“I never knew or saw my biological parents. My mother and father adopted me when I was still a baby,” he’d replied, nodding at her fishing line. She’d obediently lifted it, and sure enough, a fish had stolen her bait. He took it from her without comment.
“I’m adopted, too,” Elise had told him. She’d thought it a thousand times before. It must be true. How else to explain how she felt as if she were interacting with a different species when she related to her parents? Lucien’s smile had struck her as a little sad.
“You are the spitting image of your mama.”
“I am?”
“Yes, but you will surpass even her beauty one day,” he’d said as he rebaited her line. He’d glanced aside and noticed her expression. “You look like her. What is on the inside is whatever you make of it.”
She’d stared at the sunlight dancing in the azure Mediterranean Sea, not wanting him to know how much his words meant to her. “Don’t you ever wonder about your true mother, though? Don’t you ever miss her?”
She recalled how he hadn’t answered immediately.
“I wonder about her once in a while,” he’d said, handing back her pole. “But it’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.”
What you’ve never had. Neither Lucien nor she had known much about what it meant to have a nurturing, available mother.
Lucien waved her into his office, snapping her back to the present. “Come in. Elise, I’d like you to meet Denise Riordan, Fusion’s new chef.”
Elise’s startled gaze flew to the other occupant of the room. A tall, auburn-haired woman with a stern expression that was softened by kind brown eyes stood to greet her.
“I hadn’t realized Lucien had gotten so far along in the hiring process. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Riordan,” Elise managed, despite her surprise.
“I understand from Lucien that you’re a talented chef. I would be glad to take you on as my stage, if my qualifications are suited to your school . . . and to you, of course,” she said.
“I’m sure that anyone Lucien would hire has the best qualifications,” she said, glancing sideways at the distraction of Lucien’s tall form when he approached.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of sending off Ms. Riordan’s applicant information along with an explanation of the alteration in plans to your school in Paris. We should be hearing back quickly,” Lucien said.
“Thank you,” Elise replied, dumbfounded by the fact that he’d taken pains to smooth the path with her school.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I need to speak with Sharon. I’ll just leave you two to get better acquainted,” he said politely.
Denise Riordan and she sat in the chairs before Lucien’s desk and got to know each other. By the time Lucien returned twenty minutes later, she felt certain she could work well with the older, knowledgeable woman. Two chefs in a kitchen was never an easy scenario, but Elise was eager to learn, and she had no problem with taking on the subservient role. It’d been what she’d expected when she came to Chicago, and she was convinced Denise Riordan had significant things to teach her.
“Please stay for a moment. I need a word,” Lucien said to Elise after he’d returned and Ms. Riordan was saying good-bye.
Neither of them spoke for a moment after the new chef closed the door behind her. A prickly, electrical atmosphere descended.
“I received the medical exam results you left me,” he said. “Did you receive mine?”
“Yes,” she replied airily, as if she discussed such things all the time despite the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks.
“Do you like her? Denise?” Lucien asked quietly from where he stood near the door.
“Very much. I don’t suppose there’s a reason you chose a female chef, is there?”
“I chose the best qualified candidate.”
She gave him a dry glance. “I wasn’t going to fall into bed with any male chef that you hired.”
He gave a small grin. She stilled at the appearance of the twin dimples, the flash of white teeth. “What about Mario?”
“What about him?” Elise asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Wasn’t that where things were headed on that night I caught you two here?”
“No. I had no intention of sleeping with Mario.”
“What, precisely, were you doing here with him then?”
“He was going to supervise my training. When he asked me to dinner, I didn’t really feel I had the option of saying no. I didn’t know he was planning on trying to get me into bed.”
He gave her a weary glance and walked toward his desk. “Right. That dress you were wearing screamed a practical day at the office. I hired the best candidate for the job, but I’m not at all unhappy that she’s a female, the truth be told. I know the effect you have on men. They lose about forty points off their IQ in your vicinity. No need to light the fuse if it can be avoided.”
“I resent your constant allegations that I’m promiscuous.”
“That’s funny,” he said, unconcerned by her offended act. He lowered to the chair behind his desk. “Because I resented learning about your constant displays of promiscuity. I even witnessed them a time or two.”
She stilled. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly, not sure she actually wanted an answer.
“Half of Europe saw that photo of you dancing nude on top of a cocktail table at the engagement party for the son of the archduke of Luxembourg,” he said dryly.