Page 34 of Blue Gold

Claudia let out a deep sigh. “I hate it when you turn into your father.”

I lowered the newspaper to glare at her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re acting like a pompous asshole.” With that, she turned around and walked over to where Maya was playing. Picking her up into her arms, Claudia glanced at me over her shoulder. “Join us for breakfast after you’re out of this mood of yours.”

If only it were that easy.

The second she and Maya were out of my sight, I clenched the damn newspaper in my fist and tossed it to the table.

“Shit,” I hissed, absolutely pissed at the situation I’d walked myself into. Between Elliot calling me a little man and Claudia comparing me to Father, I truly wasn’t in a position to defend my behavior. I was acting like a dick, all because I couldn’t handle my emotions. Unnecessary emotions that were getting the better of me the longer he was here.

The thought of apologizing to Elliot occurred to me around noon. But it was only between golfing and swimming that I fully came to terms with the idea. After all, Elliot had a point. When he’d claimed I was the one acting weird around him, he was right. So far, besides his occasional acts for attention, he’d done his job, while I behaved like a child and chose to give him the cold shoulder. Not only that, but I’d also misbehaved earlier today with Claudia’s tennis instructor. I mean, it wasn’t Elliot’s fault every fool with a pair of eyes glanced his way. Myself included.

So, with Claudia and Maya out to ride ponies, it was just me and Elliot at home. Given the hour, I assumed he was in the staff kitchen, preparing dinner. Still in my golfing clothes—an off-white polo shirt and beige trousers—I went over there.

Just as I predicted, Elliot was in the kitchen, surrounded by various fruits, meats, fish, and vegetables. On the stoves were pots and pans, and he moved with ease between them all, stirring, mixing, cutting, almost as if dancing.

Since he had yet to notice me, I cleared my throat to catch his attention. Elliot glanced up from the dough he was kneading, only to look back down once he saw me.

Pushing the feeling of rejection away, I allowed myself into the kitchen.

“What are you cooking?” I asked, in French, of course.

“Dinner.”

I chuckled. “I know you’re making dinner… I mean, what’s on the menu?”

Instead of speaking, Elliot cocked his head in the direction of the wall, where a small erasable board was hung. On it, in his handwriting, was tonight’s menu. Although little did he know, I couldn’t care less about the food and only asked this to start a conversation. A conversation he clearly didn’t want any part of. My stomach turned at having this tension between us, and after taking a deep breath, I stepped closer to him.

“Do you want to go out for a walk?”

“Not possible.” He spoke in English now. “I got work.”

His sarcasm carried along with his accent, hitting me right where it hurt. Bowing my head down, I nodded. “Fair enough… I deserve this much.”

Since Elliot still wasn’t keen on talking to me, I tried a different approach and strolled toward the stoves. Bending down, I brought my face closer to one of the pots, the steam moisturizing my skin as I inhaled the pleasant scents.

“This smells delicious. What is this? Some stew, maybe⁠—”

“Fish stock to use later.”

Before I could utter another word, Elliot pushed me aside and put a lid on the pot.

“You’re interrupting me,” he hissed, back in French, while his eyes studied me from head to toe. “Maybe go back and play some more golf?”

Clearly, all he wanted me to do was piss off.

Moving aside and out of his way, I grunted. “Well, excuse me for trying to apologize.”

Dropping whatever he was doing, he turned to face me. “For what? For being an asshole since we’ve got here?”

Annoyed with his attitude, I scoffed. “Watch your mouth, Elliot.”

“Or what?” he challenged me with a raised chin. “You’ll fire me?”

Somehow, it sounded even more daring in French.

“I might.”