The Bunny and the Billionaire Read online

  They weren’t even thinking about reservations, or the fact that the restaurant might be fully booked.

  Ben sighed. “You were planning to just turn up and commandeer a table, weren’t you?” he asked resignedly.

  Lucien raised a brow. “Commandeer? You make it sound as though we were going to evict people who were already eating,” he protested. “We will go to the restaurant, and they will give us a table if one is available.”

  Léo choked slightly—on what, Ben didn’t know. The two of them had had this discussion several times over the past two weeks and had now settled into an uneasy truce on the subject.

  “Lucien,” Ben began patiently, “have you ever gone to a restaurant and been turned away because a table wasn’t available?”

  Lucien paused and appeared to think. “Well—no, but there have been times I’ve had to wait.”

  “How long?” Ben pressed, pretty sure that the restaurants Lucien went to didn’t have benches by the door for people to wait on for an hour.

  Sure enough, Lucien shrugged. “A few minutes? Once it was as long as five. I remember because my date was most unimpressed by the service.” Malik visibly winced. Ben guessed Léo had discussed Ben’s opinion on this with him.

  “Right, so occasionally you’ve had to wait as little as five minutes for a table in a top-class restaurant. Now, these restaurants, Lucien—are there ever lots of empty tables in them?”

  From the expression on Lucien’s face, he was becoming aware of Ben’s point.

  “No,” he sighed. “All right, I understand. You think other people are being turned away in our favor, even if they had reservations.”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is something you don’t approve of?”

  Ben sucked in a deep breath. He’s a product of his upbringing, he reminded himself. You like Lucien. He’s a good guy—when he’s not being all Marie Antoinette.

  Under the table, Léo reached out and took his hand. “Why don’t I call the restaurant and see if an arrangement can be made?” he suggested diplomatically, squeezing Ben’s hand. “I will make certain nobody is inconvenienced on our behalf.”

  “I’ll do it,” Malik said, pulling out his phone and standing. Use of phones was strictly forbidden in the restaurant at the club.

  Ben smiled at them both. “Thank you,” he said.

  Malik winked at him and walked away.

  “I’m sorry if I have offended you,” Lucien offered. “I never thought that maybe the tables were meant for someone else. I have just always….” He shrugged, and Ben chuckled.

  “Relax, Lucien, I’m not offended. It’s just something for you to consider in future. Maybe make sure nobody’s actual meal is being interrupted.”

  Lucien laughed. “I had not considered that, but how awful if while my date was complaining about the wait to be seated, the waiters were chasing people away from their food and resetting the table.”

  Ben winced, and Léo said, “If it helps, I’m sure the people being chased away were suitably compensated by the restaurant.”

  Thinking about it, he had to agree. “Otherwise there probably would be some really rotten reviews online.”

  Malik strolled back toward them. “Eight o’clock,” he confirmed. “They were fully booked, Ben, but I had them check the reservation book, and one of the parties was an associate of Léo’s father. I phoned him and promised him a case of excellent brandy and my cooking service to have a romantic evening in instead, along with Léo’s undying gratitude.” The last was said with a mocking smirk at Léo, who sighed.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Ben asked worriedly, and Léo smiled at him and leaned over for a kiss.

  “No. It just means the next time I am cornered at a party, I must ensure I am polite,” he assured him, then looked at Malik. “Who?”

  “Max Valverde.”

  “That’s not so bad,” Léo told Ben, who was pretty sure Léo was incapable of being rude at a party anyway. “All right, then. Dinner at eight.”

  EARLY in the afternoon, Léo ensconced himself in the room he used as an office, and Ben flopped down on the couch to call Dani. She’d had a lunch date that day, and he was eager to hear all the details.

  “Don’t bother getting excited, it was a complete waste of time” was how she answered the phone, and Ben made a face.

  “Nooo! You were so looking forward to it. I thought you said he was great?”

  “Apparently he’s only great in five-minute increments. This is the last time I go on a date with someone I meet at my daily coffee stop. I’ve never been so bored in my life.”

