Page 37 of Bitter Secrets

He hung up and drank his champagne, eyeing Roth broodingly before he seemed to remember her existence. She raised her brows in polite inquiry.

“Business,” he said dismissively. “I’m a very busy man.”

He was a lying, spoiled prick and the furthest thing from a busy man. Her sisters would put this asshole to shame. Guy couldn’t be more than five years younger than Roth, but he looked like a bratty teenager in comparison. As appetizers were served, Roth moved the contract aside to make room, but otherwise didn’t react. His ability to block out everything and focus was impressive. He didn’t cave in to pressure or allow emotion to rule when he was making a decision.

She dug in as Guy took a few more phone calls, some in French and others in English. When he wasn’t on the phone, he ignored her. She didn’t mind. She passed the time by sampling the delicious food, drinking her and Roth’s share of champagne, and admiring the fashionable crowd. Guy’s attitude wasn’t out of the ordinary. In the business world, women were seen as arm candy, nothing more. Guy was carrying on the sexist tradition of assuming a woman couldn’t conduct business on their level. How did her sisters do this? They had to work three times as hard as anyone else to keep their spot in these circles. How exhausting.

Guy didn’t touch his food, but cast troubled glances her way as she ate her fill. It had been years since she had received such critical looks. She’d forgotten that people expected her to pick and nibble rather than actually eat. But she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to taste everything this Michelin star restaurant had to offer because her eating offended Guy’s delicate sensibilities.

Guy straightened when Roth picked up the pen. It was so quiet that she heard the scrape of nib on paper as Roth scrawled his name on the first contract and repeated the process for the second. Guy’s worry vanished in a nanosecond. When Roth reached across the table to shake his hand, Guy looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was watching.

“To Reed & Sons,” Guy said, and handed a fresh flute of champagne to Roth.

As they clinked glasses, her heart sank. If Guy had the right to sell, it must mean Samson had passed. How would Samson feel if he knew his hard work had been sold off by an irresponsible, uncaring son? When her eyes strayed to the contract, she gave herself a mental bitch slap. This wasn’t her business, but the knowledge that Samson’s legacy was forever lost saddened her. What had once been a family business had been sold to the highest bidder.

When Roth turned his attention to his meal, Guy came to life, talking animatedly until his phone rang.

“Sorry, I have to take this call,” he said with false regret.

Roth shrugged and pulled out his phone.

“He signed,” Guy announced in French. “Yes. We’re free. We can do whatever we wish. No more meetings or days stuck in the office. We’ll celebrate tonight. Buy out the club. I should be there in twenty minutes. Yes. It’s going to bewild!” Guy hung up and tried to contain his excitement as he focused on Roth. “How’s your meal?”

“Good.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Guy said as he turned in his seat, searching for their waiter. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

Roth shook his head. “We’re all set.”

Guy’s phone rang again. “Business,” he said with a patronizing smile. “Monique, I can’t see you this evening,” he said in French. “Business. Yes, I’m swamped. You wouldn’t understand. Some other night, okay? Yes. I will see you soon. I love you.” He hung up and smoothed a hand down the front of his suit. “Sorry about that. Business never ends, does it?”

When he looked around for the waiter again, she decided she’d had enough.

“Don’t let us keep you,” she said in French.

She had the satisfaction of watching the blood drain from Guy’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roth’s head turn toward her.

“You have to be at the club in what, fifteen minutes? Roth can take care of the check,” she said.

His eyes bulged. “You speak French?”

She didn’t bother to answer such a stupid question. Roth rested his arm along the back of her chair. She wasn’t sure if he was giving her a warning or offering his support, but she took advantage of his position and leaned against him. She wanted to give the impression that Roth was overprotective and would castrate him if she was displeased. When Guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed, it took supreme self-control to stop herself from grinning. It was painfully obvious Guy was trying to remember everything he had said during his calls.

“You should be careful what you say around others,” she said in German.

Guy looked comically stunned.

“You never know who might be listening,” she added in Spanish.

“I’m sorry, what is your name?” Guy interrupted in English.

“Jasmine Roth,” she said.

“Your maiden name,” Guy pushed.

“Hennessy.”

Guy stared at her for a pregnant moment before he turned to Roth. “How did you manage to get your ring on her finger a second time?”

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