Read Online ROMANCE: The French Billionaire (A Dark New Adult Billionaire Romance) (Billionaire Romance,Contemporary Romance,Untamed Billionaire,Short Stories) by Lisa Cartwright - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Cartwright
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and rang the bell. The man who answered the door appeared out of breath, as if he had been somewhere far away from the door. He said, “Good morning. May I help you?” Emily had never heard a butler speak with a French accent. In his mouth, it sounded foreign, not to the country but to the job, as if a poet were working a road crew.
Emily said, “Yes. I’m Emily Goodson. I’m applying for the job of curator. I’m supposed to talk with Mr. Latrec.”
“Please follow me.”
The man was tall and stocky. He wore a black suit and tie and looked perfect for the role of butler. As Emily walked behind him she glanced in each room they passed. Paintings by artists she revered hung in every room. She hoped they were all fakes. Any house with as many perfect paintings as this would be a prime target for thieves.
The man led her into a kitchen. He took off his coat and got a clean apron from a hook on the wall. Another man stood at a stove big enough to service a restaurant. The man she followed said, “I am back now. You may stop stirring.” He took the spoon away from the other man and examined whatever was cooking with a practiced eye. “Bon. You did a good job this time. The béchamel is perfectly blended. Bon.”
The man stepped away from the stove and turned to Emily. He said, “Good morning. I am Reynard Latrec. This is my home and my office. I’m guessing my chef didn’t introduce himself. His name is Alain Lefevre. Say hello, Alain.” Alain didn’t look up from the sauce. He lifted his hand in the air and waved two fingers. Reynard continued, “Please have a seat at the table. Have you eaten?”
Emily smelled the wonderful aroma of a perfectly cooked sauce. “No. I haven’t.”
“We’ll be eating in a few minutes. Please stay with us for lunch.” Emily saw a rather naughty smile light up Reynard’s face. He turned to Alain and said, “Would it be too much trouble to add one more for lunch, mon ami?”
Alain and Reynard had played this game before. Alain turned, not to Reynard, but to Emily. “For a woman of such obvious beauty and culture, it is always a pleasure to add another setting to the table.” He turned to Reynard and sniffed. Reynard raised one eyebrow in response. He turned to Emily. “Do you have any questions about the job?”
Emily looked at Reynard for the first time with nothing else to distract her. She saw a man six feet tall, husky without fat, and handsome in the way of Frenchmen; perfect features arranged with a casual hand and lively. Somewhere deep inside her, something stirred. She said, “If I understand the job listing, you want a curator to handle a moderate collection of paintings. The collection will be constantly revised with new additions and deletions and must be kept current and accurate.”
“Exactly right. I live by buying and selling art. I am always finding something I believe is undervalued and selling it for a profit. The paperwork and provenance must be accurate and up-to-date.”
A new voice came from behind Emily. A woman said, “Finally, you hire someone to do the housekeeping for the paintings. I am sick of doing it. My own work suffers. Who is this new addition?” The owner of the voice walked over to the table. She was pretty, thin with a sharp nose and angry blue eyes. She looked like she’d smelled spoiled milk a week earlier, and it stayed with her. She looked at Emily without extending her hand for a greeting. “You look like you can do the job. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Reynard said, in reproach, “Mignon. This is unseemly.”
Mignon didn’t look at Reynard, instead she waited for Alain to say something. He tended to his sauce.
Emily stood up. She remembered not to smooth her clothes or fidget. Mignon looked her up and down then cast a glance at Alain again. He continued with the sauce. Mignon said, “You have a body made for men to hold. I approve. However, you should know that Mr. Latrec is completely off limits. He is
Emily said, “Yes. I’m Emily Goodson. I’m applying for the job of curator. I’m supposed to talk with Mr. Latrec.”
“Please follow me.”
The man was tall and stocky. He wore a black suit and tie and looked perfect for the role of butler. As Emily walked behind him she glanced in each room they passed. Paintings by artists she revered hung in every room. She hoped they were all fakes. Any house with as many perfect paintings as this would be a prime target for thieves.
The man led her into a kitchen. He took off his coat and got a clean apron from a hook on the wall. Another man stood at a stove big enough to service a restaurant. The man she followed said, “I am back now. You may stop stirring.” He took the spoon away from the other man and examined whatever was cooking with a practiced eye. “Bon. You did a good job this time. The béchamel is perfectly blended. Bon.”
The man stepped away from the stove and turned to Emily. He said, “Good morning. I am Reynard Latrec. This is my home and my office. I’m guessing my chef didn’t introduce himself. His name is Alain Lefevre. Say hello, Alain.” Alain didn’t look up from the sauce. He lifted his hand in the air and waved two fingers. Reynard continued, “Please have a seat at the table. Have you eaten?”
Emily smelled the wonderful aroma of a perfectly cooked sauce. “No. I haven’t.”
“We’ll be eating in a few minutes. Please stay with us for lunch.” Emily saw a rather naughty smile light up Reynard’s face. He turned to Alain and said, “Would it be too much trouble to add one more for lunch, mon ami?”
Alain and Reynard had played this game before. Alain turned, not to Reynard, but to Emily. “For a woman of such obvious beauty and culture, it is always a pleasure to add another setting to the table.” He turned to Reynard and sniffed. Reynard raised one eyebrow in response. He turned to Emily. “Do you have any questions about the job?”
Emily looked at Reynard for the first time with nothing else to distract her. She saw a man six feet tall, husky without fat, and handsome in the way of Frenchmen; perfect features arranged with a casual hand and lively. Somewhere deep inside her, something stirred. She said, “If I understand the job listing, you want a curator to handle a moderate collection of paintings. The collection will be constantly revised with new additions and deletions and must be kept current and accurate.”
“Exactly right. I live by buying and selling art. I am always finding something I believe is undervalued and selling it for a profit. The paperwork and provenance must be accurate and up-to-date.”
A new voice came from behind Emily. A woman said, “Finally, you hire someone to do the housekeeping for the paintings. I am sick of doing it. My own work suffers. Who is this new addition?” The owner of the voice walked over to the table. She was pretty, thin with a sharp nose and angry blue eyes. She looked like she’d smelled spoiled milk a week earlier, and it stayed with her. She looked at Emily without extending her hand for a greeting. “You look like you can do the job. Stand up. Let me look at you.”
Reynard said, in reproach, “Mignon. This is unseemly.”
Mignon didn’t look at Reynard, instead she waited for Alain to say something. He tended to his sauce.
Emily stood up. She remembered not to smooth her clothes or fidget. Mignon looked her up and down then cast a glance at Alain again. He continued with the sauce. Mignon said, “You have a body made for men to hold. I approve. However, you should know that Mr. Latrec is completely off limits. He is
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