I arrive at La Grande Boucherie right on time, the restaurant's grand entrance on West 53rd glowing under string lights, and the facade of ornate brass and glass is like a slice of Paris dropped in Manhattan. The hum of conversation spills out as a doorman nods me in.
Inside, it's warm and inviting. The high ceilings have intricate moldings, and velvet banquettes in deep reds line the walls. A massive chandelier casts its golden glow over tabletops set with crisp white linens. The air is rich with the smell of cooking garlic and herbs from the kitchen.
Jason and Sarah are already at the table—a corner booth with a view of the bustling bar. They stand as I approach, Jason extending a hand with a grin, his tie loosened like he's ready to unwind.
"Blake, so glad you could make it. Sarah, this is my boss."
Sarah smiles warmly as we shake hands. She is wearing a simple black sheath dress and a string of pearls around her neck. "Pleasure to finally meet you. We've heard so much."
We settle in, and the server pours water into crystal glasses. The conversation flows; business deals, the latest merger talks. Jason dives into details about the tech acquisition from earlier. His voice is animated over the low jazz playing from hidden speakers. Sarah listens, then chimes in during a lull, her eyes sparkling as she sips her Chardonnay.
"This dinner feels extra special tonight," she says, leaning forward a bit, her tone light but genuine. "I've never had a real conversation with your wife before, or even seen her up close, except from afar at company events, or in those society page photos. She's always seemed so... elegant and unreachable."
I force a casual smile, but inside, something tightens. Unreachable, yeah, that's one way to put it. But wait till you see her now with all these changes I can't pin down. I don't respond much, just murmur. "She's something," and take a sip of my scotch and glance toward the door.
She chooses that very minute to walk in. Whoa! My heart skips a beat.
She is wearing a red mid-length halter neck dress that makes her look crazy hot. The fabric is like liquid silk, and it clings to her curves with devastating effectiveness. She is wearing red lipstick, and her hair is loose in waves down her neck and shoulders. I can’t stop staring at the smooth skin of her shoulders. Everyone at the table goes still, stunned and silent for a beat. Sarah's eyes widen and Jason's jaw slackens before he catches himself.
"Jesus," Jason mutters under his breath.
Sarah smacks his arm lightly. It's a playful swat that breaks the tension, laughter rippling around the table as she rolls her eyes. "Behave," she teases, but her smile is genuine.
Me? I can't take my eyes off Carolyn. Heat surges through me, hardening me under the table as she approaches. God, she's stunning.
Chapter Forty-Six
JULIET
I’m stepping into a scene from someone else's life, and yet it feels as if it is my life. Vibe is casual, he said, and yet here I am, walking into La Grande Boucherie, dressed to kill because I’m crazy about Blake and want him to be unable to resist me. Besides, I had to. I need confidence. My heart's been fluttering like a demented butterfly with excitement and nerves since I agreed to come. Even now, my stomach feels like it’s twisted into one big knot.
I smooth down my dress and look around.
The place is alive and popping—red velvet booths hugging the walls, waiters in crisp white shirts weave between tables. I spot Blake at the corner booth. His broad shoulders tense in his suit jacket. His colleague and wife are chatting over glasses of wine, but as I approach, their eyes lift, and widen in that stunned way that makes me self-conscious. Heck, have I gone too far? I can see that the woman is dressed in a simple black dress, and the guy is not even wearing a tie. When Blake said casual, he really meant casual.
Blake stands as I reach the table, his hand brushing my waist in a quick, possessive touch, but his expression is guarded, those icy-gray eyes flicking over me without lingering.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs, but the compliment sounds polite and distant.
We settle in, and the dinner unfolds nicely enough. The food is divine. We start with a shared charcuterie board from the menu. Slices of Bayonne ham, Saucisson sec, Pate de campagne, Rilettes and rosette de Lyon, are draped over a wooden board together with pieces of Brie, Tomme de Savoie, Roquefort and Sante-Mare de Touraine. Dotted amongst the meat and cheese are cornichons, walnuts, and fresh figs.
Blake spreads pate and grainy mustard on a crusty baguette slice and bites cleanly into it, while I pretend to nibble at some dry sausage. Jason, Blake's colleague, mid-forties with an easy smile and a navy blazer over his shirt, keeps the conversation flowing, talking shop about some tech merger. His wife Sarah chimes in and sometimes laughs at his anecdotes as she sips her Chardonnay. Me, I cannot relate to anything they are talking about at all.
"This place is a gem," Sarah says in an effort to draw me into the conversation. "Their coq au vin is to die for. Have you tried it?"
What can I do, but shake my head and smile.
“Where do you normally go?” she asks curiously.
Oh God! We are stepping into dangerous territory here. I can feel Blake turn to look at me. “Oh, here there and everywhere,” I say, hoping it sounds friendly but imprecise, but it comes out sounding dismissive and arrogant, as if I am not interested in talking to her.
“Right,” she says and turns towards her husband.
Well, that went well. I stab my fork into a salad of seared tuna, nestled on crisp haricots verts and niçoise olives.The vinaigrette is described as tangy and light, and probably delicious, but I taste nothing.
Blake's quiet beside me. His knee brushes mine under the table now. and then, accidental or not, it sends little jolts up my leg. Though he barely looks my way.
"Yeah, the numbers look solid," he says in a clipped voice at one point to Jason, as he cuts into his steak frites.
