Dutch Delight - Book 2 E-Book

Chain Emily

• Herausgeber: So Romance - INT
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Aux Délices d'Amsterdam
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 227

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Tess's attempt at reconciliation will prove more difficult than expected...

Tess and Nolan have resumed their lives separately, devoting all their energy to their careers. A year passes, without any news of each other... but the past catches up with Tess when she sees Nolan on a TV show, to talk about the award he received and his Aux Delices D which are being shown across several cities, including Stockholm. Pushed by Zoé, Tess will take to the road to try to repair her mistakes and find happiness again... But dark intrigues and revealed secrets will make her dreams almost impossible...
 
Dive right into the second volume of Délices d'Amsterdam, still as addictive and full of delicious moments, twists and turns, and intense feelings...

EXTRAIT

Je m’imagine, parfois, mon grand-père marchant le sourire aux lèvres au bord de l’eau. De notre côté Ouest, j’assiste chaque matin à mon retour de la confiserie, à la plus belle vue sur la baie. Les habitants d’ici me répètent souvent la chance que j’ai de voir ce spectacle exceptionnel chaque matin. Ils ont raison. A chacune de mes marches, je m’arrête un instant, les yeux perdus dans l’horizon. Je revois les dizaines de levers et couchers de soleil auxquels j’ai pu assister en Pologne, Autriche, France, Norvège. Après plusieurs minutes de silence, à profiter de ce silence et ce spectacle de la nature, je dois avouer que rien d’autre ne me parait inégalable. Sauf, un vague souvenir, un seul, que je tente d’oublier coûte que coûte.
Pourtant chaque matin en fixant cette baie aux reflets orangés sous l’étoile solaire montante, je me souviens de son regard brillant. Je revois le coucher de soleil se refléter dans ses cheveux.
Ensuite, mon cœur se serre et je reprends ma marche comme si je n’avais rien vu.
Ce n’est pas l’endroit où nous sommes qui compte parfois. Mais le lieu où notre cœur a décidé de s’ancrer.

CE QU'EN PENSE LA CRITIQUE

À propos du tome 1 :

"Une superbe romance de noël à découvrir , un moment magique que j'ai passer avec ses personnages , j'ai vraiment hâte de lire en tout cas la suite et de replonger dans cette univers ou on est dans un cocon, l'auteur nous amène dans un univers de noël complet." - Cindy R. sur Babelio

"J'ai été séduite par ce premier tome et j'attends avec impatience le second. La fin de ce roman ne se termine pas très bien et j'ai envie de savoir ce que réserve l'autrice à nos deux protagonistes." - All over the books

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Chain has always written and in diverse styles: from fantasy stories to thrillers and, of course, romance. After the series The Intern, she returns to So Romance to put stars in our eyes as Christmas approaches.

Leseprobe

Cover

Title page

Chapter 1

Tess

The festive tune coming from the little white Santa brightens up the party organized by the committee within a few hours. What a crazy idea to leave right during the end-of-year contracts… at least, that’s what Bill has been repeating to me since this morning. As for me, I have to admit that I particularly enjoy this time of year, and being able to savor it from the very first days of retirement? I wouldn’t mind.

Except the face staring back at me in the mirror shows I’m far, very far from retirement.

“Admiring yourself? ” Henri teases, eyeing me from head to toe.

His knowing look makes me roll my eyes. My long, form-fitting dress in a bright red seems to have caught his attention. I resist the urge to snap at him. After all, I didn’t have to let Zoé pick my outfit for this little company party. Nicolas, the star of the evening, is busy kissing our lovely accountant, soon-to-be a happy retiree.

“Right after the holidays, I’ll let you go, ” Bill says, offering her a warm wink.

Jade giggles before accepting the hors d’œuvres Nicolas offers her. The growl from my stomach reminds me that these little delights could fill the void. I step toward them, a smile on my lips.

Bill, dressed in his eternal cerulean blue suit, places a hand on my back to pull me aside for a private word. I give a timid apologetic smile to my two colleagues and follow him. After a few steps, he stops by the buffet, right where the alcohol flows freely.

None of the men around us seem to pay attention to my boss’s hushed tones:

“Tess, last week’s contracts were exemplary, ” he says enthusiastically. “I heard you requested a day off for a family event next weekend… take a vacation! You’ve earned it. How about a week?”

