Page 80 of Crazy In Love
I quickly freshened up my makeup and pulled my long hair into a sleek chignon at the nape of my neck. I pushed some gold hoops into my ears and finished off the look with red lipstick.
I slipped into the outfit, and I smiled when I glanced in the mirror.
It was an elegant and classic look.
Very Parisian.
I reached for my black clutch just as a light knock on the door had me moving that way.
When I pulled the door open, I made a conscious effort not to gape at the man.
He wore a pair of dark jeans and a black cashmere sweater.
His gray gaze moved from my head to my feet, and he licked his lips before meeting my eyes. “You hungry?”
“Yes. I’m starving. How about you?”
“I’m hungry. And you’ll quickly learn while working with me that I go from hungry to hangry very fast.” He held the door open as we made our way down the hallway and stepped onto the elevator.
Once the doors closed, his eyes were on me. Looking at me like he was cataloging every inch. Memorizing every detail.
“Do you date?” I asked, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
His lips twitched the slightest bit as we rode down to the ground floor.
“Define ‘date.’”
“You know, take a woman out for dinner, and then spend time with her, romantically,” I said, my throat dry in response to his eyes on me.
“Spend time with her, romantically”?
Why did I have to make it sound so weird?
The doors opened before he could respond, and he placed his hand on the small of my back, leading me through the gorgeous lobby. Huge crystal chandeliers hung above, bringing out pops of gold and amber in the white marble floors below.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I made a reservation for us at the steakhouse here, and then if you’d like to go explore a bit, we can do that after.”
At the moment I was more interested in exploring Bridger Chadwick, which was saying a lot, because I was beyond excited to be in Paris.
We checked in at the hostess stand just as a man hurried over and shook Bridger’s hand, treating him like he was a celebrity.
“This is my designer, Emilia Taylor,” Bridger said, before turning to me. “This is Pierre, and he owns the hotel.”
“A designer. And you work for the brilliant Bridger Chadwick?” Pierre said, his beautiful French accent on full display.
“Yes. I’m working on his home in Rosewood River,” I said as he held my hand in his and shook.
“You should keep her in mind on that remodel you’ve been talking about for the hotel in New York,” Bridger said, his voice light, but there was no trace of humor. I wanted to laugh. He’d given me my first break. I was hardly qualified to design a hotel of this level.
“Will do. Do you have a business card, Ms. Taylor?”
I blinked up at him, processing his words. He was serious? Bridger’s gaze locked with mine, and then I reached inside my purse.
“Yes, yes, of course I do.” I pulled out a business card, suddenly self-conscious that it wasn’t anything fancy.
“This guy only hires the best, so I’ll definitely be in touch.” Pierre led us to our table at the back of the restaurant.
