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She narrowed her eyes right back at him. ‘Deathly.’
‘Then prove it.’
‘You hold my life and my business in your hands and can do what you want.’ Eve fiddled with the engagement ring on her finger. ‘Will anything I say make a difference?’
‘It might. I’m not an ogre.’
‘I’ll hold you to that the next time you behave like one.’ She took another bite of her roll. Chewed deliberately. Washed it down with more coffee. ‘The reasons for selling the vineyard are twofold. First is that it was my father’s folly. You talked about vanity projects. This was one. Second, I’m betting Greta Bonitz wants a vineyard and that you want to sell Knight’s to her.’
Gage sat back in his chair. What she thought about her father surprised him, because that’s exactly what the vineyard was. As for the rest... ‘Why do you think Greta Bonitz wants a vineyard?’
That little kernel of information shouldn’t have been widely known. He had it because he’d been discussing it with Frau Bonitz before she’d turned cold on him.
‘When you told me you were keen on doing business with her, I started researching. In an article a year ago she talked about honeymooning with her husband in Provence when they were young. Stomping the grapes at a winery. How it was such a fond memory. It got me thinking.’ Eve finished off her breakfast. Drained her coffee.
‘About?’
‘How, given her husband’s recent passing, she might want to hang onto those memories a little harder. Since she can’t have him to share them with, maybe a vineyard in Provence might do.’ Her voice was quiet and she stared out the French doors of the dining room to the view beyond. Still twisting the engagement ring like it irritated her.
As the silence stretched, he began to feel like there were things unspoken, subtext he couldn’t translate. Eve got up from the table, walked to the coffee pot. Her long, lithe legs being encased in conservative black trousers in a strange way made her all the more tempting. A narrow waist he’d once loved to span with his hands. His pulse kicked up a notch. She turned and waggled her cup at him. He’d already had two cups this morning, which was pro
bably the reason his heart rate was being unruly. Not the thoughts of how she felt in his arms, how he might try to get her back there. He shook his head as she poured another for herself.
‘So, am I right?’ she asked as she came back to the table with a full cup.
‘Surprisingly, you are.’
She straightened in her chair, put down her cup and planted her hands flat on the table. ‘There’s no surprise about it at all. Do you have any idea what it was like, being a woman in her early twenties and given the responsibility of running a company without training?’
‘You seem to have forgotten my involvement in Caron after college.’
‘You had your father, who no doubt supported you. I had nothing. I might have topped my business degree at the Sorbonne, but I’d been thrown the French company as a punishment. Sent to a place I couldn’t do much damage with every expectation I’d fail and be put in my place. I’ve had to work harder and be more prepared than anyone to get the board to listen to me. Even then it was a battle. Every day.’
Her breathing was hard, the colour high on her cheeks. A fight in her eyes, which were as hard and cold as blue diamonds. No society princess anywhere to be seen, and not the soft, sweet girl he’d known either. She was enthralling like this. He wanted to unpick all the complicated knots in her and see her unravel.
‘I was never going to fail, and I didn’t. So, Gage, what else have you got to throw at me? Because I’m ready for it.’
Her voice was as sharp as a prick of guilt. He looked at the long and mundane list on the computer of things that needed to change and back at her.
She ran her finger over a glob of jam on her plate, scooping it up and bringing it to her lips. His mouth dried. Memories assailed him of years ago. Of Eve on her knees in front of him. The biting pleasure even though neither of them had really known what they were doing. Well, he knew exactly what he was doing now. He’d have her on her knees soon enough. Perhaps he already did. That warm slide of pleasure through his veins was satisfaction. Nothing more.
‘Here. The flower farm.’
She’d always loved growing things. Hanging around with the gardener, who’d indulged her. When they’d talked of the houses they’d own, her criteria had always been one surrounded by gardens, where the climate was right so she could grow roses. He’d planned to buy her fields of them when he could afford it. Instead she’d bought her own.
She stiffened. ‘No. It’s mine. Purchased with my own money.’
‘Spent your trust fund, cher?’
‘I could spend it in any way I saw fit and I did. On something just for me for once.’
As if he hadn’t been enough, but history had shown him he hadn’t been. It galled him that this was the symbol of her treachery. Well, she’d spent her money on what she’d wanted and now she’d have to deal with the consequences.
‘It’s not quite yours. There’s a not so small matter of the loan Knight gave to support the purchase because you didn’t have enough yourself. It’s a liability the company doesn’t need. Debts can be called in and this one should be because, like your father, you have a vanity project.’
‘If you cared to ask, the farm is a business that’s holding its own. You know it’s making repayments to Knight on time, with interest. There’s no vanity here. But this has nothing to do with how well it’s doing or not.’ Her hands clenched into tight fists on the tablecloth. Her lips a thin, taut line. Pale blue eyes burning like a gas flame. There was something enticing about her anger. He wanted to take it and channel it. Let it explode and consume them.
But he wouldn’t fall into the trap that was Eve Chevalier.
