I Married My Father’s Creditor
"Acceptable."
"High praise coming from a man who ignores my emails," I replied smoothly, brushing past him into the elevator, my perfume filling the tiny space.
The private dining room at the Grand Regency was wrapped in low, intimate amber light. Waiting for us at the head of the dark mahogany table was Jean-Luc Moreau—a strikingly handsome European billionaire in his late thirties, possessing effortless French charm and captivating, piercing blue eyes.
The moment Jean-Luc saw me enter, he didn't just stand—he moved toward me with unhurried grace. He took my hand, leaning down to brush a lingering, warm kiss against the back of my knuckles, his blue eyes holding mine just a second too long.