Power Play

by Mallery Malone

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You mean when I showed up in Paris to surprise you, only to discover you’d pulled a fast one and disappeared?”

  She jerked her head up. “What?”

  His expression hardened, losing its boyish, seductive charm. “I tried, Macy. I tried to do the right thing, do what was expected of me, but I couldn’t. Not back then. Two months after you went to Paris, I turned the daily management of the company back over to the chief operations officer, spent a month getting everything in order, and headed to Paris to find you.”

  His hand curled into a fist around his fork. “You weren’t there. I searched for you, and when I finally called your father, he told me you didn’t want to see me. I had nothing left, so I went to Thailand and spent two years disciplining myself by studying Muay Thai. Then I got on the international circuit and when I tried to track you down again, I discovered you were dating that prince dude.”

  A tremble swept through his hand before he dropped the fork. He reached for his left wrist, toying with his cuff. “I figured you’d found your happily-ever-after and I decided it was best to let you have it.”

  He didn’t know.

  She’d been in the process of working up a full head of steam to tell him off once and for all. It evaporated on a rush of realization. He didn’t know what had happened to her in Paris, didn’t know that she’d tried to contact him. She’d thought he’d abandoned her in her time of need when the reality was that he’d been on his way to her. He’d gone to Paris looking for her, but it had been too late.

  Moved, she reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Realizing what she felt beneath his cuff wasn’t a watch, she pushed back his sleeve.

  A braided red cord encircled his wrist. No, not a cord, but hair. Her hair.

  Her breath caught in her throat as memories assailed her. The morning before they’d headed for the airport, she’d cut a lock of hair and braided it into a bracelet. She’d tied it around his wrist and had nearly broken down when she’d asked him not to forget her. He’d sworn he wouldn’t. Apparently he’d kept his word.

  “R-Raffie?”

  He smiled at her, sadness pulling down his features. “An eight-year-old keepsake,” he told her. “I had it reinforced with silver so I wouldn’t lose it, lose my last tie to you. I never forgot, Macy. How could I?”

  “Oh God.” Tears flooded her vision. She’d been wrong. She’d been so wrong all these years. The last bits of her anger and defenses fell away, leaving her shaken and light-headed. “Oh God, Raffie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He turned his wrist, recapturing her hand. “I’m sorry, too, that I made you think for even a second that I’d turned my back on you. Have dinner with me tonight, Macy. Dinner and conversation, that’s all. I want us to catch up on each other’s lives and to mend fences. I miss my best friend. I want her back.”

  God, how could she refuse him? Especially when she still owed him an apology and an explanation. “Tomorrow. It’s my turn to close the restaurant tonight, so I won’t be leaving here until late. But tomorrow I’ll be over at Lovelace and I’m usually out of there by five, barring any kitchen emergencies.”

  “Tomorrow night it is.” He gave her a brilliant smile as he took out his smartphone to take down her contact information. She could only hope he’d have reason to smile at her again after she confessed everything that happened in Paris.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Late the following afternoon, Raphael strolled into the entrance of Lovelace, Macy’s other restaurant. It was down in the Arts District, surprisingly within walking distance of the converted warehouse he’d bought for his New Orleans digs. While he could convince himself that transitioning JerTech and DJD Holdings to NOLA had kept him far too busy to explore, guilt hounded him as he realized how close he’d been to her all along.

  He had a lot of things to make up for. Right here, right now was the beginning of making things right.

  A young blonde in black jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the restaurant’s name approached him. “Hi, welcome to Lovelace. Will you be dining with us this evening?”

  “Actually, I’ll just sit at the bar.” He couldn’t resist adding, “I’m meeting Macy when she’s done for the day.”

  “I see.” The hostess gave him a quick assessment, then smiled. “Feel free to take a seat at the bar, and I’ll let Macy know that you’re here, Mister … ?”