  Ben sighed. “Oh well. At least that’s one more frog off the list. Your prince has gotta turn up soon, right?”

  Dani laughed, and when she spoke again she sounded a lot lighter. “Yeah, I’ll find him eventually. So, what’s up with you? You were having brunch this morning, right?”

  “Yep, with Malik and Lucien. It was good. They’re a lot of fun. I think you’d really like them. And we’re going out for dinner tonight.”

  “Anywhere special?” Dani’s interest was definitely caught. One of her favorite pastimes lately seemed to be looking up the places Léo took Ben and then telling Ben all about them, including which famous people were known to frequent them.

  “A restaurant at the Hotel de Paris, Louis something. It’s one of Léo’s favorites, apparently, and supposed to be a big deal.” There was a moment’s silence, presumably while Dani did a Google search—since he couldn’t hear the clack of a keyboard, he guessed she was using her tablet—then a low whistle.

  “Three Michelin stars? Wow. And you should see the pictures of this place. Super fancy.”

  “I’m not looking,” he told her. “I want to experience it for the first time tonight.”

  “Mmm,” she said absently. “What are you going to wear?”

  He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Not sure yet. Pants and one of those shirts you made me buy?” He was aware of the edge of resentment in his voice. Once his stay in Monaco had extended, Dani had insisted he go shopping again for more clothes. He was loath to admit that she’d been right, that he’d needed everything she’d made him buy, what with his new social life—and he probably needed more.

  “Ben, this place is pretty fancy. They don’t set an exact dress code on the website, but it says, and I quote, ‘Jacket recommended during the winter and appreciated during the summer.’ Maybe check with Léo and see what he’s wearing.”

  Ben huffed and let his head fall back against the couch. “I hate clothes,” he muttered.

  Dani made a sympathetic noise. “But you like the boat shoes, right?”

  “I did not say that,” he said, getting up to ask Léo what he should wear, as though he were five years old and needed his mum’s help choosing an outfit. “I said they were surprisingly comfortable.”

  “And that you haven’t bothered to buy another pair of runners,” Dani reminded him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Nobody wears runners here unless they’re playing tennis or something,” he complained. “Can you picture me on a tennis court?”

  She laughed. “Picturing it now!”

  Ben ignored her, lowering the hand holding the phone as he knocked lightly on Léo’s open office door with the other. His handsome lover looked up and smiled, and there was a corresponding melty feeling in Ben’s stomach.

  “Hey,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt, but Dani and I were just wondering what the dress code is for dinner tonight.”

  “Hello, Dani,” Léo said, and Ben lifted the phone back to his ear.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes,” Dani said. “Say hi back.”

  “She says hello,” Ben relayed, feeling slightly ridiculous. “Dress code?”

  Léo shrugged. “I will wear a suit,” he replied. “I imagine Malik and Lucien will also.”

  Ben’s heart sank. “A suit,” he repeated. “But on the website they say a jacket is opt
ional.”

  Léo paused, and Ben got the feeling he was choosing his next words carefully. “They will not turn you away if you do not have a jacket in the summer,” he said finally. “But they… do not look kindly on it.”

  Against his ear, Dani said, “In other words, they’ll look down on you and maybe treat you like shit. Benji, we’re going suit shopping.”

  “I wish you’d stop calling me that,” he said weakly, hating the very thought of buying a suit, and then when Léo raised an eyebrow, he added, “Dani.”

  “Ask Léo where’s the best place to get a suit at short notice,” she urged, and thinking of how he didn’t even recognize the labels on some of Léo’s clothes, Ben shut that down quickly.

  “Thanks, Léo. Dani and I are going to go shopping, I’ll be back soon.”

  Léo’s smirk told Ben he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Do you want me to come?”

  “Yes!” Dani exclaimed.

  Ben backed into the corridor. “Uh, no, that’s cool.”

  Léo chuckled and hit a few keys on his computer before getting up. “Come on, Ben. I know just where we should go.”

  Dani cheered, and Ben knew Léo had heard because his smile widened. “You’ll need your shoes,” he said.

