With a deep breath, she turned and met his gaze head-on. “Spoken like someone who also hides behind a mask.”
He jerked back. Surprise flashed in his eyes. Then it disappeared as he gave her one of those insincere smiles.
“Touché. So are you going to try it on?”
“It’s not me.”
Pride, and a little bit of shame, refused to let her admit that she wanted to try on the dress very badly.
Her phone beeped. She glanced down and sucked in a relieved breath. “Five minutes until my appointment.”
She took off down the boulevard, her pace quick, not giving him enough time to reply. He caught up to her, his long legs eating up the distance she’d put between them. They walked in uneasy silence, passing more shops and cafés, until a violet-colored sign with white lettering caught her eye. She slowed her pace.
“Here we are.”
He glanced up at the sign and frowned.
“Le Giordano École Culinaire. A culinary school? I thought you were going to meet with a caterer.”
She held up her phone. “I am. Suzanne Giordano’s culinary school offers catering.”
His frown deepened. “Maybe I didn’t make my wishes clear. This event has to impress some of the richest men in the world to not only continue to invest inLa Reina, but let me keep Cabrera Shipping. Burned bread and attempts at an appetizer some kid saw online won’t cut it.”
Her heart thumped hard again, but this time in anger.
“Spoken like a spoiled billionaire.”
He leaned in, eyes narrowing, that dangerous intensity she’d glimpsed back in Paris on full display.
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
“Judging by your elitist comment, I know all I need to know,” she snapped back. “Your brother trusted me implicitly, and every event I executed for Cabrera Wines was a success. You said you trusted me. Clearly you don’t.”
“I don’t trust a bunch of aspiring chefs who might give my guests food poisoning.”
She punched in a website on her phone and held the screen up to his face. “Suzie Giordano has trained multiple two-and three-star Michelin chefs. She’s won awards all around the world. The chef who cooked your fancy meal in London a few months ago is a graduate of her school.”
His handsome features hardened until it looked like his face had been chiseled out of granite.
“London?” Silky menace laced the word. “How did you know about London?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She swallowed her bitterness. “I didn’t stalk you. I didn’t have to. There were photos everywhere.” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice from cracking underneath the weight of her pain. Which was worse? The sharp sting of remembering how quickly her one and only lover had replaced her? Or the icy fingers of memory clutching her heart and squeezing as the echoes of her mother’s sobs at discovering yet another mistress played over and over in her head?
“London wasn’t what you think.”
“Of course it wasn’t.” She waved a hand. “But it’s not important anyway. What is important is that you’re questioning my ability to do a job you hired me for.”
He blew out a breath and ran a frustrated hand through his curls. “Calandra, this is not—”
“Perhaps,” she interrupted, “if you don’t trust me, I should go home.”
Nothing. Absolute silence as he stared at her, eyes blank, face smooth, without the slightest hint of expression.
Like looking in a mirror.
Was this what people saw when they talked to her? The thought made her sick to her stomach. It would have been better to see something, anything.
Anything but complete and utter disinterest. Because this was what she feared seeing. A month, six months, a year. Whenever the allure of this novelty wore off, this would be the look she’d see.