Page 103 of The Billionaire's Destiny

“I used to be a costume designer,” the woman said. “For Pallo.”

“A Lover’s Tale?” Rocco asked her.

She beamed. “Yes.”

“Beautiful work,” Rocco said. He touched my arm. “I’m sorry. We must go inside.”

“Congratulations, Mrs. Marini,” the woman said. “I hear you’re expecting.” Her eyes shifted to my belly.

I smiled, running my hand over it. “Yes, I am. Thank you.” Just then, a striking man in a sharp three-piece suit, with sleek dark hair and a roguish grin, walked up to us. “Bienvenue, Marinis.”

“This is Chef Henri Renault,” Rocco announced.

“Entrepreneur, not only a chef. I’ve diversified, like you,” Henri addressed Rocco, though his eyes went to me. He took my hand, brushed my knuckles with a swift kiss, and surveyed me with a slow, appreciative glance. I felt a flicker of intrigue, mixed with a touch of apprehension; his magnetic, unsettling attention drew me in against my better instincts. My heart was racing, a quiet thrill tempered by an undercurrent of caution. I wondered if Rocco noticed this silent exchange, or if he might later take issue with Henri’s overt charm.

“My brother Tomas’ suit, Givenchy,” he said in a confident tone.

And I nodded. “Yes.”

I wore a tailored suit and a silk Givenchy shirt, crafted by his brother Tomas, still the creative force behind the house and a collaborator with Nadia Crane. Rocco had insisted on kitten heels “for the baby.” I suspected this was only the beginning of my compromises.

“Enchante.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Renault,” I said.

“Henri,” he purred. “For you, Henri.”

I laughed, and Rocco put his arm around my waist. “Only for me.” He sounded somewhat amused, and Henri just chuckled, shook Rocco’s hand, and led us inside the restaurant.

Every table was packed, yet we were shown to a private circular booth tucked into an alcove. The room gleamed with classical chandeliers, ornate moldings, and crisp linens, each detail pristinely exhibited, akin to the polished guests in the upscale eatery. The air was thick with the scent of simmeringsauces, making my mouth water. The hostess skipped menus, instead presenting Henri with a bottle of wine, then pouring for Rocco, and offering me a sparkling orange juice.

“George contacted me about investing in his studio,” Henri spoke frankly and right to business.

“And? I don’t care about George,” Rocco said in a bored tone.

“He’s not serious,” Henri said and sipped his wine. “But he’s eager to build his studio first.”

“No, he’s not, but if you like to waste your time, he’s your guy,” Rocco said in an even tone.

“My time is far too precious for him.” Henri’s focus shifted to me. “Our brioche bread and butter pudding will transport you to heaven, or perhaps you’ve already visited, no?” His words dripped with double meaning, and to be sure I caught it, he arched an eyebrow at Rocco.

Rocco didn’t answer, nor did he react.Of course, why would he be upset if my being with him was compared to heaven?

“I’ve been,” I teased back. “But I’m definitely willing to go again.”

“Well, I, too, am heaven,” Henri said, holding up his wine glass. “So, I can relate, but the pudding is definitely close to it.”

“Then, I must have it,” I said, and Rocco tapped my knee under the table.

“I’m having sole and salmon terrine,” Rocco told Henri. “We also don’t party.”

Henri’s expression turned playful. “I don’t party with those I’m doing business with. But we can all relax and have fun.” He paused, assessing our reactions. “Success is intoxicating,” he added with a casual shrug. Henri spoke rapidly in French to a hostess, ordering swiftly, with authority behind every word. Our eyes followed his, catching the efficient flow of the restaurant’s staff. The hostess nodded, and when she left, his wide lips stretched into a broad smile. “Now, let’s leave pleasures andreturn to business,” he suggested, his gaze sharp. “Renault Catering is an enormous success. No one has ever reached our numbers so fast.”

“Henri, you don’t have to convince me. This collaboration matters to both of us. We both stand to gain a lot, especially with our reputation for building brands. We’re ready to offer an investment, a share of profits, stocks, futures, and exclusive catering for twenty years. Let’s make it happen.”

“Yes. I think another renegotiation of the terms is in order in five,” Henri said. “If you agree, you have Renault.”

Rocco shook his head. “Five years is too short, unless you want negotiations to include other companies to bid on contracts.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “And I’ve heard whispers of a new contender in the market who’s looking to make a significant play.”