  Ben looked down at his feet. “I’m wearing shoes,” he pointed out. The boat shoes, in fact, which he was getting way too attached to.

  “No,” Léo said. “You need the shoes you will wear with the suit. They will need to make sure your trousers are the correct length.”

  “Yeah, Ben. I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” Dani jeered.

  Ben kept his mouth shut and went to get his dress shoes from Léo’s bedroom. He briefly considered changing into them, but they’d look dumb with what he was wearing, so he just carried them instead.

  He let himself be led out of the apartment and to the car, Dani chattering in his ear the whole time, warning him not to let anyone dress him in brown, because it was not his color.

  A brown suit? Do people even wear those anymore? He paused to consider it carefully and realized that he had actually seen a few men wearing brown suits, but the brown wasn’t… brown. It was like milk chocolate, or espresso, or—

  “You’re quiet,” Léo commented, and Ben realized he was parking the car. Wow, he’d really tuned out. Although, Dani was still burbling away about something, so maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

  “Uh, just distracted,” he said, trying not to sound like he was on his way to his own execution.

  “Distracted by what?” Dani asked.

  “Do I really need you here if I’ve got Léo with me?” Ben asked.

  Léo chuckled, and Dani squawked.

  “Don’t you even think of hanging up on me, Benji!” she scolded. “I will call you back and keep calling until the very sound of a ringing phone makes you break out in a sweat.”

  “Don’t call me Benji,” he said. “And I already break out in a sweat when I see your name on the display.” He saw Léo mouthing Benji and closed his eyes for a moment. Please let this not become a thing.

  “Come,” Léo said, and got out of the car. Ben followed suit and trailed Léo out of the parking garage. Street parking in Monaco was rarely possible, he’d learned, but resident parking was more readily available than it was for tourists.

  Soon they stood on the footpath in front of an unassuming shopfront. Well, unassuming for Monaco. There were two male mannequins in the window, both dressed in suits that even to Ben looked expensive. Until he’d come to Europe and begun staying in classy hotels, he’d always thought a suit was a suit, but once he’d seen the suits rich people wore, the way they fit and the sheen of the fabric, he’d realized there was in fact a difference. He just wasn’t sure it was a difference he cared about.

  He hadn’t seen Léo in an actual suit yet, but his pants and jackets were the nicest Ben had ever seen.

  He gulped, then realized that Léo was watching him and Dani had gone quiet.

  “Benji?” Léo asked, and Ben scowled.

  “She only calls me that to be annoying. My name isn’t even Benjamin.”

  Dani huffed a laugh in his ear.

  “What is your name, then?” Léo looked genuinely curious, and Ben took hope that the whole “Benji” thing wasn’t going to catch on.

  “Benedict. Benedict Andrew Adams.”

  “Benedict,” Léo repeated, and the sound of his name on Léo’s lips did things to Ben that he wasn’t sure were appropriate for a public street. “Well, Benedict, let us get you a suit.”

  As they moved toward the shop door, Dani said, “You know, I never realized, but your initials spell baa.” She made a sheep sound, and Ben swore to himself that in his next life, his best friend was going to be a sweet, docile sort who baked cookies and listened to his troubles without offering cheeky commentary.

  Sure. That’s going to happen.

  They stopped at the glass door, and Léo pressed a buzzer set discreetly on the wall. The young man sitting at what looked like an antique writing desk looked up and immediately stood, smiling. He hurried over and unlocked the door, flung it open, and gestured them inside.

  “Monsieur Artois,” he greeted warmly, and then rattled something off in French that sounded welcoming and enthusiastic, but made no sense to Ben.

  Maybe I should learn French.

  Am I going to be here long enough for it to matter? After all, French isn’t going to be much use to me in Italy, is it?

  That thought was vaguely depressing for some reason, so he pushed it aside and refocused in time to hear Léo say, “In English, please, Martin. Ben does not speak French.”

