Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He seemed to notice my mood because he asked, “Something wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” I grabbed the menu and looked at the options. They had a sweet stack, pancakes topped with fruit and their homemade whipped cream, and they had a savory stack, pancakes topped with fried eggs and bacon. Everything looked good.
“Sweetheart.” He didn’t raise his voice, just changed his tone.
My eyes flicked up to his, seeing his hard stare. “I feel a little weird without makeup on…” I always wore makeup when I left the house unless I was depressed. When Adrien and I first separated, I didn’t have the drive to put any effort into my appearance.
“Why?” He cocked his head slightly.
“I just…look better when it’s on.”
“I’d fuck you either way.” He sat forward, his elbows on the table as if he didn’t need to look at the menu. He gave me that same intense stare that he did from the other side of the bar, eye-fucking me right on the spot.
The waiter came over and took our drink order. I got a coffee and Bastien did too.
We were left alone again, the tension still there even though the conversation had died away.
“Is this where you usually bring your girls?”
“My girls?” he asked.
“You know, the girls who stay until the next morning.”
He smirked like I’d told a joke rather than asked a serious question. “No. I come here with the boys.”
“You come to brunch…with a bunch of guys.”
“Why is that hard to believe?”
“Brunch is a girl thing, isn’t it?”
“Good food is good food. We usually meet up once a week, on Sundays. Talk shop.”
“That’s pretty cute.”
“Cute?” he asked.
“A bunch of guys meeting up on Sundays for pancakes. Pretty cute.”
He smirked again, his stare lingering on my face. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“What kind of ideas could I get?”
“I don’t do threesomes with men.”
“That’s not at all the idea I had,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m not interested in threesomes either, especially when I have you.”
His smile faded, and he gave me that hard look that had become his signature stare.
The waiter returned to our table to take our order, his long, curly hair pulled back in a bun.
“I’ll do the savory stack,” Bastien said. “She’ll take the sweet stack with a side of eggs and the baked beans.”
“You got it, Bastien.” The guy took the menus and walked off.
“Did you just order for me?” I asked.
“Trust me, sweetheart.” He took a drink from his coffee, his elbows on the table, the sunlight coming through the window behind me and striking his handsome face. Then he returned to his favorite pastime and stared at me like I wasn’t a person, but a painting on the wall.
I watched the people in the restaurant for a while, and when I looked back at him, his stare was still on my face. He was comfortable in the silence, content just sitting there with me like we’d known each other forever rather than the blink of an eye. “What’s the gala for?”
“Networking.”
“Doesn’t the Senate see each other all the time?”
“Not necessarily. President Martin will be there as well.”
“As in, the president of France?”
“Yes.”
“You know him?”
“Oh, I definitely know him.”
I didn’t get starstruck and I didn’t think of the president as a celebrity, but I had no idea what I would say to him if I met him. Didn’t follow politics. Barely understood the parameters of the Senate. I was too busy with my own shit to care about law and legislature. “I’m surprised they want to socialize with you publicly.”
“You know what they say…hide in plain sight. You could look corruption in the eye and have no idea it's corruption’s gaze you meet. The public interacts with my world on a daily basis, but they’re none the wiser.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“It’s our job to govern our citizens. It’s also our job to protect them. I like to think we do both—and make something for ourselves in the process. Instead of spending tax dollars sending the police after criminals they can’t possibly arrest, it makes more sense to profit from it. And those tax dollars go back to the citizens.”
“Well, some of it does.”
A slow smirk moved over his lips. “Yes. Some.”
“Do you pay taxes?”
“Not from the tariffs I collect. But I pay taxes on the revenue earned from my businesses, like the investment company.”
“How many businesses do you own?”
“Many.”
I understood his wealth and his power, but I didn’t understand how someone so young could have accomplished so much. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.” He didn’t ask the question in return, either because he already knew or because he didn’t care.
“That’s a lot to accomplish in thirty-three years.”
“Well, I’ve been in the game for a long time.”
“Ten years?” I asked. “That’s still not that long.” If he’d started in his early twenties, he was probably too young and immature to seem like a real threat to other men.