Chapter 23 Are You Jealous
Celeste-
I let out a sigh of relief as I finalized the planning for David's event and sent the email off to Denise.
With such a tight deadline, I knew I had to make sure everything was in place. That meant hiring more staff, repairing old equipment, and investing in new ones too. It also meant dipping further into my savings.
Once or twice, Grandma's offer crossed my mind, but I immediately brushed it off.
Reminding myself why I had gotten into this in the first place-mother, I picked up my phone to call Denise, but before I could, Lucien stormed into the living room with an unreadable expression.
We hadn't said a word to each other since last night, and honestly, I didn't care. If he wanted us to go about minding our own business, then I'd do that too. But clearly, he had other plans.
He walked and stood in front of me while I tried my best to ignore him. But the scent of his perfume filled my nose like a rude intrusion.
What's his problem? I wondered, eyes glued to my laptop screen.
Without warning, he closed the laptop, grabbing it away from me with the speed of light.
"Hey!" I opened my mouth to protest, but the darkened expression on his face made my voice trail off.
He was angry, and it didn't hide.
Quietly, he held up his phone, flashing the screen in my face.
"Is there something you think I should know?" he demanded, voice low and cold.
I almost didn't understand, until I read the screen.
It was a photo of David and me on the rooftop last night, captured at the worst possible angle, in the most scandalous way.
And the caption. God, the caption made it sound even worse.
Celeste Ashford spotted in an intimate moment with David Hayes on a rooftop.
My stomach dropped. Someone must have followed us. Someone had been watching.
I grinned, finally working the courage to meet his eyes. "Do you really believe that? Or are you jealous?" My words were as sharp as I had intended.
His jaw clenched further, eyebrows knitted in frustration. Somehow, it felt like my turn to shine. Since he kept acting smug, I was simply returning the energy.
He scoffed, running his lengthy fingers through his hair like he knew it made him look perfect. "Are you even listening to yourself, Celeste? You think this is funny. I have an image to protect," he spat. How selfish of him.
"And I don't have one?" I blurted without thinking. He was starting to get on my nerves.
"Doesn't seem like it, maybe it's time you started acting like a wife. How about that?" he said, already walking off.
I rose to my feet, eyes wide with disbelief. "Acting like a wife?" I repeated, my chest tight with fury. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" I spat. One moment, I was walking toward him and raging, and the next I was shoving my hands against his hard chest.
"Maybe you should try acting like a husband!" Another shove. "We've been married for over a week now, and not once have we shared a bed!" Another. "You keep me here like I'm some trophy you just want to fuck!" And another until I realized he didn't even budge.
How frustrating.
With a deadpan expression, he looked down at me. "Are you done, Celeste?"
I wanted to scream, to rip his infuriatingly handsome face off his head, but that would be murder. "No, I'm not done, Lucien. I'd like to know why we're still in this penthouse. Clearly your boss fired you. I doubt he'd be so generous as to let you keep staying here for nothing. How's that for acting like a wife?" I tilted my head, sneering.
For the briefest moment, his expression faltered. Finally, I had him. But then, it vanished, as though it had never been there.
"I lied," he admitted. "I own the penthouse."
My eyes widened. "But you lost your job."
"I'm a Blackwell," he retorted flatly.
"So you just lied to my face?"
"I didn't trust you. Even now, I don't. You asked me to marry you out of nowhere, Celeste."
Deep down, his words stung, but I was already too angry to be in my feelings.
"We're back to this again?" I snapped. "Lucien, you could have easily said no. Why are you being such a jerk right now? You know what? I'm done!" I snatched the laptop out of his hands and stormed toward my handbag. I was supposed to leave later, but I couldn't stand him another second.
As I headed out, he followed, car keys in hand.
"What are you doing?" I glared at him.
"Driving you to wherever you're going."
"I'm going to my cake shop. I can easily find my way on my own."
"I know. I'm still driving you." He walked past me, opened the door.
I stared at him, then at the door. "You hate cookies, you nearly ruined the entire kitchen last time I baked them."
"I wasn't wrecking your cookies. I was wrecking the memory. There's a difference. And memories don't keep me out of a room."
