The Heiress Who Refused

The first thing I saw when I came home from Boston was a dangerously attractive man sitting in my father’s office.

The second thing I noticed was the tattoos.

The third was the fact that my father, Olivier Beaumont, looked like he had just been caught doing something he absolutely did not want his daughter knowing about.

“Papa, I’m home!”

As soon as the door opened, I froze.

An attractive yet dangerous-looking man was sitting across from my father, looking smug. He looked a little older than me, maybe around twenty-five. His dark, tousled hair was in stark contrast to his pressed button-up and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up, showing tattoo sleeves on both arms, with more ink sneaking up from his collar.

My father, meanwhile, sat behind his desk in a perfectly pressed suit, his gray hair combed neatly into place.

It was the picture of respectable business.

Which meant, of course, that something was very wrong.

“Ma chérie.” Papa’s voice boomed across the room, his sudden volume doing little to hide his nervousness.

His expression showed a hint of relief at the interruption.

That was when I realized I had barged in on a business matter.

Or, more accurately, a syndicate matter.

“Azellia, I would like to introduce you to Lorenzo Moretti.” He gestured toward the other man, a forced smile plastered on his face. “Lorenzo, this is my daughter. She just flew in this morning to spend her summer break at home.”

I watched as Lorenzo slowly smiled at the introduction. However, he made no attempt to move.

“Hello,” he greeted lazily in a low, smooth baritone.

My father continued, “She is my only heir. Isn’t she beautiful?”

My smile faltered for a moment at that introduction. I recovered quickly and cut in before either of them could continue.

“Papa, I just arrived, and instead of greeting me, you ask him what he thinks of my looks?”

I pointed at Lorenzo and acted aggrieved as I stepped into the room.

“I thought we were going to the bakery.”

My voice was a playful whine as I tried to subtly break the awkward tension.

“I have been thinking about those macarons the entire plane ride. I’m dying here.”

I threw my arms around Papa’s neck and pretended to faint.

My father laughed warmly at my exaggeration.

“Please forgive me, ma chérie.”

I waited expectantly, still looking at him as though he had betrayed me.

“I just need to finish up here, and then we can go. Why don’t you freshen up, and we can leave in…” He glanced at Lorenzo. “…about thirty minutes.”

Maison de la Pâtisserie had been a Beaumont tradition for as long as I could remember. Every time I came home, Papa and I would head straight there for macarons.

We bought every flavor available, split them in half, and rated each one.

It was ridiculous.

It was also one of my favorite things about coming home.

After months of law school in Boston, I was more than ready for a little time in New Orleans.

I catalogued the encounter between the two men briefly. I decided to act ignorant of the tension and focus on the macarons.

“Okay!”

I let go of Papa’s neck and stood up.

“Let me know when you’re done. I have lots to tell you about school.”

I gave Papa a quick kiss on the head and walked toward the door.

As I passed Lorenzo, I leaned slightly toward him.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you,” I whispered, the words tickling his ear.

I straightened up, waved to both men, and walked out of the room giggling, shutting the door behind me.

As the door closed, I could hear a few words filtering through the empty hallway.

“Your praise was an understatement, Don Beaumont. It was a pleasure to finally meet her,” Lorenzo stated.

“She can seem… spoiled. But she studies hard and gets good grades. Please forgive her… spunkiness. She gets that from her late mother.” I heard him sigh. “Anyway, so about those shipments through Marseille…”

I walked to my room, contemplating the dynamics between Lorenzo and my father.

My father was the Don of the Beaumont Syndicate. Although he had tried to keep me out of his business, I was his only heir, and eventually he realized I needed to be at least semi-informed.

The only problem was, I knew more than he thought I did.

As I entered my room, a question kept nagging at the back of my head.

So, why does he seem to be bowing down to Lorenzo?

I got into the shower on autopilot, still thinking about the meeting and Lorenzo.

Who is Lorenzo to my father? He acts like he is the most important person in the room, but is too young to be a family head.

