Read The Chocolate Thief Online
Authors: Laura Florand
The Chocolate Thief (18 page)
“I would be tired, too, if I had such a beautiful thief breaking into my
laboratoire,
” Christophe said blissfully. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.”
laboratoire,
” Christophe said blissfully. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.”
Sylvain looked as if he was seriously considering doing the other man violence. Cade had no idea what the food blogger had done to alienate him so much. It seemed to her his story about the Chocolate Thief had done damage to her—and her family, and 30,000 employees, and their suppliers and merchandisers—and no end of good to Sylvain.
The waiter reappeared with Christophe’s coffee and her apricot juice. Sylvain shook his head at the juice. “How do you get away with consuming so much sugar?”
“I tried to order milk,” Cade said defensively. “They wouldn’t sell it to me.”
Sylvain raised his eyebrows and went over to the bar. Cade saw him exchange a few casual words with the man behind it, then push two minuscule coins across the counter in exchange for a small carton of milk. He came back and set it down in front of her without a word.
When she closed her hand around it, she had a sensation strangely similar to when she closed her hand around her talisman Corey Bar—as if she held something that made her feel special, cherished.
She really had to get a grip.
He had used
tu
when he spoke to her, she realized.
Tu,
like a stamp of ownership, while Christophe had to use
vous
.
tu
when he spoke to her, she realized.
Tu,
like a stamp of ownership, while Christophe had to use
vous
.
Tu
and milk and the bitter, bitter chocolate. She smiled a little, fingering the corner of the milk carton.
and milk and the bitter, bitter chocolate. She smiled a little, fingering the corner of the milk carton.
Sylvain sat down with them without being asked, took the tall, slim cylinder of a glass that had been provided with the bottle of apricot juice, and poured the milk into it, then slid the glass into her hand. Cade stared at it, feeling once again like a cat. Which would make him—what?—her owner, if he was pouring out milk for her?
Under the small table, his leg crowded hers.
Funny how she knew so absolutely it was his and not Christophe’s. She wished she could think he was doing it on purpose. But the fact was, it was a tiny table. Where else was his leg supposed to go?
How was she supposed to feed Christophe some kind of better image of her to propagate to the media when Sylvain was there distracting her, shattering her focus? She wondered if she could hire someone to become a famous food blogger who only disseminated positive images of Corey Chocolate.
Of course she could. It was called advertising. No one bit the hand that fed them. “I’ve been thinking that Corey Chocolate should take more advantage of the advertising potential of food bloggers,” she said, with a sneaky smile. “You take advertisements on your site, don’t you?”
“That’s interesting,” Christophe said. “Mars contacted me just yesterday about that.”
Those snakes.
She could just see their smirky faces as they thought that up.
She could just see their smirky faces as they thought that up.
“But I think it would be a conflict of interest,” he said. “Honestly, I would rather just keep the advertising from small,
artisanat
places. It’s more in keeping with who I am.”
artisanat
places. It’s more in keeping with who I am.”
Cade slumped, defeated. Was there a single problem money could solve for her in this country?
A silence fell. Both men gave each other frustrated looks. But neither one seemed willing to get the other’s message and leave.
The waiter appeared with a double espresso for Sylvain. He gave it a jaundiced look, as if he would much rather have a bed than coffee right now, but he took it and drank a large swallow.
“Tu as aimé ton chocolat?”
Sylvain asked her.
Sylvain asked her.
She shivered all over, with pleasure and darkness. “It was very good,” she said slowly. “But it was very bitter.”
“Would you want another one after eating the first?”
I think I would take anything you gave me
. Her eyes held his a moment. Then she forced herself to look away. “As a customer? Perhaps one, at the right moment. But then I would want something a little sweeter.”
. Her eyes held his a moment. Then she forced herself to look away. “As a customer? Perhaps one, at the right moment. But then I would want something a little sweeter.”
“Have you created a new chocolate?” Christophe inserted with interest. “A bitter one? How fascinating. Could I try it?”
