Page 6 of Shades of Red

She shoots me a grim smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

“After you, goldie,” I respond, motioning for her to lead the way and trying not to follow the slight bounce of her ass as she walks out of the room.

“We can’t goto Le Bloc,” I argue, feeling as though I’ve been trying to whip egg whites in an oiled bowl with how much progress I’ve made with this damn French girl. The little brat needs a fucking spanking more than anything.

“Of course we should go to Le Bloc,” she shouts back. “That is where Soleil Blanc sources their meat from, so that is the best boucher to go to.”

I groan for the tenth time in the past ten minutes we’ve been arguing about where to even start. “Aurélie,” I say, trying to stay calm as I rub at the tension spots on my temples. “Just because Soleil Blancis the mostexpensiverestaurant in Paris does not mean we should be getting our meat from the same place they do. This challenge is about making the best dish for the best price. And we are not going to win by blowing our entire budget on overpriced meat marketed to spoiledParisians like you.”

“Pardon?” she snaps, looking thoroughly offended.

“Don’t even try denying it, princess.”

“Do not call me that,” she grits out of her white teeth. Her sky blue eyes are stormier than I’ve ever seen them.

“And why not? Does the truth of it get under your pretty skin?” I ask, allowing my fingers to skate over the length of her naked arm, just barely touching her. She shivers beneath my touch in spite of the summer heat.

“It reminds me of my father.” Her face is an intentional composition of emotional blankness. It makes me want to ask more.

“And is that a bad thing?”

“Yes,” she answers shortly.

“Okay then, whatshouldI call you?”

“I have a name, you know,” she retorts, sounding about as frustrated as I’ve felt since we left the restaurant. Good, she can appreciate the hell she puts me through.

“Hmm, not fun enough.” I pause, considering my options. “Goldie?” I counter.

“That sounds like the name of a dog,” she pouts, an adorable furrow between her brows.

“Well, you are a bitc?—”

“Donoteven finish that,” she snaps.

“Fine,” I answer, my hands raised in surrender. “Golden girl?”

“Why the obsession with color?”

“I looked up your name.”Fuck, I should not have said that. That’s stalker shit. She gives me a judgy look like that’s exactly what she thinks too. “You know—a bit of recon. I need to know who my competition is.” She waits in silence as though giving me space to dig myself into a bigger hole. “Anyway, Aurélie means golden, and given the color of your hair, it just seems like an obvious choice.” I’m stumbling throughmy words and sound like a complete idiot. I want to drown myself in La Seine at the moment.

“Fine,” she answers after making me suffer through a long and uncomfortable silence. “I’ll allow golden girl, provided I never hear the wordprincessagain. Deal?”

“Deal,” I agree, sticking out my pinky to seal the deal like I would do with my sister when we were kids.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking down at my hand.

“Pinky promise.” She stares at me blankly. “Jesus, you’re so French. Here.” I grab her right hand and arrange her fingers so that they form a fist with only her pinky sticking up. Then I link my pinky around hers to make the promise official. “See? Pinky promise.”

“I feel violated,” she retorts, pulling back her hand and wiping it on her dress as though I’ve sullied her. Fuck, if only she knew how much I’d love to violate her, to take everything she has to give and make her beg for more.

But instead of telling her that, I get back to the task at hand. “We should go to the markets on Rue Montorgueil to look for produce. We’ll always get a better price on premium vegetables at one of the pop up stalls than we will at an established grocery.”

She lets out a long, remarkably French sigh. “Fine,” she concedes as though volunteering to be the first to meet the guillotine. “We can go to the markets.”

I smile. My golden girl is learning how to give in.

The streets are crowded,and there’s barely enough room to pass through the markets without bumping into people. It makes the summer air feel even hotter. Aurélie goes up to the first stall we see and starts palming the vegetables, prepared to purchase before we’ve gone through the stalls and compared prices. The prime spots for vendors are always atthe beginning of the street, and they tend to mark up for it.

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