The next red grape vanished between his lips.
Then the moan.
My mouth watered, and I snuck a piece of the cheese—salty and creamy. So damn rich. The obscenely wealthy ate very well.
How was he not a big fat bastard?
“Here,” he said, holding a grape to my lips.
I barely parted them, and he pushed it in. His eyes were locked on mine when I bit down on the grape. It was crisp, fresh—and when the sweet juice flooded my mouth, mingling with the saltiness of the cheese, I almost moaned.
He poured me a glass of champagne, but I held up my hand.
He ignored me and filled the flute anyway.
“I’m not very good with alcohol,” I protested, but his smile only widened.
“That’s good to know.”
I gasped, staring at the glass he held out in front of me.
“Unless you’re too scared to drink in front of your boss,” he taunted.
Oh, he didn’t.
“I’m sure I can handle one glass of champagne,” I said coolly, though my eyes drifted to the crackers, olives, and slices of meat.
Drinking on an empty stomach was not a good idea.
?? ?? ??
“You know, this champagne’s not too shabby,” I said, swirling my glass. “Oh—you ate all the red grapes.”
The green ones were nice, but nothing like those red ones.
I think I was drunk.
I suspected this because I wanted to sleep, and I’d lost count of how many times he’d filled up my glass.
“Mr Dubois—”
“Laurent.”
“Law-rent,” I parroted, dragging out his name and pointing a finger at him. “I think you got me drunk so you could fire me.”
“I assure you, Lucia, I don’t want to fire you,” he said, taking my extended hand into his.
I stared at his hand.
It was happening in slow motion.
Then I felt the heat from his giant hand surround mine.
He was the Dubois devil.
I was stuck in one of Allison’s productions.
“I don’t aspire to be a devil,” he said with a smirk, “but tell me more about this production.”
