Therefore, as relieved as he was to see her looking her normal self (except the LA fashionista having two years of France injected into her bloodstream turned her into a fashionassassin), he didn’t fuck around.
“Your mother and father are worried sick about you.”
Her lips thinned before she asked, “Are you here to enjoy lunch with your favorite niece or are you here to get in my face for my parents?”
He didn’t answer.
He noted, “And according to your sister, you’ve had a recent breakup. Another one.”
To his astonishment, after he brought that up, she turned her head away immediately, her jaw going solid.
Corey paused, examining her profile.
And he realized, whoever this latest one was, it hurt.
“Talk to me,” he ordered.
She faced him again. “Can we just have lunch?”
Fortunately, for her, the waiter arrived.
They ordered drinks and starters and the waiter moved away.
“Share,” he essentially repeated, declaring her brief reprieve was over.
She made a huffing noise.
“Chloe,” he said warningly.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Uncle Corey,” she replied.
“Do I have to harm someone?” he asked casually.
For a second, she simply stared, her lips parting.
Then she whispered, “What?”
“Has someone hurt you?” he demanded.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said quickly and waved a hand in front of her. “He wasn’t that important.”
Corey made no reply but did not release his hold on her shades.
She tried to change the subject. “What are you getting for your main?”
“I had meetings in London,” he began. “I had meetings in Stockholm. And I have meetings in Johannesburg. I have delayed those last to be here, right now, with you. So do not waste my time by lying to me.”
She looked stunned.
“You changed your plans because—?”
“Because your family is worried about you and—”
“You’re my family,” she finished for him softly.
Though that was not what he’d intended to say.
And hearing her say it, the exertion it required for him not to display the effects of the feeling of his chest caving in nearly put him in a catatonic state.
But he managed to avoid it and recovered through his silence.
Their wine arrived.
The waiter was long gone before Chloe said quietly, “He made me the other woman.”
Another blow landed on Corey, this being the look on her face, not close to hidden by her sunglasses.
But more, the small sound of her voice.
Chloe was not small; she’d never been small in her life.
Whoever this man was, he’d made her feel small.
Corey made an instant decision.
He not only needed to harm someone.
He intended to.
“Pardon?” he asked menacingly.
She took her glasses off, tossed them on the table and reached for her wine.
After a sip, she returned her attention to him.
And her gaze was haunted.
Indeed.
Someone would feel that pain.
“I didn’t know he was married,” she shared. “He’s young. Not, like, seventeen or anything. He’s twenty-four. But he’s been married two years. I had no idea. I went to a party, and they were there. An acquaintance of mine who didn’t know I was seeing him told me who she was. He saw me and freaked out. But in a very French way.”
She shook her head, disgust mixed with anger that did not hide the pain in every centimeter of that movement.
And then she continued sharing.
“He called me later. That same night, if you can believe. Pretended not to know me when someone introduced us at the party, then I’m home, like, ten seconds and he’s calling me. When I lost it on him, he told me to stop overreacting. It was fine. He had deep feelings for me and there was no reason we couldn’t carry on. Yes, he actually said that and no, I still can’t believe it even though it happened a week ago. I asked if she knew about us, and he said there was no need for her to know. No need for her to know. Who thinks that way?”
Corey didn’t answer that question.
He presented his own.
“You cared about him?”
“He’s…” Now just a sad shake of her head. “He takes these amazing photographs, Uncle Corey. He’s…when his attention is on you, it’s like you’re in his lens. The focus. It makes you feel…it’s special.”
But yet, it wasn’t.
She took another sip of wine, set the glass down and said to it, “I was really happy with him. I felt something…I don’t know what it was. Then, when I knew what kind of person he was, it all turned ugly. Dirty. Every second we shared. Every word we exchanged. And worse,” she lifted her gaze to his, “I half wanted him to talk me into persisting.”
“Because you were falling in love with him.”
Her attention dropped back to the wineglass.
No.
She wasn’t falling.
She’d already done that.
Christ, his throat burned.
“Chloe, look at me,” he ordered.
Her gaze drifted back up.
“Never put up with anything from anyone that makes you uncomfortable, makes you feel wrong, makes you question the woman you are, or makes you go against who that woman is in her soul. Especially if any of that is coming from a man.”