  The man turned to Ben. “My apologies, monsieur. I am Martin, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Ben Adams,” Ben muttered, thrown a little off by the way Martin scanned him from top to bottom, as though he were mentally sizing Ben for a suit. And speaking of suits… where were they? The store was fitted out like an elegant living room, with the aforementioned desk, a pair of sofas facing each other with a coffee table in between, a few armchairs scattered around, a drinks cart, and an assortment of sideboards and end tables. Toward the rear was a set of ornate double doors. The only indication that clothes were sold here were the mannequins in the window.

  He had a feeling this suit was going to be an “investment.”

  “What may I assist you with today, gentlemen?” Martin asked.

  “We are dining at Le Louis XV this evening,” Léo said, “and Ben requires a suit.”

  “Of course.” Martin smiled. “Do you have any preference for color or style, monsieur?”

  “Er… not brown?” Ben said. In his ear, Dani laughed, and he realized that Martin had not reacted in any way to the fact that Ben was holding his mobile to his ear. “Excuse me,” he said, and turned away to hiss at Dani, “I’m hanging up now. Léo will make sure I buy the right thing, but honestly, Dani, if you could see this place, you wouldn’t worry. I don’t think they sell the ‘wrong’ thing here.”

  “Fine,” Dani said. “I’ll leave you in Léo’s and Martin’s hands, but I want pictures later.”

  “Sure, whatever,” Ben promised, aware that she’d hold him to that but willing to do anything to make this experience at least a tiny bit less like a sitcom. He bid Dani a hasty goodbye and disconnected to the sound of her laughter. “Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Léo and Martin. Léo was smiling openly, but Martin’s amusement was visible only in the twinkle in his eye.

  “I will fetch Monsieur Carrere,” he announced, and hurried over to and through the double doors.

  “Why is he fetching Monsieur Carrere?” Ben asked Léo, and then felt like an idiot for actually using the word “fetch.” Although, come to think of it, it was a perfectly good word, and had a pretty good sound to it. Fetch. Fetch. Feeeeeeetch.

  “Because Monsieur Carrere is the couturier,” Léo answered.

  Ben tipped his head. “Couturier?” He was pretty sure that had someth
ing to do with clothes—couture fashion, right?—but he didn’t think he’d ever heard the word actually used before.

  “The owner of the establishment, designer, and Master Tailor. He has done design work for Caraceni and Anderson & Sheppard, but prefers to keep his customer base small and work with them personally.”

  Ben swallowed hard. He didn’t recognize those designers, which meant either they were completely unknown—not likely, given the way Léo had rattled off the names—or they were way out of his comfort zone.

  He forced a smile and nodded, and Léo laughed. “It will be fine. You’ll see.”

  The double doors opened and Martin came back out, accompanied by a graying middle-aged man who could only be described as distinguished. His hair was faultlessly tidy, his wire-rimmed glasses effortlessly classy, and his suit was… well, it was clearly designed and made just for him.

  “Monsieur Artois, so nice to see you again,” he said in barely accented English, which meant Martin had obviously given him a rundown. “And Monsieur Adams, a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you,” Ben said bravely, keeping his smile pasted on his face.

  Léo stepped forward and shook the tailor/designer/couturier’s hand. “Monsieur Carrere, it is always a pleasure,” he said smoothly. “We are in dire need of your assistance. Tonight we dine at Le Louis XV, and Ben does not have a suit with him.”

  Monsieur Carrere ran a professional gaze over Ben, and he couldn’t help wondering if the man could guess that the single suit he had at home, bought for Mrs. K.’s funeral, was probably not up to the standards of the men in the room.

  “It is not ideal,” Monsieur Carrere said. “A suit should be designed and tailored for the wearer, but there is no time for that. I have some I use for display that may be acceptable, and we will of course tailor them for you now, but….” He sniffed, as if having to custom tailor an existing suit was on par with having to serve leftover scrambled eggs at a dinner for royalty.

  “Anything you can provide, even in such inopportune circumstances, would be better than an off-the-rack option elsewhere,” Léo said, and Monsieur Carrere shuddered.