Page 85 of Angel Eyes

My foot faltered as my hand slipped from the drawer handle. Gabriel. Of course, that’s what this unexpected call was about. Silly of me to think he might call to inquire about how preparations for the actual opening were going.

I measured my words carefully. “I have spoken with him, yes.”

A beat of silence. “And? What did he say?”

Stay the hell away from me.

“He’ll be there,” I said, dodging the question. “I promise.”

Marcel grunted. “I am relying on you, Lucien. Don’t let me down.” He disconnected the call before I could make further assurances, which was just as well since I didn’t have any to offer.

I kicked off the rest of my clothes and stepped under the spray of hot water, turning over the next steps in my mind. Step one: Pull off the best restaurant opening Paris has ever seen. Step two: Make sure Gabriel is there.

I closed my eyelids and rested my forehead against the dewy tiles of the shower.

Step three: Take a long look in the mirror and figure out why I always come in second place in the eyes of everyone I’ve ever loved.

By a quarter to twelve, I gave up on sleep altogether and focused on work instead. Sitting behind my desk with a glass of whiskey in hand, I thumbed through the day’s emails, making mental notes about scheduled deliveries, outstanding payments for contractors, and final staff positions that needed filling.

And what does any of it matter? The restaurant could be a raving success, praised by every restaurant reviewer and food critic in the city, but if I didn’t get Gabriel to the opening, I would be nothing but a disappointment to Marcel.

I washed down a surge of anger with a generous swallow of whiskey, letting the smoky flavor slide over my tongue as I flipped to my text messages.

After my phone call with Marcel, I’d considered shooting a quick text to Juliet. But after drafting and deleting at least three separate messages, I finally gave it up, feeling ridiculous about reaching out to her in the middle of the night. Not that I wanted to see how she was doing. I just wanted to confirm whether she had taken my advice concerning Gabriel. A lot was hanging in the balance, so I was invested.

In their relationship, not in her.

I threw back the rest of my drink and scrolled to her number.

What’s the worst that could happen? If she didn’t answer, I would take that as a sign she was otherwise occupied. I rose to my feet and paced the floor as the phone rang once, twice …

“Hello?”

I froze mid-step, picking up on a slight waver in her tone, followed by a soft hiccup.

Shit, had she been crying?

“Juliet? What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer, just hiccupped again. “Where are you? Tell me what’s going on.” I was halfway to my bedroom before I even realized my feet were moving, pulling on a sweatshirt and searching for my keys.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, sniffling and fooling absolutely no one.

“Bullshit.” As a person who specialized in deceit, I could always tell when someone was lying. I shoved my wallet in my pocket before striding out the front door. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m …” She blew her nose. “I’m at home.”

“Text me the address.” I stepped out onto the sidewalk, a breeze whipping through my damp hair as my phone chimed with an incoming message. I gave it a quick glance and hailed a taxi. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

As soon as I arrived at Juliet’s apartment and found the front door unlocked, I knew it was a bad sign. I pushed it open a crack and stepped inside. The apartment was dark except for a flickering light coming from the far corner, and I moved in that direction, swiping at a bead of sweat on my forehead. Why was it so warm in here? I got my answer a second later when I rounded the corner to the living room and saw the fireplace was lit. Small flames danced in the grate, casting shadows around the room.

“Juliet?”

I scanned the space before my eyes landed on a figure lying on the sofa, an empty wine bottle sitting on the floor. Her head was resting on a pillow, her hair spilling down the planes of her back like Sleeping Beauty. I drew closer, noting the evening gown clinging to her frame, the fabric glinting in the firelight like so many stars.

I paused, taking in the sight of her. I might have promised not to cross the line with her again, but I would have to be a dead man not to notice how beautiful she was.

Her eyes fluttered open as I dropped to a crouch in front of her, resting my elbows on my knees. I pushed down a spike of anger when I saw traces of mascara trailing over her cheeks.

She had been crying.

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