There was a resolve in his eyes I couldn't fight, so I agreed. Once we got into his car, I put my earpods in, refusing to engage. Maybe he'd give up.
But to my greatest surprise, he didn't. He got us there without asking for directions.
I pulled my earpods out. "Do you want me to park at the back or the front?"
I couldn't even answer. He drove straight to the back and parked neatly. I sat there, shocked, annoyed, maybe even impressed, until he came around and opened the door for me.
The paparazzi missed this one, I thought grimly as I hurried inside.
Just then, Denise came out, looking upset. "Denise, did you get the breakdown email I sent you?" I asked anyway,
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you like David? Are you seeing him?"
"What?" I was perplexed. "No. Not you too. This is all just a big misunderstanding."
But she wasn't listening anymore. Her gaze shot past me, wide with something I couldn't place, until I turned and saw Lucien.
He gave a slight wave, and my stomach dropped. What was he doing in here? Wasn't he just supposed to drop me off?
"I thought you left," I muttered.
He shrugged. "Since I'm unemployed, I figured I'd help out today."
Denise squealed, actually squealed, and then nudged me hard. "Are you going to introduce us?"
I scoffed, instantly regretting why I'd ever let her get this informal with me.
He introduced himself as my husband, and it honestly felt right. I watched as he reached out his hand to Denise, whose face lit up right away.
"I'm Denise," she said quickly, almost bouncing in place. "Her assistant and only friend."
I sighed. "Okay, that's enough. Don't we have customers to attend to?" I pushed her gently toward the café floor.
He followed behind us. "I want to help," he repeated.
I stared at him in my head. Help? How exactly did he plan to help dressed like that? Wristwatch gleaming, pressed pants, and a polo that screamed old money, he looked like he belonged at a yacht club, not a café.
Denise didn't blink. She stopped, grabbed an apron, and handed it to him. "Perfect. You can start with this." Then she turned to me. "You, go relax in your office."
The entire day, Lucien helped out. When the supply truck came, he carried boxes like he had done it a hundred times before. Every time I peeked out of my office, there he was, moving smoothly through the café, all confidence and charm.
And the women noticed.
By mid-afternoon, the place was packed. It was as if one girl had texted another, and then another, until half the city showed up. The café buzzed with chatter, and every single pair of eyes seemed locked on him. While Denise was working herself to the bone behind the counter.
"And you told me to stay in my office," I muttered as I stepped out.
"Well, now would be a good time to help, Celeste," she shot back breathlessly as she poured another latte.
Lucien was smiling, actually smiling, as he handed out cups and exchanged easy words with the customers. It was so out of character that I almost didn't recognize him. Phones flashed. Some women leaned in too close. I even overheard one whisper that the paparazzi had paid her to get a few clear shots.
That was enough.
I marched over to him. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be serving, not flirting."
He turned toward me, calm as ever. "Are you jealous?"
I smirked. "Touché. You're fired."
He leaned in before I could move away, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead. My breath caught. "That makes two jobs," he said, his voice low enough for only me to hear. "I'll see you at home, boss."
The girls around us gasped and squealed, some clapping their hands to their mouths. I froze, heat flooding my cheeks, but when I turned, he was already speaking casually to Denise as he untied the apron. A moment later, he handed it to her and walked out like nothing had happened.
I stood there, rooted in place, while the café erupted in whispers.
That evening, after closing, Denise flopped into a chair with a grin stretching from ear to ear. "We haven't had this much sales since the time everyone found out you were the Ashford heiress," she said.
I let out a small sigh. "Well, I fired him and that's that."
Denise grinned. "So, you were jealous."
I ignored her, quickly changing the topic. "That doesn't matter. I've arranged for you to meet David tomorrow to discuss the costs and contracts."
"That reminds me, Legacy magazine called. They want you to be the cover for next month."
I froze. "What? You're serious?"
She nodded eagerly. "Of course. The interview and shoot are scheduled for the day after tomorrow. We'll let Matteo run the shop, and for once I can finally play the role of proper assistant." She grinned, buzzing with excitement.
Before I could respond, my phone beeped with a new message. No name. Just a number I didn't recognize.
So you really believe what the Ashfords say about your mother being dead?