Sylvain drummed the fingers of one hand hard on the table, likely in lieu of Christophe’s head. “I’m not planning to sell it in the shop.”
Bullets bounced off Christophe’s exuberance. He lit from within. “A one-off chocolate that I would be one of the few people to try? And you said it was bitter? A bitter chocolate? Could I?”
Had he made it just for her? Cade thought. Just once, just for her?
She studied that tired face. He had just told a group of journalists she was desperate for him, a poor little rich girl of chocolate. Then gotten her milk.
What, exactly, was she supposed to think about him?
Sylvain hadn’t planned to follow her or even to say a damn word to her ever again. He had waited all night for her, and she hadn’t bothered to show. He wasn’t going to crawl after her now.
And he was tired. He had not slept all night, and only four hours the night before.
But then Christophe had scooped up her elbow as if finally catching his very own fantasy, and he had watched the man escort those slim legs in black lace and leather down the sidewalk. Fixated on those legs and the apparent lack of skirt to cover them, he had had to watch until Christophe disappeared with her into the café on the corner. He had to walk past that café to get home to his apartment and get some sleep.
And now the man was being so irrepressible that Sylvain wanted nothing so much as to sit on him. Hard. Of course, he would probably feel as if he had kicked a puppy if he yielded to the urge. “Don’t you have a blog to write or something?”
“Oh, I’ve got my laptop,” Christophe said cheerfully. “In fact, we could do a little live interview right now if you want. Built-in Webcam.”
“Are you recording me right now?” Cade asked sharply, scanning the blogger for signs of any other small camera or recorder.
Sylvain didn’t think it was the man’s style to record her without permission. But since he didn’t have the responsibility for a multibillion-dollar revenue on his shoulders, he didn’t have to be as paranoid as she did. He felt no urge to say anything in Christophe’s defense. Let her be suspicious of him. Invasive, bubbly, pseudo-journalist fantasy thief.
“No, of course not,” Christophe said, taken aback. “But if you ever want to agree to an exclusive interview on my blog, you would make me a very, very happy man.”
Why the hell should Cade Corey want to make
him
a very, very happy man?
him
a very, very happy man?
“How do you manage to make tens of billions of dollars off Corey Bars?” Sylvain asked, to change the subject from Christophe. He had looked up the Corey Chocolate revenue the night before, among the many other things he had done to try to pass the time while he waited for her. It was hard to imagine, tens of billions of dollars in responsibility. When he Googled her name, it showed up everywhere, and other than some references to donations or an appearance at a charity function, the mentions were usually in articles about company negotiations and initiatives. Working, in fact. She seemed to take her role in the Corey family very seriously. Seriously enough to get about 50,000 results from a Google search.
He had to check his own name after that, the first time in his life it had ever occurred to him to do so, and discovered that he got over 250,000. He tried hard not to be smug about that.
One wasn’t supposed to be smug about the natural order of things.
“I don’t understand,” he continued. “That would mean people would have to
buy
tens of billions a year. There are only five billion people in the world. Surely most of them realize there’s better chocolate out there.”
buy
tens of billions a year. There are only five billion people in the world. Surely most of them realize there’s better chocolate out there.”
Cade gave him a simmering look.
Good.
At least her focus was on him and not Christophe. “Well. We have a lot of subsidiaries that sell other products besides chocolate—”
Good.
At least her focus was on him and not Christophe. “Well. We have a lot of subsidiaries that sell other products besides chocolate—”
“Oh,” Sylvain said, relieved. “That explains it.”
He could see her perfect little teeth grind together. Was she getting as frustrated as he had been the night before?
Hardly, damn it.
Hardly, damn it.
“But, yes, we sell billions of them. It’s the most popular chocolate bar in the US, for one. There are millions and millions of people who eat hundreds of them a year.”
“America is a very strange country,” Christophe said, in the tones of someone repeating a commonly accepted proverb. “It couldn’t even be called chocolate here until a few years ago, when the idiotic European Union passed that law.”
