CHAPTER 1
The hundred-dollar bill landed directly in front of Amara Lewis’s shoes.
Richard Cole smiled as though he had just done something clever.
Around him, the private dining room of Bellamy House went quiet.
Not completely.
Silverware still touched porcelain in the main restaurant beyond the glass partition.
Wine still poured.
A pianist continued playing softly near the bar.
But at Table Twelve—the restaurant’s most expensive table—every conversation stopped.
Amara looked down at the money.
One hundred dollars.
Crisp.
Folded once.
Richard had not handed it to her.
He had thrown it.
Like a man tossing something to someone he expected to bend down and retrieve it.
Amara slowly raised her eyes.
Richard leaned back in his chair.
Fifty years old.
Heavyset.
Neatly combed brown hair.
Charcoal suit.
Burgundy tie.
Luxury watch.
A man accustomed to expensive rooms behaving as though they belonged to him.
Beside him sat Étienne Laurent.
Fifty-eight.
Silver hair.
Navy suit.
French.
Elegant without trying.
Unlike Richard, Laurent was not smiling.
He had been quietly reviewing a thick bilingual contract for the past twenty minutes.
Richard tapped the table.
“Well?”
Amara maintained the professional smile she had been wearing all evening.
“Sir?”
Richard pointed at the hundred-dollar bill.
“Pick it up.”
Amara looked at it again.
Then back at him.
Richard chuckled.
“That’s more than someone like you earns all night.”
Laurent’s eyes shifted toward Richard.
Amara’s smile remained.
But something behind it changed.
“What can I help you with, sir?”
Richard pulled the contract toward himself.
Its pages were printed in English and French, with the French version placed on the right side.
He turned to a marked paragraph near the signature page.
Then pushed the document across the table.
“Actually…”
His grin widened.
“I have a better use for you.”
Amara looked down at the contract.
Richard tapped one clause.
“Translate this.”
She did not move.
Richard gestured toward the bill at her feet.
“Translate it correctly, country girl, and you can keep that.”
Laurent frowned.
“Richard.”
Richard waved him off.
“Oh, relax, Étienne.”
He looked Amara up and down.
“She’s been standing here pretending not to listen for twenty minutes.”
Amara’s voice stayed calm.
“I haven’t been pretending anything, sir.”
Richard laughed.
“Good.”
He pushed the contract closer.
“Then impress us.”
Amara looked at Laurent.
He seemed embarrassed now.
“Miss, you do not have to—”
“If that is your request, sir,” Amara said.
She placed the leather menu she had been holding beside the wine bucket.
Then pulled the contract closer.
Richard sat back.
He expected a joke.
Maybe hesitation.
Maybe Amara stumbling through a few French words before everyone at the table laughed.
Instead, she began reading.
Silently.
Line by line.
Richard’s smile remained for the first few seconds.
Then Amara stopped.
Her eyes returned to one sentence.
She read it again.
Then once more.
Richard noticed.
“What?”
Amara said nothing.
She turned the page toward Laurent.
Pointed to a single word.
“Mr. Laurent.”
He leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Amara tapped the clause.
“It doesn’t say partnership.”