lobby toward the elevators. I probably will keep my word, but Friday is days away, and I’m going to need to fuck someone before then.
Naturally, after that exchange, I start thinking about Gabrielle. She would most likely be twenty-five now. When I think back to the way she was back then, I have a hard time seeing her as anything beyond the age of thirteen. Even though she was around eighteen when she left, I can only see her as something blank and disposable.
I get to her floor, find her room, and knock on it.
I wait.
Hear nothing.
Knock on her door again.
Press my ear against it.
For some reason I have this insane image of a room filled with blood, with a body on the floor, blonde hair spilled out and sticking to it.
The door opens an inch, caught by the chain lock.
The biggest, most intensely blue eyes stare back at me. They stare at me with such ferocity that I’m momentarily stunned. I’ve forgotten why I’m here or even where I am.
“Can I help you?” she says, and it takes a moment to realize that this is not only an actual person—not some nymph or princess from a fantasy, her white-blonde hair spilling around her in waves—but that it’s Gabrielle.
It has to be.
“Gabrielle?” I ask.
“Pascal Dumont,” she says coolly, eyeing me up and down. “What are you doing here?”
I frown. “Well, we had a meeting at noon, and when you didn’t show up at the office and didn’t answer your phone, I decided to track you down.”
Her eyes narrow just a bit, just enough to break the spell. I swear she was fucking hypnotizing me. “Is stalking something you do for fun? What if I didn’t want to be tracked down?”
I blink at her. “Excuse me? We had a meeting.”
“No,” she says. “You tried to set up a meeting with me through my mother, who of course agreed on my behalf. The truth is, I don’t like you and have no desire to work for you or the Dumont name, in any shape or form. Have a good day.”
Then she closes the door in my face.
CHAPTER TWO
PASCAL
I stare at the door for a few moments. I’ve had quite a few doors slammed in my face by women, but this one feels different. For one, this should have been business-related but instead feels personal, and two, she wasn’t irate. Just cool and calm, like I was beneath her.
Me . . . beneath a maid. How she figured that, I have no idea, but this woman needs to be reminded just where I stand in this world.
I take in a sharp breath through my nose, trying to calm down and soothe my ego, and knock again.
The door opens right away.
Gabrielle stares at me, brows raised.
I don’t ever remember her being this . . . alluring. She always had the potential of being pretty, but now it’s like she either grew into her features or she amassed a world’s worth of confidence. She’s gorgeous in the most ethereal, almost supernatural way.
“You back for more?” she asks.
I swear I see a glimmer of something playful in her eyes, but that might be wishful thinking on my part because fucking hell if I’m not turned on just looking at her.
I clear my throat, trying to shake it off and focus on the task at hand.
“I’m just a little confused,” I admit carefully.
“I thought the Dumonts never got confused,” she says. “That’s how you built your empire. With the belief that you’re right, no matter what the cost.”
What the hell is her deal?
“Do you want the job or not?” I blurt out, strangely flustered.
She bites back a smile. “No. I thought that was obvious when I told you that much and then closed the door in your face. I’m about to do it again . . .”
She starts to close the door, but I jam my foot in between so she can’t.
“I just want a moment to speak with you,” I tell her as I wedge in my shoulder. I know pleading probably won’t work with her—nor does it work with me—so I switch tactics. “You should have seen your mother’s face this morning when I asked about you. She lit up, so happy just thinking about you working alongside her again.”
I’m watching her face closely, noticing even the slightest emotions that show up in her eyes. First she’s struck with guilt or shame, but then it turns into something hard and bitter. Not exactly what I