

I smiled weakly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my adventure at all. It was a watered-down version of a story Joni told me about when she and Nathan first met. A night where they were pretending to be together, but their adventure had brought out something more.

For me, the story was simply fake.

Daniel’s hand slid down my arm, leaving a trail of warmth. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

I’m really not.

“Let’s celebrate your homecoming properly, honey.” He started to pour scotch into his tumbler, then held it out for me to take. “I’ll just stick with the bottle.”

I eyed the brown liquid, nostrils flaring at the acrid scent. “Oh, I don’t…” I stood quickly. “Actually, could we maybe take a walk? It’s such a beautiful night, and I’ve been inside all day.”

Daniel looked up with the charming smile that I’d been in love with for ten years. “Of course. Whatever you want, gorgeous. Maybe we can greet the sunrise too.”

The gardensof Prideview were the type that took a hundred years to create. A gravel path wound through them, leading from the main house and the garages, past the caretaker’s cottage near the far end of the property, around the pool and tennis courts, and down to the water’s edge. Roses bloomed in careful geometric patterns around a central fountain that had been imported from Italy decades earlier, while heritage trees filtered moonlight into dappled patterns on the grass and gravel paths. Beyond the formal gardens, a rolling lawn stretched toward the Long Island Sound, where a single sailboat drifted past, its white sail calling to the moon above.

Daniel’s hand was warm as he led me past the herb patch I visited almost every day, through the vegetable garden where I had picked kale for tonight’s salad, and around the bank of Rugosa roses I harvested in June to make extracts for his mother’s favorite cake. I considered pointing out these things that were far more true to me than a stolen adventure. But something stopped me.

“I have a confession,” he said as we paused by the fountain. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night at the party. Hell, since the plane ride home.”

“You haven’t?” I was surprised. Nearly a week had passed since his spontaneous kitchen appearance, and I had only seen him once on his way out.

“Not for a second; I’m obsessed.” His eyes glittered like pools littered with pennies. “It’s like the universe was waiting for theright moment to put you in my path. Do you believe in that? Cosmic timing?”