The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 67

Aveline

After the two Blackwell men finally disappeared from my office, I felt like I could breathe again. The tension that had been coiled in my shoulders all morning slowly began to unwind.

Colin appeared in my doorway moments later, his expression filled with genuine concern.

"Aveline, is everything alright?" he asked, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. "I saw Mr. Blackwell storm out looking rather... intense. And his grandfather seemed quite amused about something. Did they give you any trouble?"

I managed a reassuring smile, touched by his worry. "Nothing I couldn't handle. Just some family dynamics that got a bit complicated."

"Are you sure? Because if anyone's making your job here difficult, you know you can always—"

"Colin," I interrupted gently, "I really appreciate your concern, but I promise I can take care of myself. Some battles you just have to fight on your own."

He nodded, though he still looked unconvinced. "Well, if you need backup, you know where to find me."

The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully, and I was just starting to think about heading home when my phone rang. The caller ID made me smile for the first time all day.

"Laurent Dubois, you gorgeous bastard!" I answered, switching immediately to French. "What are you doing calling me in the middle of a workday?"

"Ah, ma chérie!" came the familiar warm voice of my business partner and oldest friend. "I'm in New York! Just landed an hour ago for that exhibition next week, and I thought—why wait? Let's catch up properly. Are you free tonight for drinks?"

I laughed, settling back in my chair. "You just flew halfway across the world and you want to go out drinking? Laurent, aren't you exhausted? I'm not taking responsibility if you pass out in your martini."

"If I die of alcohol poisoning," he said with obvious amusement, "you inherit my half of the business. You'd actually profit from my death."

"Don't tempt me," I shot back. "I've been carrying your lazy ass for months while you've been gallivanting around Europe."

"Excuse me? Who designed the Monastery collection that's been flying off the shelves?"

"Fine, fine, you win this round." I glanced at my watch. "Where did you have in mind? And please don't tell me you want to go to some tourist trap."

"Please, you wound me. I've done my research—there's this exclusive place called Onyx. Very private, very sophisticated. Perfect for two successful entrepreneurs to celebrate their empire."

"Empire?" I snorted. "Laurent, we make jewelry, not weapons."

"Beautiful, expensive jewelry that makes rich people even more insufferably pretentious. Close enough to world domination for me."

Despite myself, I was grinning. Laurent had always had this effect on me—his irreverent humor and genuine friendship were exactly what I needed after the emotional roller coaster of dealing with the Blackwell family.

"Alright, you've convinced me. Seven o'clock?"

"Perfect. I'll be the devastatingly handsome Frenchman drinking whiskey and breaking hearts."

"You're half-American, you pretentious ass."

"Details, ma chérie. Details."

By the time I got home, I was actually looking forward to the evening. It had been months since I'd had a chance to just relax and enjoy myself without worrying about family drama or complicated men with psychological issues.

I selected a sleek black dress that hugged my curves in all the right places—sophisticated but with just enough edge to remind people I wasn't someone to be underestimated. After months of conservative teacher attire, it felt good to dress like the successful businesswoman I actually was.

The taxi ride to Onyx took longer than expected due to traffic, and Laurent kept texting increasingly dramatic updates about his growing impatience.

*"I'm wasting away here! The bartender is starting to pity me!"*

*"I've ordered you a drink. If you don't get here soon, I'm drinking it myself!"*

*"Aveline! Where are you? I'm starting to flirt with the waitress out of boredom!"*

I was laughing at his messages when the taxi finally pulled up to a sleek building with understated elegance. The kind of place that didn't need flashy signs because only the right people knew it existed.

But when I approached the entrance, a burly security guard stepped into my path.

"Excuse me, miss. This is a private establishment. Do you have a reservation or membership?"

I watched as a group of well-dressed men walked past me and were immediately waved through without question.

"Wait a minute," I said, irritation flaring. "They just walked in without showing anything. What's the difference?"

The guard looked me up and down with obvious dismissal. "They're established clients. Regular members. Do you have a reservation?"

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the evening air.

"Hey there, gorgeous! No need to worry about reservations—she's with me!"

I turned to see Dwayne Blackwell strutting out of the club with that same predatory swagger I remembered from the birthday party. Tonight he was wearing what looked like a designer suit with ostentatious gold accessories that screamed new money trying too hard.