Make Me Risk It by Beth Kery Page A

When he did, his brown eyes went wide.
    “Lucien!” The crystal, brandy-filled glass sagged in Mario’s hand. Lucien’s gaze flicked rapidly to the singular bottle sitting on the counter—Cognac Dudognon Héritage, an item from the private stock in his office. Lucien tossed the polo mallet he’d been carrying on the mahogany bar, the sound of it ringing in the air like a remonstrance.
    “I hadn’t realized I’d provided you with Fusion’s security code. Or permission to access my office and private bar. Explain yourself, Mario,” Lucien said, his tone crisp, but neutral now that he understood the nature of the intrusion on his property. True, he was irritated at Mario’s infraction, and he would make sure his employee knew it. He just hadn’t yet decided if he’d terminate the idiot. He’d never had a fond spot for Mario, but chefs as talented as him were hard to come by, after all.
    “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Mario said, fumbling.
    Lucien noticed the woman’s bare, lithesome arm dip, the liquor in her glass sloshing into the curved bowl. For the first time, he gave the other occupant of the room a cursory glance. He did a doubletake.
    “Merde,”
he uttered before he grabbed the glass out of the woman’s hand.
    “Lucien.”
    “What are you doing here, Elise?”
    Surely he was seeing things—a face from his past . . . a beautiful face he’d most definitely rather not appear at this juncture of his life. What the hell was Elise Martin doing in his restaurant in Chicago, thousands of miles from their country of origin, leagues from the gilded cage of their common past?
    “I might ask the same of you,” Elise replied rapidly, dark blue eyes flashing. Understanding made her features flatten. “Lucien . . .
you’re
Lucien
Lenault
. You
own
this place?”
    Lucien ignored her question, addressing Mario. “What do you think you’re doing, serving her liquor?”
    “
What
? You two know one another?” Mario asked, clearly so stunned he was stuck on that earlier part of the conversation.
    Lucien threw Elise a repressive glance. Her lush lips snapped closed, and she gave him a defiant glare. She’d caught his warning for silence in regard to their association, all right, but that didn’t guarantee anything. Knowing Elise, she hadn’t decided yet whether she’d keep quiet or not. She was most likely waiting to see what she could do with the unexpected bit of information that had landed in her lap. A flicker of anxiety went through him. He had to get her out of Fusion at all costs . . . out of his life here in Chicago. Elise Martin was like a jagged piece of glass on the beach. She’d cause havoc anywhere she set an elegant, perfectly pedicured toe. She’d compromise the foothold he’d gained by buying a restaurant within Noble Enterprises.
    She’d ruin everything he’d already accomplished on his mission in regard to billionaire entrepreneur Ian Noble.
    She’d ruin him. Period.
    “I . . . I’m sorry. Surely one glass wouldn’t hurt,” Mario was sputtering. Lucien dragged his gaze off Elise’s compelling face. “I know it’s your personal stock, but . . .”
    “You’re fired,” Lucien interrupted succinctly.
    Mario blinked. Lucien started to walk away.
    “Lucien, you can’t do that!”
    He whipped around at the sound of Elise’s voice. For a second he just stared at her.
    Elise Martin
in Chicago. Jesus.
Just
what he needed.
    “How long has it been?” he asked her, his quiet question for her, and her alone.
    Her gaze dropped to the brandy snifter he held in his hand. A shadow of guilt darkened her luminous features. She knew he was referring to the liquor. She knew that their families were close enough for him to have heard that news that she’d gone into alcohol and drug rehab two years ago. .
    “That’s none of your business,” she said.
    “No? Well you were about to drink my personal stash and you’re illegally on my private property, so I say