Page 75 of Boss of the Year

My phone buzzed on the counter, and I saw a text from Robbie:

Heard you need formal wear for tonight. Give me an hour and I’ll have options. Sorry about the beach, but yay for a spa day!

I stared at the message, disappointed that my carefully planned day of independence had just evaporated. But as I typed back my response, agreeing to the dress shopping and postponing the beach trip, the flutter in my stomach returned.

It felt suspiciously like anticipation.

16

GOLD-LEAFED CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES

*Don’t even breathe when you’re placing the gold. It’s that fragile.

“Well, people are definitely going to notice you now,” I told myself at exactly three minutes before six in the evening.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me.

Robbie had outdone himself. Apparently on strict orders to keep me away from the kitchen, he’d escorted me around the heart of São Paulo before taking for Japan ahead of us. The process included shopping for a dress at the kind of store that was by appointment only and didn’t have price tags, depositing me at a day spa for a facial and a massage (“You’ll need to be relaxed to get through tonight”), then bringing me to a salon where my hair was styled in delicate spirals around my face while my nails and makeup were done to match the color of my dress.

Which wasn’t just red.

It was the reddest red I’d ever seen. The kind of scarlet that made stop signs pale, wine look like water, and roses wilt on their stems.

“Passion incarnate,” Robbie crowed the moment I exited the dressing room. “We’re done.I’mdone. He might fire me for this, but it would be worth it. I woulddieto see his face when he sees you. Can you take a picture?”

I honestly wasn’t sure I even had the guts to wear the thing out of my bedroom.

Now I turned from side to side, making sure the corseted bodice fit correctly, the bust wasn’t squeezing too tight, and the modest slit wasn’t too high.

But the dress fit like a glove. There was no hiding anymore.

“Marie?” Lucas called from down the hall. “Are you ready?”

“You can do this.” I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, grabbed the matching clutch, and whispered, “Courage,” to myself in French, just like Louis used to do.

Lucas was waiting in the living room in the same black tuxedo he’d worn to his father and stepmother’s anniversary party, his back to me as he adjusted his cufflinks.

Seeing the precise tailoring was comforting. Even though the evening was completely out of the ordinary, Lucas was still Lucas. Solid and stable, entrenched in his habits.

“I’m ready,” I announced as I entered the living room.

“Great, we need to catch our—” The words died in his throat as he turned around.

Silence stretched as Lucas stared. He started at my face and continued slowly down to where my red-painted toes peeked out of delicate black straps, and back up again.

He swallowed hard, his hands falling to his sides as he mumbled what sounded like, “she’s trying to kill me.” Then he shook his head. “I mean, you look great, Marie. Really. That’s…a dress.”

I tugged at the gathered taffeta around my hips, which only enhanced the hourglass effect of the dress. “Is it too much? Robbie said it was appropriate, but?—”

“It’s perfect.” The word came out sharper than he probably intended. He cleared his throat and tried again, his voice more controlled. “You’reperfect.”

The simple compliment hit me harder than any elaborate praise could have. Coming from Lucas, who chose his words as carefully as he chose his investments, it felt like a gift.

“Thank you,” I managed. “You look pretty good yourself.”

A hint of a smile appeared. “You’ve probably seen me in this dozens of times. I think I bought this tuxedo when I became CEO.”

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. The idea that someone as rich as Lucas Lyons was content with using the same outfit for almost twenty years was silly—and a little endearing. “You don’t think it’s time for an upgrade?”