Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I make my way across the landing and down the stairs. As I head for the dining room, I can smell the scent of the newly waxed floors. It’s quiet here. Too quiet, in a way. My heels echo on the marble as I walk down the long hallway towards the dining room. I enter the room, and Axel stands when he sees me. Axel has a careful, quiet command about him, the kind of presence that makes a room feel smaller, more intimate. He smiles at me, and instantly, I begin to doubt my decision to leave Paris behind us.
“Good evening,” I say shyly as I approach the table. The candle light flickers against the polished mahogany table, dancing across the crystal and the plates already laid out with impeccable precision.
Axel pulls a chair out for me next to the head of the table, and I sit to his right. The table has been set for two, and I feel suddenly awkward, although I don’t know why. I suddenly don’t know where to look, what to say, or where to put my hands. I reach out and take a sip from the water glass nearest to me. The water is cold and crisp, and I sip again before setting it back down. Axel glances at me out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re unusually quiet,” he notes.
I decide the only way to get past the awkwardness is to just be myself and let time do its thing. “And you’re unusually observant.” The light teasing tone in my voice belies the flutter in my stomach.
“I notice when things shift,” he says smoothly. “Small movements. Little tells.”
I give a nervous laugh. “Then I guess you’re more dangerous than I thought you were.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me, the movement subtle but deliberate. “Dangerous?” he repeats softly. “Or irresistible?”
I flush at the unexpected question and quickly look away. “I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself,” I say softly, though my heart is hammering in a way I refuse to acknowledge.
I fidget slightly, smoothing my skirt over my knees and resisting the urge to reach out and brush my hand along his. I am pleased when one of the wait staff enters the dining room, carrying a large silver tray containing two steaming plates. The savory smell wafting off them is delicious, and my stomach growls.
The meal is placed before us, and as we begin to eat, I focus on the mundane: the taste of the first bite of the roasted chicken, which has been cooked to perfection, the earthy smell of the sautéed root vegetables, the subtle tang of the red wine Axel has poured for both of us. As we eat, I begin to relax slightly.
“So,” I say lightly, cutting a roast potato in half. “How is the empire?”
He lifts one eyebrow. “The empire?”
“Yes. The vast corporate kingdom that you rule with an iron fist.”
He leans back slightly, studying me. “Is this your attempt at neutral conversation?”
“Absolutely.”
“And here I thought you were genuinely interested in my iron-fisted ruling style.”
I give him a pointed look, and a flicker of heat passes between us. Quick. Unmistakable.
“The business is going to be complicated this week. There is a lot to get through.”
“Oh?” I latch onto it gratefully. “Sounds like you’ll be super busy.”
“I will. We closed a big merger on Thursday. Now it’s a matter of getting everything running smoothly.”
I whistle softly. “That’s big. Was it dramatic? Please tell me there was at least one boardroom showdown.”
He laughs. “No showdowns.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“There was, however,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “A moment where their CFO tried to derail the entire negotiation because of a muffin.”
I blink in surprise. “Ok, maybe this won’t be so disappointing after all. A muffin?”
“Yes.”
“Please elaborate, because I refuse to believe global finance can be undone by baked goods.”
His mouth curves. He likes it when I challenge him. I can see it.
“We’d been in meetings for eight hours,” he begins. “Everyone was exhausted. Numbers were flying everywhere. The lawyers were circling like vultures. We decide to break for coffee. Someone orders refreshments.”
“And?”
“And apparently Archer’s CFO has very strong feelings about muffins.”
I stare at him. “No.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of feelings?”
“He believes,” Axel says gravely. “That raisins are an act of betrayal.”
I choke on my wine. “Raisins?”
“There were raisins in the muffins. They were mislabeled as blueberry. He took it personally.”
“You’re joking.”
“I am not. Holding the muffin as if it had personally offended his ancestors, he announced that if we couldn’t get basic hospitality right, perhaps we weren’t aligned strategically”
I laugh, properly laugh, and he watches me indulgently. And suddenly, I know. He made the story up to make me laugh.
“That never happened, did it?”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “It could have.”
I shake my head, still smiling.
He watches me for a moment, his expression softening. “I like it when you laugh. You weren’t earlier.”