I look at him, slightly skeptical. Bill isn’t the type to offer vacations without reason, and if I’ve understood my assistant’s feedback correctly, the coming weeks are hardly going to be slow. Big contracts are in the works.

I shift nervously on the spot. Did I mess up? This job is my sole reason for breathing right now. I pour my heart and soul into my work… beneath the thick layer of mascara my sister applied, I see a faint, contrite smile forming on my boss’s face. Despite my impatience, I wait for him to elaborate.

“I’m suggesting this because… I can’t reveal what’s brewing just yet, not even to my young associate, ” he adds with a pointed wink. “But we have a lead… on a lucrative contract.”

“What kind of lead?”

Even though I’ve quickly learned over the past few months that being Bill Maas’s associate on paper is far from being part of a partnership built on blind trust and equal sharing of tasks and decisions, I can’t help but ask questions that seem logical given my status. He furrows his brow and leans toward the buffet to pour himself a glass of red wine. Reflexively, I glance at the vineyard name. A Bordeaux. French wine, probably good. However, not being a big fan of red wine, I turn to the apple juice. Once my glass is poured, I try my luck again. Bad timing–just as I open my mouth, one of the interns approaches, eager to impress the boss with endless praise.

Frustrated to see that this tactic seems to work on my associate, at least a bit, I slip away to my office. I discreetly weave through the crowd of employees, mentally thanking the organizers for placing the festivities in the hall of my floor, allowing me to escape unnoticed. I pass Delphine and Justin, deep in conversation near the restrooms. Slightly tipsy, they don’t notice me, too engrossed in each other. My black heels with purple undertones click against the tiled hallway floor. I sigh at the lack of discretion this noise causes during my retreat. This annoyance forces me to recall a conversation from several months ago.

“Why did we choose tile for our floor? It’s noisy, ” I had complained.

“We’re on the decision-making floor. There shouldn’t be constant traffic here. Tile makes intruders feel uncomfortable and think twice before crossing the hallway without reason, ” he had replied, rather proud of himself.

I had looked at him, a bit skeptical, before begrudgingly admitting his idea wasn’t entirely senseless. Then he walked off, triumphant, clicking his little heels on the barely tiled floor of the still-under-construction office.

Within weeks, this place had transformed into a temple to excellence. Hosting colleagues from Maas & Abspoel was as pleasant as inviting potential clients of our holding company. After showcasing our expertise, the image projected by our company confirmed our professionalism. Bill and I had made remarkable discoveries in the market. Talent scouts, as my associate likes to call us. In less than a year, our company had reached half the revenue of our original firm in Rotterdam. An unexpected and explosive start. Contracts continue to pour in weekly, and we’re considering reopening our doors to a future collaborator.

Finding new talent is my responsibility. Goals, coupled with recruitment, don’t interest Bill. He says I’m more efficient and pragmatic about our needs and capabilities. After several months of managing this new aspect, I realize he’s absolutely right. Still, I had hoped this new position would grant me a say in our major contracts. But Bill isn’t the type to share his contacts, regardless of the “associate” title on official documents.

Finishing the walk on tiptoes to avoid drawing attention to my office, I sigh in relief as I push open the door to my sanctuary.

The room’s decor, managed by Zoé, makes me feel truly comfortable. Plants, cozy armchairs–often doubling as a bed–and colorful paintings adorn the spacious office Bill assigned to me.

Two massive bay windows overlooking Amsterdam allow me to gain perspective on projects and observe this city, one that brings me as much joy as it does sorrow.

I’ve tried to move past last year’s Christmas. Eleven months waiting for the pain to fade.

Without a single improvement. Every time work stops, every time my mind settles, his face comes back to me. I see his smile, his eyes, and our moments. My throat tightens, and to survive, I dive back into work.

Like tonight, I kick off my heels and collapse into the large gray armchair draped with a cozy blanket. I pull it over my legs before grabbing my laptop from the low table to my right.

The screen lights up as soon as my finger brushes the digital identification key. On the wallpaper, I see my parents in front of a Vietnamese temple, smiling. They only returned for a few days this year. Just a quick visit to let us know they wouldn’t be coming back. Or at least that Amsterdam was no longer their home. After much negotiation, Zoé took over the guesthouse by buying part of the property, allowing my parents to purchase a camper van.