  “Raphael.” He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  She blinked at him, then turned and made a beeline for the back as he settled onto a comfortable barstool that gave him a good view of the entire floor. After ordering a whiskey neat, he surveyed the restaurant. It was still early for the dinner crowd, but the bistro wasn’t empty. A mixed college-aged group took up the lounge area in front of the window, plowing through a large swath of appetizers and beers. A scattering of couples and groups dined at the tables.

  Lovelace had a casual vibe far from Choux’s upscale, expensive ambience. Warm colors anchored the relaxed atmosphere, underscored by the lounge areas placed near the bar and the front window. It had a familiar feel to it and it took him several moments to realize what it was. Lovelace’s felt like home, the Lovelace home that he’d all but grown up in after his mother’s death. Choux may have represented the sophisticated Macy who’d lived in Europe for several years, but Lovelace was Macy’s heart, the Macy he’d known for half his life.

  Need pulled at him. It had been years since he’d had to work hard for a woman he wanted. Macy wasn’t just any woman, however. She was his first, his saving grace, the only woman he’d been tempted to give everything to. That moment of insanity had been brief but facets of it remained, ready to erupt again. He knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d slide back into that same desperate hunger he’d had before and this time he didn’t know if he’d be able to walk away. He didn’t know if he wanted to.

  His phone vibrated with an incoming text. He dug it out of his jacket pocket to find a message from Sebastian. Are you still stalking Macy?

  I made us another ten million today, Raphael texted back. I think I’m allowed to go to a bar to have a drink to celebrate.

  So you are stalking her. Because having a three-hour lunch wasn’t long enough to get your point across. I didn’t think the great Raphael Jerroult had to try that hard. I might need to see this with my own eyes.

  Raphael scowled. The last thing he needed was one off his partners getting in his shit. Don’t you have a hot woman you need to get back to?

  Bite me.

  You wish.

  Sebastian threw his words back at him. Don’t you have a hot woman you need to get back to, instead of texting me?

  Fuck. Irritated, Raphael shoved his phone back in his pocket, certain that Sebastian was currently laughing his ass off at Raphael’s expense. He made a mental note to kick his partner’s ass during a sparring match the next day. After all, he still owed Sebastian for not telling him about Macy and her restaurants.

  “Raphael.”

  He turned at the sound of Macy’s voice, stopped and stared. She was walking toward him, though it was more like a rolling glide that was quite a feat in black stiletto pumps. Charcoal gray pants encased her legs and she wore a pretty, patterned blouse in shades of bronze and greens that hugged her curves and liberally exposed her cleavage. Her hair was down today, loose curls falling past her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face and calling attention to the emerald of her eyes.

  He sucked in a breath as her essence steamrolled him. One hundred-proof longing flooded his system, making him lean against the bar. He’d been foolish, too young and too stupid to realize what he’d had, what he’d lost eight years ago. He knew it now though. Knew that he’d do everything in his power to make things right, make things the way they were meant to be.

  She stopped in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

  One eyebrow quirked upward. “You’re staring.”

&
nbsp; “That’s because you’re beautiful.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “How much have you contributed to my bottom line there, champ?” she joked, gesturing at his drink.

  “That’s the first one, and I’m not a lightweight.” Conscious of her employees working around them, he took her hands, then air-kissed both her cheeks. It seemed the safest of all the greetings he could have done, and more socially acceptable than the greeting he wanted to give her—one that involved tongue and handfuls of her luscious curves.

  “This place is fantastic,” he complimented, putting a respectable distance between them again. “Don’t get me wrong, Choux is excellent, but this place reminds me of game night at your dad’s place with a bowl of your dad’s gumbo in one hand and your dessert-of-the-day in the other.”

  A smile lit her eyes. “Thanks. That’s exactly the feel I was going for. I actually named the restaurant in Dad’s honor, and there’s even a dessert named for him. Lovelace does a nice side business in catered desserts. It allows me to make use of my pastry-chef training.”

