Seated on his suite’s luxury terrace, his right hand cradled an open book and his left clutched a white demitasse cup. Wearing a light blue polo shirt, which matched his eyes, he appeared altered: lighter, happier, relaxed, and enjoying the quiet morning. Before him, the table was set for breakfast for two. Had he been waiting for her?
“Howdy,” she replied, trying not to appear affected.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“No. Did you?”
“I did, thank you,” he nonchalantly replied.
“You’re up early.”
“I’ve been up since five, swam thirty laps, and ran ten miles on the treadmill. Would you care to join me for breakfast? Strictlybusiness, of course,” he offered with teasing sarcasm.
“I ... um, don’t eat breakfast anymore,” she lied.
“Not even brioche feuilleté from René’s? Ritz espresso is excellent.”
She grinned, impressed by how he executed feuilleté. “I’ll be right there.”
Racing through the suite, she chanced a glance in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, then, barefoot and still in her nightie and robe, bolted into the hallway, making sure to leave her mobile phone in the room. There was no way in hell she’d allow Jane to interfere on her time with William! Too much needed to be discussed with him before their departure home tomorrow,and truth be told, she just wanted to be near him in the quiet morning.
Her heart pounded and her hand trembled when she pushed the ajar door open.
Stunned, she abruptly halted, taking in the impressive, fresh floral arrangement on the center table. The Belle Époque décor and regal gold appointments blew her away. There must be four or five rooms to the suite, and for the first time—even more so than he having spent fifty-five million on a painting—it truly hit her that William was no ordinary wealthy guy. Those types were a dime a dozen in Manhattan! Her ex was living in an entirely different class of affluence to afford something like this at the Ritz.
“William?”
“To your left.”
She found him standing at the edge of the terrace, backdropped by the Paris skyline.
“Did you say espresso?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Another thing that hasn’t changed.”
“I may have quit martinis, but I’m still the bean-loving Lizzy you remember. Not everything about me has changed.”
“I know. But you seem to think that it is abadthing for me to recall all the things I adored about you—even a coffee addiction.” He grinned.”
“It’s only inappropriate when you recallcertainthings. The bean is not one of them. Ha! Maybe my nickname should have been Beanz.”
“Um...no.”
“Howdidshe get that name?”
“Because she was so skinny, her legs looked like two string beans.”
“And now she has a lovely figure. I’d die for calves like hers.”
He didn’t answer, just shook his head, obviously perplexed that, again, she reminded him of the beautifulfiancéewaiting for him.
Taking a seat, she smiled, breathing in the scent of her morning drug. “I consider this gallery business, Mr. Darcy,” she said, pouring a cup and refilling his.
Chuckling, he walked to her, trailing that intoxicating cologne in his wake. “Taking breakfast in a sexy nightie with your client is gallery business?”
“Stop pretending that last night didn’t happen. I should terminate our working relationship after your visit.”
“Is that what I’m doing,Miss Bennet? Pretending you didn’t answer the door wearing practically nothing, not even shame?”