My thoughts started to shift towards his looks.

I wonder if those sleeves connect to the ink on his neck? What else does it cover?

I drifted deeper down the rabbit hole of runaway thoughts.

I wonder if his mouth is always that… arrogant.

Then, before I could stop myself, I was picturing Lorenzo pinning me against a wall with his tattooed arms bulging under his button-up and kissing me.

My face burned as I pulled myself out of the thought.

I really need to get laid.

I chuckled quietly and quickly got out of the shower. I wrapped the large bath towel around me.

A one-night stand?

I shook my head.

That would be a terrible idea. Plus, he works with my father.

I walked out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a towel and laughing at the absurdity of my train of thought. A noise in the room caused me to look up and scream.

“Get out!” I screamed, anger and embarrassment rolling off me in equal measure.

I grabbed the closest thing to me, a book, and threw it at the arrogant man standing in my room. Apparently, Lorenzo had been waiting in my room while I finished showering.

He reacted quickly, catching the book before it hit him in the face. He set it down while his eyes seemed to trace the outline of my body.

“Your father had an urgent matter to deal with. He sent me up here to take you to this bakery you demanded to go to.” His voice was calm and detached. “Did I interrupt something?” he added, raising an amused eyebrow.

I just stared at him for several long seconds.

I’m standing here in a towel, and he is talking to me as though we’re having a business meeting. What is wrong with this man?

“Out,” I demanded, my voice unwavering and cold.

He smirked.

“That attitude. Exactly like your father described.”

He paused.

“If you plan to go to the bakery, you will be going with me. Your father is currently occupied.”

His statement was presented as a fact.

To me, it sounded as if he had created the situation occupying my father.

“Are you planning on going in that? Or do you plan to change?”

The amusement was barely detectable beneath his calm request as he pointed at the towel still snugly wrapped around me. He moved to sit on the lounge in my room.

I hesitated for a moment before realizing there was only one way I might win whatever battle we were in. I calmed myself before my cheeks reddened at my own embarrassment.

My decision made, I stared him dead in the eyes and dropped my towel.

The moment it fell, I heard a sharp intake of breath.

His body went rigid, his jaw tightening.

I turned and sauntered into my closet, acutely aware of his eyes tracking my every move.

When my outfit was in my hands, I turned back to face him, locking my eyes on his.

I stepped into my dress and pulled it over my hips. I slipped my arms through the straps, one at a time, then drew the dress up over my breasts.

“Could you be a dear and help me with the zipper?”

I turned away from him, breaking eye contact. The zipper was open, leaving my back exposed.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him swallow and steel his expression before he stood and closed the gap in three steps.

Silently, he pulled up the zipper, his hand lingering at the nape of my neck, where the zipper ended, for a moment longer than necessary.

I faced him and looked up.

We were standing close enough that I could smell his cologne. Smoky oak.

“Did you enjoy the show?” I whispered seductively.

I laughed as I walked around him and headed toward the door.

I stopped and glanced back.

“Are you coming?” I said over my shoulder, my voice back to its usual playful tone.

Before I could open the door fully, he moved silently, standing right behind me. His hand shot out around me, stopping the door from opening.

“That was… unexpected.” His breath tickled my neck. “Be careful playing with fire, Azellia. Next time, you will be begging me to watch.”

He pulled his hand from the door and took a step back.

I could still feel the heat of his breath on my neck.

Not letting him have the last word, my impulse control disappeared. I spun around, facing him. An innocent smile was plastered on my face.

“Oh? So, if I were to…” My voice was coated in innocent naivety as I started to unzip the back of my dress.

For a second, the only sound that could be heard was the dress unzipping.

Lorenzo’s hand snaked around me and stopped my hand from moving down any further.

“Do not test my restraint, Azellia.”

His forehead hovered just above mine

“If you continue to unzip that dress, principessa, we will not be making it to that bakery… or out of this house.”