The Devil's Own Chloe (Bistro La Bohème Series) by Alix Nichols Page A

in,” I say when we’re finally under
the covers.
    His
lips quirk. “Yes, boss.”
    I’m
too exhausted to argue. Before I fall asleep, I convince myself his karma is
too good to be cancelled out by a few extra hours with my toxic person. Just
one more night of indulgence. It’s too insignificant compared to the bigger
picture. I’d spent years being close to people before my poison contaminated
them. Hugo reappeared in my life less than a year ago, and things started
heating up between us only two weeks ago.
    So,
really, tonight isn’t a big deal.
    It
won’t kill him.
    *
* *

Sixteen
    “You
said in Nîmes you wanted to talk to me about something.” Hugo plants himself in
front of me and hands me my martini.
    I
take a small sip. “I did.”
    “How
about now?” He smiles even though the expression in his eyes is serious.
    Now’s
the perfect time.
    “Hmm.”
I study the olive in my glass. “There are too many people here. I can’t even
hear myself speak.”
    Coward .
    He
smirks. “I can hear you all right.”
    I
give another hmm and look around. A well-dressed, cheerful crowd fills La
Bohème on this invitation-only night before its public reopening. People
stand in small groups around the front room and bar area. Some sit at the
tables that are pushed to the walls.
    Jeanne’s
walls, now that my work here is done.
    Since
the party started a couple of hours ago, Hugo and I have received tons of
compliments on the “complete but respectful” makeover we’ve given this place.
Our order book has filled up to the point where I’ve begun to turn people down.
There’s only so much Hugo, René, and I can accomplish in a day, a week, and a
month even if we put in insanely long hours.
    Except
René, that is, to whom dinner with his wife and kids is sacred.
    I
could hire more hands.
    Hugo
could run a team of his own. Now that he has his contractor license, he’s
officially qualified to do it. We could figure out how to handle two projects
at the same time. We could—
    Hugo
cocks his head. “So?”
    “You
first,” I say. I’m totally not stalling.
    He
nods. “OK, I’ll go first.”
    As
he drops his head to collect his thoughts, Diane storms past us. I wave to her,
but she doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a glint in her eyes and her lips are
pressed together, giving her that familiar air of single-minded resolve. The
one she usually sports just before she does something stupid.
    Diane
heads to the bar and picks up a big orange-colored cocktail from a tray and a
large slice of white and pink cream cake.
    Weird . Diane hates cream cakes.
    She
marches toward Sebastian Darcy, who’s talking with someone by the wall, and
plants herself in his personal space. He turns to her with a half-polite,
half-inquisitive expression. She throws the contents of her glass at the front
of his white shirt. On impulse, Darcy looks down to examine the stain. And
that’s when Diane smashes her cake on his face.
    “What
the fuck!” Darcy glares at her.
    A
blob of whipped cream detaches itself from his cheek and falls onto one of his
expensive and impeccably polished shoes.
    Someone
giggles.
    Darcy
pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his face.
    Diane
sneers at him. Then she spins around and walks toward the door.
    “Hey,
you, whoever you are!” He barks after her. “I don’t know why you did this, and
I don’t care, but I promise you’ll regret it!”
    She
storms out the door without turning back.
    Darcy
leaves shortly after.
    A
pang of guilt constricts my chest. God knows what a powerful man like Sebastian
Darcy will do to someone who publicly humiliated him. Diane is gutsy and
irreverent, but behind her blasé attitude, she’s a naive small-town girl who
never expects the worst.
    Something
tells me his last remark wasn’t an empty threat. And something tells me Diane’s
outburst is related to a past event that’s somehow my fault. I’ll talk to her
tonight.
    But
first, I must ensure Hugo’s safety.
    I
turn to him.