  He gave her an admiring glance. “You’ve done really well for yourself, Macy. I know your dad’s got to be proud of you.”

  She blushed anew. “Thanks, Raffie. I appreciate your saying that.” She looked up at him, a blush staining her cheeks again. “So, what are we doing for dinner?”

  “I wouldn’t mind ditching my idea and staying here instead,” he suggested.

  “And become the main attraction for my staff?” She shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “I understand.” He was used to being on display, but Macy wouldn’t be. “My original plan was to ride the bike over to Family Thai’s.”

  “Oh my God. I haven’t been there since college. Is that place really still open?”

  “I’m just as surprised as you are. They’ve made some changes, but the food is still delicious.” He gave her another long look because he could and he appreciated the view. “I thought we’d take my bike over, but I wouldn’t dare mess up your hair or your lovely outfit.”

  “If you’d met me at my house, I could have changed into something bike appropriate,” she retorted. “We’ll have to take my MINI Cooper. I parked out back.”

  “Macy.” He waited until she turned back around. “Look at me. Do I look like I can fit into a MINI Cooper?”

  She gave him a long, slow perusal that fired his blood and sent it straight to his cock. “No, I suppose not. You’ve definitely grown up, Raphael Jerroult. We’ve both changed a lot in the last eight years.”

  “We have. I look forward to getting to know the new version of you. So much so that I’ll even sacrifice my dignity and ride shotgun in your Cooper.”

  “It won’t be that bad. Follow me.”

  It wasn’t bad, at least not from Macy’s point of view. As for poor Raffie. … He had definitely filled out since college, his years as a Muay Thai fighter giving him bulk to go with his height that was a study in hilarity as he folded himself into the passenger seat of her MINI. Luckily it didn’t take long to drive to the Thai diner that was one of their old hangouts.

  “They have updated the place,” Macy observed as they made their way inside, taking in the upgraded décor. Though many of the patrons seemed to be college students, there were plenty of older couples and families there as well. “I like it.”

  “You’d better,” Raphael warned as he did that fighter thing of swinging his arms and craning his neck side to side to loosen his muscles. “It’s gonna take me a while to work the kinks out of my back. I think you’re going to owe me a massage.”

  “Just send me the bill, champ,” she tossed over her shoulder, smothering her laughter as a server led them back to an intimate corner. Although the idea of someone else running their hands all over him caused a flare of jealousy deep inside.

  Sweet baby Jesus, the man was impossibly, unbearably hot with his tousled blond hair and blue-green eyes staring at her as if she were a buffet that he very much wanted to devour. Tonight he wore a black leather motorcycle jacket that had seen better days over a white T-shirt stretched tight across his impeccable chest. It tucked into well-worn loose-fitting jeans that encased his long legs. Well-broken-in boots shod his feet. Looking at him, you would never know he was worth more than some small countries. Although she had a feeling that when most women looked at Raphael Jerroult, their first thought wasn’t the size of his bank account.

  She concentrated on the menu as the server relayed the specials for the night, hoping Raphael didn’t notice how gobsmacked she was over him. It probably happened so often that he no longer noticed. She had to remember that. There was a trail of women behind him, starting with her. There was no need to go there again.

  Soon enough they had their orders placed and matching cups of green tea in their hands. “So, Mr. Gazillionaire,” she drawled. “All that money and you bring me to an old college hangout for our first date in however long?”

  He grinned at her. “Why, my dear Miz Lovelace,” he drawled right back, “would you have really wanted to be caught dining with me at one of your competitors?”

  “You have a point, sir.” She took a sip of her tea. “I suppose you and your partners get a lot of media attention, solicited or otherwise.”

  “We do,” he acknowledged as their basil rolls and soup arrived. “We’ve each learned to deal with it in our own way. The usual attention I get has died down since I took over JerTech, but I’m still the public face for my company and for DJD Holdings as a whole. These days, I’m mostly photographed at charity events.”

  “That must bore someone like you to tears.”

