Chapter 3
1257 Words
His name came out stronger than she felt. It cut through the low hum of the lobby, sharp and clear.
He stopped.
The bodyguards stopped with him, their hands moving to their sides in unison, ready, alert, waiting for a threat.
And Théodore turned his head. His eyes found hers.
Juliette forgot how to breathe.
Those eyes. Dark, intense, unreadable. They swept over her face once, slow and deliberate, like he was cataloging every feature. Then they dropped lower, down her body, taking in the silk dress, the curves, the legs that had once wrapped around him in the dark.
When his gaze returned to her face, it was empty.
Completely blank.
Like he was looking at a stranger.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
His voice was different. Deeper. Cold in a way that made her skin prickle and heat up at the same time.
Juliette's throat closed up. She'd prepared for anger. For hatred. For him to spit venom at her the second he recognized her.
She hadn't prepared for this.
For nothing.
“I…” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, forced herself to stand straighter. “I need to speak with you. It's important.”
Théodore's expression didn't change. He glanced at the receptionist, who immediately stepped forward.
“Sir, she was just inquiring about scheduling a meeting…”
“I don't take unscheduled meetings,” he said, cutting her off without looking away from Juliette. “Submit the request. Wait your turn.”
He started to walk away.
Panic surged through her, she could imagine Tristan wearing the orange uniform.
“Wait.” Juliette moved without thinking, stepping into his path. The bodyguards tensed. One of them reached for her arm.
“Don't touch me,” she snapped, jerking back.
Théodore raised a hand. The bodyguard froze.
“Please,” Juliette said, hating the desperation in her voice. “Just five minutes. That's all I need.”
He studied her. Really looked at her this time. And for just a second so brief she almost missed it, something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition?
No. Something else. Something darker.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly.
Juliette swallowed hard. "Juliette Valmont."
The name hung in the air between them.
His face remained perfectly neutral. But she saw the slight tension in his jaw. The way his shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly.
He remembered.
He absolutely remembered.
“Juliette Valmont,” he repeated, slower this time. Testing it. “Fill out the form with the receptionist and wait for your turn.”
Then he turned and walked away without sparing her another glance.
Just like that.
His bodyguards fell into step around him, a moving fortress of expensive suits and cold efficiency. The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside. The doors closed.
Juliette stood there in the middle of that marble lobby, completely frozen.
Her heart wasn't just breaking. It was shattering. Splintering into pieces so small she didn't know how she'd ever put them back together.
He didn't recognize her. Or worse he did, and he didn't care.
The way he'd said her name. The way he'd looked at her like she was nothing. Not even worth his anger. Just another person trying to get something from him. A pest. An inconvenience.
She'd expected rage. Hatred. She would have taken screaming, accusations, anything that proved she'd mattered to him once.
But this?
This blank, polite dismissal?
It was worse than anything she'd imagined.
The receptionist cleared her throat softly. “Miss? The form?”
Juliette didn't answer. She turned on her heel and walked out.
Her legs carried her to the parking garage on autopilot. She fumbled with her keys, dropped them, cursed, picked them up. She got into the Lamborghini and sat there with her hands on the steering wheel, staring at nothing.
Her chest felt tight. Too tight. Like someone had wrapped a band around her ribs and was pulling it tighter with every breath.
Damn Théodore and his f*****g money. But it wasn't about the money. Not really. It was the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd erased her with a glance.
She started the engine. The roar of it filled the enclosed space, loud and angry and exactly what she needed.
She peeled out of the parking garage and onto the street, driving too fast again because sitting still felt impossible.
Her heart was still slamming against her ribs. Théodore had changed. Completely.
The boy she'd known, intense, passionate, rough around the edges was gone.
Replaced by this polished, untouchable stranger in a suit that probably cost more than her car at this point.
And she couldn't tell if she wanted him back.
The thought came unbidden and she hated it immediately.
She had a boyfriend. Lucien. Who was supposed to call her back. Who was supposed to care that she'd been gone for a month.
Juliette grabbed her phone at a red light, her pride already in pieces on the floor.
What was a little more damage?
She typed quickly: I'm back in Paris. I have an emergency. Let's meet.
Sent it before she could overthink it. Then she drove straight to Camille's.
༄
“What!”
Camille's voice was so loud Juliette winced.
She'd barely finished explaining everything. .the company, Tristan, the money, Théodore…before Camille exploded.
“Don't give me that look, Cam,” Juliette said, dropping onto the velvet couch. “I had no other option.”
“How bitchy of you, Julie.” Camille was pacing now, her silk robe billowing behind her like she was performing in a play. “You thought your ex would help you? Even the president answers to Théodore Roosevelt now and you think he'd give an audience to his stupidly sexy ex?”
“Just f*****g shut up, Cam.” Juliette pressed her fingers to her temples. “You're making it worse. I had to do what I needed to do then. Théodore couldn't offer me anything.”
Camille stopped pacing and turned to face her, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“You don't understand,” Juliette continued. “He couldn't offer me anything then…”
“b***h, he offered you countless orgasms.” Camille's grin was wicked. “And I know for a fact they were the best orgasms of your life.”
Juliette groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Please don't remind me.”
But it was too late.
The memories were already flooding back. His hands. His mouth. The way he'd touched her like he was memorizing every inch of her skin. The way he'd made her scream his name in languages she didn't even speak.
His fingers. His tongue. The way he'd—
Juliette shook her head violently.
“Ohhh, we're going down memory lane!” Camille laughed, delighted. “Look at your face. You're thinking about it right now.”
“I'm leaving.” Juliette stood abruptly.
“Where are you going?” Camille asked, her laughter fading.
“To see my boyfriend. To ask for help.”
Camille's mouth fell open. Then she started laughing again, harder this time.
“You went to your ex, now your boyfriend. This is so f*****g funny.”
“Then keep laughing,” Juliette snapped, heading for the door.
“Before you people talk about anything, ask for good s*x! You need it!” Camille yelled after her. “Though I know he can't compete with Théodore!”
Juliette slammed the door behind her.
- Writer
