The announcement came without warning on Tuesday morning. Lucien delivered it with the same casual authority he used for everything else in his life.
"We're flying to Paris tomorrow," he said, not looking up from the contract he was reviewing. "The Dubois Industries merger requires in-person negotiations."
Ava lifted her eyes from her laptop, where she'd been organizing his domestic travel schedule for the coming week. "We?"
"You'll be accompanying me. Pack for four days. Business attire only."
The assumption that she would drop everything and cross the Atlantic with him made her jaw tighten. It had been two days since their clash about Alexander Vance—two days of polite distance that had done nothing to cool the tension simmering between them.
"Mr. Drake, I don't have a passport ready for international travel—"
"Already handled. Your expedited passport will arrive this afternoon, along with luggage and clothing selections."
Of course it would. In Lucien Drake's world, problems like government documents disappeared with enough money and influence. The fact that he had made all the arrangements without asking her only underlined how little control she had over her own life.
"What about my mother? I visit her every Tuesday and Thursday—"
"I've arranged for a private nurse to spend extra time with her while we're away. She'll be well cared for."
He had anticipated every possible objection and swept them aside with efficiency. It should have reassured her. Instead, it felt like another thread in the web he wove around her—a reminder of how easily he could shape every part of her existence.
"When do we leave?" she asked. Resistance was pointless.
"Tomorrow at seven AM. James will pick you up at six."
The next morning, Ava sat in the back of the Town Car, clutching a Louis Vuitton carry-on that had appeared in her apartment the night before. The suitcase came with an entire wardrobe of business attire, each piece tailored to fit perfectly. She guessed the cost could rival her annual rent.
Teterboro Airport felt like another world compared to the chaos of commercial flights. The private jet terminal was calm, elegant, exclusive—a space designed for those who saw air travel as an extension of their office rather than a burden. Ava had never flown private before. Truthfully, she had barely flown at all, except for one disastrous family vacation when she was twelve.
The jet waiting for them stunned her. A Gulfstream G650, more like a luxury hotel suite than an aircraft. Cream-colored leather seats, polished wood paneling, and space enough for a board meeting at thirty thousand feet. Even after months of working in Lucien's orbit, the display of wealth left her breathless.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Lucien appeared at her side, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most cars. "Range of seven thousand nautical miles. Top speed, Mach 0.925. We'll be in Paris in seven hours."
"It's beautiful," Ava admitted, trying not to gape at the gleaming surfaces and crystal glassware.
"Make yourself comfortable. We'll work during the flight."
The cabin attendant—a polished woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine—guided Ava to her seat and explained the safety features with practiced ease. As the jet prepared for takeoff, Ava gripped the armrests despite the luxurious setting.
"Nervous flyer?" Lucien asked, already opening his laptop across the aisle.
"I don't fly much," she admitted. "Actually, almost never."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or the realization that this was another experience she'd never known before entering his world. "You'll be fine. This aircraft is safer than driving to the grocery store."
As the jet accelerated, Ava tried to focus on the documents he'd handed her—briefing papers on Dubois Industries, financial projections, negotiation strategies. But she couldn't block out his presence across from her, the trace of cologne in the air, the sound of his fingers moving with precise speed across the keyboard.
When they reached cruising altitude, the attendant served lunch on china with crystal glasses and silver utensils. The food belonged in a restaurant: seared duck breast with cherry reduction, roasted vegetables, and wine that probably cost more per bottle than Ava spent on groceries in a month.
"This is incredible," she said, sipping the Bordeaux the attendant had recommended.
"You should experience the best of everything," Lucien replied without looking up from his work. "Consider it part of your professional development."
Professional development. As if flying private jets would ever be a skill she needed after this job. The way he spoke of exposing her to luxury felt both generous and condescending.
After lunch, the attendant dimmed the lights and withdrew to the forward galley. The cabin grew quiet, the only sounds the whisper of engines and Lucien's steady typing. Ava tried to bury herself in reports, but in the confined space she couldn't escape her awareness of him.
He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms that betrayed a disciplined fitness routine. Each time he leaned forward, she caught glimpses of his profile—the clean jawline, the way his dark hair slipped across his forehead as he concentrated.
The awareness was unwelcome, but inescapable. This was exactly what she had feared: hours trapped with him in a cocoon of wealth, the lines between professionalism and something far more dangerous beginning to blur.
"The Dubois family has run their company for three generations," Lucien said suddenly, breaking the silence. "They value tradition, family loyalty, and personal ties more than profit margins."
Ava looked up from the report she hadn't been reading. "That doesn't exactly fit with your corporate style."
"It doesn't. Which is why this negotiation needs a more... nuanced approach." He closed his laptop and fixed his gaze on her. "They'll be judging not just the business terms, but me. My character, my values, my stability."
"Your stability?"
"A man in his thirties, unmarried, known for ruthless business practices—that raises doubts about reliability and long-term commitment."
Ava began to understand where this was going. She didn't like it. "And what does that have to do with me?"
"You represent stability. A beautiful, intelligent woman whose presence shows trust and importance. You suggest I'm capable of commitment, loyalty, discretion."
The clinical way he laid it out made her feel like a prop. "So I'm a professional girlfriend for the weekend?"
"You're my executive assistant accompanying me to crucial meetings. What the Dubois family chooses to assume about our relationship is their concern."
It was no distinction at all. He wanted to use her to project personal stability, knowing the French businessmen would see romance in it. Manipulative. Calculated. So very Lucien Drake.
"And if they ask about us directly?"
"You'll handle it as you always do—with diplomacy. Don't confirm, don't deny, but don't correct them either."
Before she could answer, the aircraft jolted with turbulence. Her stomach lurched as glasses rattled in their holders. She gasped and reached instinctively for Lucien's arm, gripping hard.
"It's only turbulence," he said calmly. "Nothing to fear."
But instead of pulling her hand away, he covered it with his own. His palm was warm, steady, protective. The gesture belonged to a different man entirely—not the calculating strategist who had just explained how he meant to use her, but someone softer, more human.
"I won't let you fall," he said quietly. His dark eyes held hers, and the words carried weight beyond aviation safety. A promise—or maybe a warning. With Lucien, the line was thin.
The turbulence faded, leaving silence and stillness in its place. Ava realized her hand was still resting on his arm, his covering hers. The contact burned like fire up her arm, into her chest.
She should pull away. She should remind herself of who he was—the man who had threatened her mother's care to secure her compliance.
But his voice echoed in her mind: I won't let you fall.
Her hand stayed. Her heart pounded. His gaze pierced through the careful defenses she'd built around herself.
Outside the window, the Atlantic stretched vast and merciless below them. Inside the jet, caught between continents and consequences, Ava felt herself falling anyway.