Page 54 of Angel Eyes

I quite liked him.

“Caleb?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I might be taking a grand leap here, but I assume you’re going to tell me the reason for your call before I arrive within the next twenty minutes?”

“Oh, right. The head contractor has arrived to speak with you, as you requested.”

“Is there a question in that statement?” I examined my watch, clearing away a smudge with my thumb as the sound of hammers and drills filtered through the phone.

“Well, he’s insisting he can’t stay. I told him you were on your way, but—”

I released a breath through clenched teeth. “You may inform Monsieur Gauthier that I expect to see him when I arrive, and, should I find him absent, he very well may not like the result.”

I could practically hear Caleb’s nod. “Okay, you got it, boss.”

I disconnected the call and tossed the phone on the leather seat next to me, massaging the bridge of my nose. My entire staff was excellent at their jobs, Caleb included. I wouldn’t have hired them otherwise. But, as much as I wanted to trust them to handle matters in my absence, no one’s competence was beyond reproach.

Except for mine, of course.

“Sir,” Maximilien said, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead, “while I was waiting, I had your dry cleaning picked up and delivered to your apartment. I also ordered a few bottles of that special reserve bourbon you like. They should arrive within the week.”

Consider my statement amended—no one’s competence was beyond reproach except for mine and Maximilien’s.

“Thank you.”

I frowned.

That was the third time I’d used that word today, a rare occurrence for me. I’d used it twice with Maximilien and once with Juliet Chandler.

Juliet Chandler.

I propped my elbow on the armrest, dragging a finger beneath my bottom lip as I stared out the darkened window, my gaze settling on the Eiffel Tower standing proudly in the distance.

An intriguing woman. Easy on the eyes and seemingly intelligent. I’d enjoyed observing her from across the café, watching her face pinch in concentration as she sat folded over her notebook. She was agreeable, too, though I was indifferent on that score; it was the hidden edge lying beneath all that sweetness that I found interesting. She’d glared at me like she was prepared to carve my eyes out with a teaspoon when I’d called Gabriel stubborn. Little does she know. Gabriel Beaumont could be the most stubborn person on the planet.

I bit down on my cheek. Fucking Gabriel. It always came back to him in the end.

This entire enterprise, this foray into the Paris restaurant scene—it was all so Marcel could reconcile with his son. And I’d been too eager, too naive to see it.

The pitch for opening a new restaurant in Paris had been my idea, my brainchild that I had cultivated with several months of careful planning and hard work. And when Marcel had given me the green light, I’d thought for one fleeting moment my uncle was finally acknowledging my business acumen—that he finally saw my true worth and was willing to invest in my vision.

How quickly I had been disabused of that notion.

Personal feelings aside, the objective was simple: Bring Gabriel to the restaurant on opening night. My uncle hadn’t elaborated on what he planned to do should I succeed in convincing Gabriel to come, but that hardly mattered. Marcel had asked, and I intended to deliver.

However, getting him there might be harder than I anticipated.

After clocking the look on Gabriel’s face when I went to his gallery, it had taken me three seconds to conclude that persuading him outright was going to be a non-starter. But that was no matter; I would find another way.

And find another way, I did.

By the time I returned to his gallery later that same day with my number written on a note, so he could contact me should he change his mind, I had already concocted three separate schemes. But the second I looked through the window of the gallery and saw a woman—Juliet—wrapped in his arms, I knew I’d found my ace in the hole.

Nothing motivates a man more than a woman he cares for.

And so, I switched tactics, turning my attention to uncovering who she was. It was child’s play, really. I sent Maximilien home, electing to wait at a brasserie across the street until she left again, which she did.

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