“Corey Bars do
not
have any other vegetable fats in them,” Cade corrected tightly. “Only cocoa butter. They have
always
been legal chocolate in this country. And to set matters straight, we lobbied very intensively
against
the passage of that law allowing vegetable fats. If your people had let money buy something for once, other vegetable fats might still not be allowed under the label of chocolate to this day.”
not
have any other vegetable fats in them,” Cade corrected tightly. “Only cocoa butter. They have
always
been legal chocolate in this country. And to set matters straight, we lobbied very intensively
against
the passage of that law allowing vegetable fats. If your people had let money buy something for once, other vegetable fats might still not be allowed under the label of chocolate to this day.”
“Do you have one with you?” Christophe asked. “I don’t think I’ve eaten one since I was a kid.”
Cade hesitated a long moment before she reached into her purse and pulled one out.
Sylvain almost sympathized.
He
wouldn’t have liked to show off a Corey Bar. If she had shown up the night before to rob his workshop, Sylvain might have tried to distract Christophe to save her. If she had shown up the night before, he wouldn’t even be here; maybe they would both still be in a nice, cozy bed. The sheets on his were crisp and clean and smelling of laundry soap, just in case.
He
wouldn’t have liked to show off a Corey Bar. If she had shown up the night before to rob his workshop, Sylvain might have tried to distract Christophe to save her. If she had shown up the night before, he wouldn’t even be here; maybe they would both still be in a nice, cozy bed. The sheets on his were crisp and clean and smelling of laundry soap, just in case.
He remembered changing the sheets the day before, in happy hope, and decided she deserved what she got. She was making billions off the product; surely she could defend it in public.
She took a long, long swallow of her milk, the muscles in her throat working, her eyes closing as she drained her glass. Then she opened her eyes, braced her shoulders, and waited.
“I like the wrapper,” Christophe said. “I always have. Gold, brown, plain font, clear stamp of a name. It’s pretentious in its very lack of pretention. It makes no show; it is what it is, naturally. You do the same thing, Sylvain, only in a more sophisticated way.”
The man was so aggravating. Sylvain was never going to be nice to another food blogger ever again.
Cade said nothing. Her hand lay so that her fingertips still brushed the edge of the paper wrapper, like a sleeping child might keep some contact with a teddy bear, just enough to know it was there.
Experimentally, Sylvain pulled it a little out of her reach. Her fingers stretched automatically before she caught them back.
Interesting. Of all the attitudes his chocolate evoked, he was willing to bet that a child’s affection for her teddy bear was not one of them.
His mind started turning automatically, wondering what chocolate he could invent that would incite such affection, or be a nostalgic wink and a nod at chocolate loved as a child.
Christophe unwrapped the bar neatly, careful not to tear the paper or gold foil. He broke a square marked with C off the bar and bit into it.
Cade looked at Sylvain.
If he ever thought he would come to this—eating Corey Bars to compete with an annoying food blogger for a woman’s attention? He broke off the O and bit into it.
Christophe’s face screwed up. “I just don’t get it. Why do they like it so much? It’s got that sweet-sour taste to it.”
“If any of those Swiss chocolatiers had let my great-grandfather steal their secret to milk chocolate instead of having to reinvent it himself, we wouldn’t have it. And now the way we create it is our most closely guarded secret.”
“Why?” Sylvain asked, dumbfounded. “Who would want to steal it? You’ve got to have figured out how to make proper milk chocolate by now.”
It excited the hell out of him when she looked at him like that, all silk and luxury and control but her blue eyes bubbling with the desire to strangle him.
Go ahead,
he thought.
Launch yourself across that table and go for my throat. We can grapple together anytime you like.
He wondered what he could say to make her actually snap and do it.
Go ahead,
he thought.
Launch yourself across that table and go for my throat. We can grapple together anytime you like.
He wondered what he could say to make her actually snap and do it.
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