Page 207 of Morally Black Betrothal
Tears welled again, but I shook my head. “I—it’s nothing. Only?—”
I cut myself off. This was my employer. He didn’t want to hear about my unrequited love for his brother.
“Tell me.”
A clear command, no question even implied. I doubted anyone said no to him.
“Don’t you ever just want to be someone else?” I sighed. “Only you can’t see how you could ever get there? Like you’re just stuck in the box everyone’s made for you, and you don’t know how to get out?”
The more I babbled, the sillier I felt. What had gotten into me, treating Lucas Lyons, of all people, like my freaking therapist?
To his credit, Lucas didn’t seem disturbed by my incoherent confession. He rubbed his cheek, studied me a bit more, and then, to my surprise, gave a curt nod.
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
We watched each other for a moment more. The longer the moment continued, the harder I found it to look away.
This time, he was the one to break the silence.
“You’re the cook,” he commented as he picked up the T-shirt he had brought Daniel and set it on the unmade bed. “The one who used to be a maid. We’re sending you to Paris to replace Ondine.”
I swallowed. “That’s—that’s correct, sir.”
He looked up sharply. “You don’t need to call me that, Marie.”
I bit my lip. What was I supposed to call him? “Sorry, Mr. Lyons.”
His grim expression tightened, but he didn’t correct me further. Instead, he took a seat at the end of the bed and folded his hands over his knees.
“Good,” he said thoughtfully. “Everyone needs a chance to become someone else if that’s what they want. You’re going away to Paris. This sounds like your opportunity to find out who you are. When you come back, things will happen for you, just like they’re supposed to.”
When his eyes met mine, I could have sworn there was envy there. Just a little.
I nodded. “Yes, sir—I mean, Mr. Lyons—er…Lucas.”
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made me use his first name, but his shoulders seemed to relax a bit as I did. Those stormy slate eyes filled with something like promise.
Then he smiled. Just a little. And something deep inside my chest, down in the bedrock of my being, gave a thump in response.
“You have a good trip, Marie. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Keep reading Boss of the Year here:
www.nicolefrenchromance.com/bossoftheyear
FROM BOYFRIEND OF THE HOUR
AN OPPOSITES-ATTRACT, FAKE-RELATIONSHIP ROMANCE
#13: Wear Wonder Woman Underwear insted of the pritty lace stuff
Word of advice: don’t ever turn twenty-four.
Twenty-three is great.
Twenty-three isheaven.
See, no one cares that you’re a screw-up at twenty-three.