  “Someone like me?” His eyebrows rose. “You know me, Macy. At least, you used to. Do you really think I’ve changed so much?”

  Guilt pricked her as she realized she’d offended him. Instead of apologizing, she said, “That’s why we’re here, right? To get to know each other again?”

  He gave her a long look full of serious regard. “The first thing you should know is that the media’s first goal is to make money, not tell the truth. Painting me as a serial playboy—and God knows I gave them the ammunition—made them a ton of money. It also gave me a lot of publicity, which I used to help my collective businesses, and our charity work.” He toyed with his tea. “Considering how each one of us had someone who saved us from ourselves, giving back is the least we can do.”

  She wondered if he meant her and her family, Armand Duparte, or someone else. The emotion that filled his tone was sincere, causing her to seriously question what she knew of Raphael Jerroult now versus what she used to know. Was that man still inside him? Had he been there all along, protected by the playboy facade?

  She struggled for a lighter, safer topic. “When did you take over JerTech again?”

  “A year ago. My last fight left me with a pretty severe shoulder injury. I had the best doctors put it back together but I knew it essentially was a weakness that would be exploited by my opponents if I ever entered a ring again. So I retired from Muay Thai and focused on using my brain instead of my brawn to make money. I’d already dusted off my business degree a few years back when Sebastian, Gabriel, and I decided to pool our prize money and form DJD. Besides, it was high time for me to come back. I didn’t like the feeling that I couldn’t hack running something my father half-assed his way through after my mother died.”

  “You could have done it and been good at it back then, Raffie,” she refuted, reaching over to wrap her fingers around his. “You worked there summers in high school. College was all about you taking over the business one day. But no one should have expected you to lead the company immediately after your father’s death. That shouldn’t have been asked of anyone, least of all a twenty-two-year-old.”

  “Maybe.” He gave her a brief smile. “I figured I had something to prove, like the first time I stepped into a ring in Thailand. I threw my whole self into fast-tracking through the company, learning all I could. I gave myself the length of my rehabilitation to unde
rstand the ins and outs of managing JerTech, and as soon as I had a clean bill of health, I officially assumed leadership.”

  Their food arrived, red curry for him, spicy noodles for her. Macy dug in with gusto despite knowing she’d have to pay for it with a longer workout the next day. At his gentle prodding, she filled him in on the highlights of culinary school, her favorite desserts, the scary opportunity to open her restaurant, the lean first year, then finally achieving enough success to open Lovelace. He told her of his time in Thailand, a country he clearly loved if the tone of his voice was any indication.

  Dinner went better than she’d expected, with none of the awkwardness she had assumed the years would show. Sitting and talking to him over spicy curry was like picking up a jump rope again. Muscle memory kicked in, years and distance fell away, and she found herself laughing and leaning into him like old times.

  “Thank you for this,” she said, polishing off the last of her green-tea ice cream. “I haven’t had a night like this since …” She had no idea. Running the restaurants took all her energy, maybe more than they should have, but when her evening entertainment consisted of putting her feet up and breaking out her tablet, it was easier to stay at Choux or Lovelace instead.

  “Believe it or not, I haven’t, either,” he said, giving over his ice cream before she could steal it. “I’m appreciating this just as much as you are.”

  She snorted her disbelief. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why?”

  She gestured around the now-closing restaurant. “This hardly seems like your usual hangout spots. After all, there are no cameras, so screaming crowds of adoring fans, and dinner isn’t going to break fifty bucks.”

  “This is different,” he insisted. “This is comfortable, relaxing.” He caught her gaze again. “Real.”

  “Come on, Raffie. You don’t really expect me to believe that you’re not a man about town with a different woman on your arm every week.”

  “I was a good poster boy for the high-roller lifestyle before my injury ended my career,” he said. “When I took the reins at JerTech, I took the role, and the responsibility, seriously. That means I can’t fall asleep in meetings because I was partying until four in the morning.”