Page 52 of Angel Eyes

“Do you frequently share secrets with strangers?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He gave me a wicked grin, eyes ticking over me. “I’m new to this city. My uncle owns a Michelin-starred restaurant on the Côte d’Azur, and he’s decided to expand his business. He’s opening an establishment here in Paris, and he has placed me at the head of the operation.”

I blinked in surprise.

Well, I suppose that explains the suit.

“That’s your secret? That you’re opening a restaurant?”

He shook his head. “No. Our impending opening is already common knowledge on the restaurant scene.”

“Then—”

“This,” he said, placing a hand on the manila folder. “This is the secret.” A spark of enthusiasm flashed across his features. “I’ve been considering applying for a business graduate program for some time, but ever since my uncle gave me the green light to open the Paris restaurant, I’ve become even more determined to pursue it. And it just so happens this university has an excellent master’s program in international business.”

“Why international business? Are you planning to expand outside of France?”

“Eventually, if I can get my uncle on board and secure the funding. But first, I have to ace the opening here in Paris. The rest is a battle for another day.”

“Wow,” I said, glancing down at my notebook. “And to think I was stressing over a short story while you’re planning to launch a restaurant empire.” I paused a beat. “But why is it a secret?”

He drummed his fingers against the table. “Ms. Chandler, I am not a betting man, but if I were, I would only gamble on that of which I could be sure. If life has taught me anything, it is to never deal in hypotheticals, only in facts.” He lifted his glacial eyes, settling them on a point somewhere over my shoulder. “If I were to disclose my plans and then fail to secure admission, my uncle might lose confidence in me. And I can’t risk that, not when all I’ve ever wanted is finally within reach.”

I nodded, considering this. “Perhaps, but isn’t your uncle just as likely to admire your willingness to further your education? After all, it sounds like he only stands to gain from your ambition. And having a vision and the courage to pursue it is something that should be celebrated, not kept secret. You shouldn’t have to hide yourself from the light.”

His eyes flicked to mine, his brow creasing in a frown. After a handful of seconds, he shook his head as if to clear it. “You should come.”

“Excuse me?”

“To the restaurant on opening night.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and extracted a rectangular flyer printed on elegant cardstock, placing it on the table.

I leaned forward, reading the word Marcel’s written across the top in fine script. “When is it?”

“End of August, second to last Thursday. You should come as my guest. You could even bring someone … like, maybe a boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

A slow smile crept over his face. “My, you are so very good at repeating what I say. Yes, a boyfriend. Don’t tell me a woman as lovely as you is unattached.”

“Well, there is someone, but we’re just friends. I’m not sure bringing him to a place like this would be appropriate under the circumstances.”

My eyes drifted down to the flyer again. From the image and description alone, it seemed like opening night at Marcel’s would be lovely. Delicious French cuisine, candlelight, soft music. A flurry of butterflies stirred in my stomach as I pictured Gabriel in a suit, a crisp white shirt open at the collar. Would he bring me flowers? He seemed like the type to show up on a girl’s doorstep with flowers.

Cristian’s silver gaze bored into me. “Your lips say you and your gentleman are just friends. But your eyes—they are saying something else entirely.”

I huffed. “I didn’t realize you were a psychologist on top of a businessman.”

“Sorry, darling, but you’re not that difficult to read. So, what’s the issue with this non-boyfriend of yours? Is he blind or just too stubborn to realize he’s got a good thing?”

“Gabriel’s not stubborn,” I shot back, surprising myself with the sharpness of my tone. I wasn’t sure where the protective streak had come from, but no way was I going to let anyone bad-mouth Gabriel, stranger or otherwise. And why was I even entertaining this conversation in the first place?

I gathered my laptop and notebook from the table, shoving them both into my bag.

“Wait.” Cristian closed a hand around my wrist, something like panic darting across his features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your friend. Please don’t go.”

My gaze fell to where Cristian’s fingers were wrapped around my arm, and, as if on cue, he released me.

“You could tell me about him,” he said tentatively, “if you want.”

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