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“Pleased to meet you,” I said to Noah, thankful I had enough wits about me not to offer my hand.
Noah’s head came up and he swiveled in my direction, trying to zero in on me by sound. His beautiful eyes swept over me, and his gaze landed just below my chin.
“Prick,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, but cold too.
I flinched. “I’m…I’m sorry…?”
“Noah! Tiens-toi bien!” Lucien scolded, but Noah ignored him.
“You’re the girl who delivered food last week. I recognize your voice.” His lip curled. “One of the parting gifts from being whacked blind is a keen sense of everything else.” He cocked his head toward Lucien. “This is who you think would make a good assistant?”
Above me, Lucien rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Mon Dieu, Noah…”
“Still surprised I’m notbehaving myself?” Noah scoffed. “You can go, Lucien. Let’s get this over with.”
Lucien frowned and then put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll return in forty-five minutes. You have my number should things wrap up quicker. Noah, s’il vous plaît être gentil.”
“Toujours,” Noah muttered. His accent was almost as perfect as Lucien’s.
Lucien sighed and gave me a parting smile that was both hopeful and pitying, then left us. I heard the front door close, and then I was alone with Noah Lake.
The afternoon sunlight suffused the room with warm light. Some of it caught in the gold of his eyes and my stomach flipped. I thought I could stare at those eyes all day, become lost in their beauty.
Incredible. And to think, they’re only a sort of decoration now.
“Not much in the way of manners, eh?” Noah said, jerking me from my thoughts.
“I’m sorry…?”
“Staring at the poor blind guy is bad manners,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a dense child.
“I wasn’t staring.” I shifted on the leather couch. “Well, maybe a little. You’re not what I expected. And besides…”
“Besides what?”
“Nothing,” I said, cursing my loose tongue.
“Besideswhat?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you insist, I was going to say you don’t have much room to complain about bad manners.” I tensed, ready to be evicted from the interview before it had even begun.
Instead, Noah shrugged. “No argument there. And you said I’m not what you expected. What did you expect?” His sneer returned. “Sunglasses and a cane?”
“I’ve been working at Annabelle’s since before you began ordering from there. I thought you were older.”
And less visually stunning.
“I’m older than you, aren’t I?” he asked. “You sound young. Twenty?”
“Twenty-three in October.”
“Have you ever been an assistant before?”
“No. I’m a mus—”
“Good,” he said, sitting back. “The more experience these so-called professionals have, the more fucking irritating they are. So let’s get to it. I’m going to tell you the requirements of the job. Theactualjob. Not whatever goodwill, compassion-outreach bullshit Lucien’s spiel might have given you. What I’m looking for and what he or my parents want are two different things. Got it?”
I nodded.
