“All the more reason to join me,” he said, deliberately avoiding apologizing for his mistake. Saying sorry to a woman like Claire English seemed as likely to earn him a dagger between the ribs as forgiveness. And he intended to keep the power in this relationship. “Bring your plans and we can go over the rest of the public spaces during lunch.” He nodded to Sparks and made his way toward the outside with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be obeyed. “Oh, and Ms. English,” he threw back over his shoulder. “I may not be your boss, but I do sign your checks, which in many ways is a much better position to be in.”
He saw her hands fist and her jaw clench and watched as she fought an internal battle he was sure she’d rather be having with him. Sparks glanced between the two of them obviously caught in the middle and not liking it. Luke waited until he saw her almost imperceptible nod and then he walked off to wait for her at his car, certain of her obedience and relishing it even more because he could tell she rarely gave it.
OF ALLTHE asinine, infuriating, rich, prick bastards. Claire had never been a violent person, but Luke Masters could easily drive her to murder. And that voice, rich as melted chocolate with a command that let her know he expected everyone around him to just jump and do what he said. What was even worse, it had worked. She’d checked on her crew working on the rough-in on four, told them she’d be MIA for a couple of hours, and shoved the plans into her black tube. She slung the tube over her shoulder and went to the construction trailer to meet the arrogant man just like he’d told her to.
A Bugatti Veyron worth more than she’d probably make in a lifetime idled in front of the trailer. Pretentious car for a pretentious asshole. As she approached, Luke climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door. An old Dave Matthews song wove its way out of the open door. So his taste in music wasn’t as obnoxious as he was. She doubted that would be enough to help her get through lunch.
“Get in, Ms. English,” he said in that voice that told her he had no doubt she’d do exactly that.
Claire slid into the buttery soft leather seat and took off her hardhat. Luke took it and the tube from her, putting them behind the seat with a finality that had her rethinking this whole working lunch thing.
LUKE PULLEDTHE car in front of Comme Ci and Claire clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping open. People waited months to get a table at the exclusive restaurant. She’d wanted to try it for years but it had always seemed just out of reach and here he was dropping in for an impromptu lunch. Claire glanced down at her faded jeans and work boots and cringed. She was not dressed for Comme Ci and as much as she was dying for a chance to try Chef Auxtre’s food, she hated not being prepared.
He must have picked up on her apprehension because he reached over to stroke her cheek. “Don’t worry. You are going to be the most beautiful woman in there, and I’ve got us a private table away from the other diners. It will just be you and me.”
Her mind wanted her to bite the fingers that played along her face, but her body melted into his touch. There was something about this man that made it impossible to deny him anything, and she had a flash of panic at what else he might ask of her. She turned away before she could embarrass herself by rubbing her cheek against him like a cat. Pulling the elastic from her hair, she gave her thick auburn mane a quick fluff. It was the only concession she could make to her appearance given the circumstances.
He handed the keys to the valet who gawked at the car with real appreciation. Claire hurried to climb out the passenger’s side before Luke had a chance to make it to her door. They both needed to remember this was business, not a date. Although with her grubby work boots, it might not be as much of a challenge as she thought. She bent over the seat to retrieve the plans, freezing when she felt a firm hand on the small of her back. The heat of his touch radiated through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and she had to force herself to keep moving.
“Let me take those,” he said when she stood, clutching the tube.
“I’ve got them.” She held them to her like a safety blanket, the three foot long black plastic tube her only weapon in a war to keep him at a safe distance.
It didn’t work. He let his hand rest, warm and solid, on the small of her back, his touch sending ribbons of heat through her, making it impossible for her to ignore her body’s response to being close to him. He guided her through the open door into the cool blue sanctuary of Chef Auxtre’s world renowned restaurant.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Masters,” said the pretty young woman, giving him a sultry smile while she waited for them at the entrance to the dining room.
She wore a classic black sheath dress and four inch heels. Claire set her jaw and refused to look down at her worn jeans. This was a working lunch. She was working, and it hadn’t been her choice to show up at Comme Ci in her steel toe boots. If the young woman thought her appearance was odd, she didn’t let on. She simply nodded and smiled.
“We’ve got your table ready for you.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” said Luke with a familiarity that rankled Claire.
Why the hell should she care how well he knew the hostess?
The pretty young woman led them across the dining room and through a door beside the open kitchen. Claire could see Chef Auxtre’s staff working their magic at the grill and wood fired oven, but it was the private dining room that held her attention. A wooden farm table polished smooth by years of use sat in the middle of a room with a wooden floor stained ebony and rich persimmon colored walls. If the main dining room was cool elegance, this room was layered heat.
The colors and textures combined in an authenticity of materials that stole Claire’s breath. A Murano glass pendant light cast a warm glow over the table and artfully spaced recessed lights washed the salmon-orange walls. The table which looked like it could easily seat eight or more had been set for two with thick white ceramic plates and hand blown glass goblets that managed to be delicate and earthy at the same time.
“It’s beautiful,” said Claire, sucking in a breath. She didn’t care if it made her sound like she didn’t belong there. A place that gorgeous, that well designed, deserved notice.
“It is, isn’t it?” said the hostess with a genuine smile. “Make yourself at home. Rachel will be taking care of you today, and Chef said to tell you he’d stop out to see you as soon as he was able.”
Luke held out a chair for her and Claire had no choice but to set the plans on the floor beside her and sit. He took the seat next to her at the head of the table, and before he was settled, another pretty young woman, this time in a white shirt and simple black skirt with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, came to stand opposite them.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Masters. Miss. My name is Rachel, and I will be taking care of you. Chef wanted to offer you his tasting menu unless there was something else you’d prefer.”
Luke watched Claire with his far too discerning dark eyes, and she tried not to look like a deer in headlights.
“That would be fine, Rachel,” he said, his gaze never leaving Claire.
“With the standard wine pairing, sir?”
“Yes, but bring us something light to start. The Almacci Proseco.”
“Very good, sir,” she said as she hurried off to make his wish her command.
“I thought this was a working lunch. Proseco and the standard wine pairing,” she said, mimicking Rachel’s tone. “Don’t seem like a good idea.” Even as she said the words, she knew her heart wasn’t in it. She was sitting in the private dining room at Chef Auxtre’s flag ship restaurant. She wanted the food and wine. She wanted the whole experience, but Luke didn’t need to know that.