Right now, they must be touring Asia, without taking much time to contact us.

I know my sister is struggling with spending another Christmas without them. I understand her frustration. I felt it myself while receiving some photos from them. This new life seems to suit them perfectly. In every picture, my mother smiles, and my father looks radiant. With their sun-kissed skin and simple clothes, they appear far happier than many employees here, not to mention me.

Despite putting on a brave face, Zoé and Aurore have been worried about me for some time. I only eat to keep working. The same goes for sleeping.

The rest doesn’t matter. I don’t go out unless one of them literally forces me. Though they mean the world to me, my workaholic attitude doesn’t make sense to them, and it irritates me. Working was never considered a bad thing when I was a child. Whenever I was sidelined, I worked twice as hard to get good grades, to secure a better future. It’s the same nowadays.

A bit tired of hearing everyone tell me I need a vacation, I start digging through my emails for the perfect excuse to avoid this forced week off.

The first few are unremarkable, and I begin to lose hope when one of the older ones catches my eye. Normally, I let my intern sort through the contents of each message to avoid wasting precious minutes in my schedule.

A lounge bar heading for bankruptcy in the coming days–here’s the address. A great opportunity, in my opinion. I’ve missed your face since our college days. I’m free for coffee whenever you want. Cheers, Ced.

The email from my former college roommate makes me smile. Occasionally, he sends me little tidbits of information, free and often very interesting. He and I were in economics and wealth management classes together. After that, he chose to become a real estate agent, leaving mergers and acquisitions to others. Having an ace like him up my sleeve has often been beneficial over the years. Sellers don’t always want to deal with us. They see us as sharks, lowering prices unfairly by manipulating market realities. I usually respond to that with a simple retort: real estate agents sell you dreams; the sharks of acquisition negotiations sell you reality.

Cedrick is probably the best agent in Amsterdam and the surrounding area. In fact, he’s the one who found me my house, currently under renovation. I only restarted that project a few weeks ago, thanks to him, Zoé, and Aurore as well. They harassed me so much to invest in a real project that I finally gave in. Anyway, since my visit before Aurore’s wedding, the idea of restarting the renovations had been on my mind enough to quickly cave at their insistence.

Happy to have an excuse to stay here and dismiss the ridiculous idea of a week off, I start drafting a reply:

Thanks for the tip! Coffee or a drink sounds great. Weren’t you supposed to introduce me to that famous Swedish woman? I’m still waiting to hear about your trip… I’m free whenever you want to chat.

P.S.: When I contact this person should I mention you, or is this strictly between us?

Thanks again! Have a great holiday season.

Once I’ve printed out the lounge bar’s details and its owner’s contact information, I close the laptop, satisfied. Given the late hour, I can’t call this potential client, but informing Bill about this lead is within my reach. Feeling quite pleased with the solution I’ve found, I stand up, open the top drawer of my desk to retrieve flat shoes, slip them on, and quickly leave my office.

Bill is deep in conversation when I sidle up to him. My triumphant smile makes him raise an eyebrow, and he cuts his conversation short to question me:

“What’s got you smiling like that? ” he asks, suspicious.

Armed with a broad grin, I wave the printed page with the details of my new lead. He squints to make out what’s written before fixing me with an impassive expression.

“This doesn’t change your vacation plans, ” he says. “The contracts for the coming weeks are already scheduled. According to your information, this property isn’t officially for sale yet. You can simply contact the seller and arrange a deal. No, I’ve got a better idea. That competent little assistant who follows you everywhere can handle it.”

I grimace at the mention of my loyal, if somewhat clingy employee. For days, I’ve been trying to keep him occupied to no avail. He throws himself into every task so wholeheartedly that I don’t have time to find him something meaningful to do every day. Unable to delegate, I can’t bring myself to give him real assignments. Bill knows my issue is this lack of letting go. It’s probably the main reason for this enforced vacation. But the timing is terrible. I don’t want to stay home or at the guesthouse during Christmas. Not this year.

A lump forms in my throat as Bill continues:

“There, it’s settled. Your assistant will handle it. Don’t worry–the office will run just fine without you for a week.”

He doesn’t wait for a reaction from me. After a friendly pat on my shoulder, he walks away to resume the conversation he was having before I arrived.

A bit stunned, I head back to my office in silence. Less discreet than the first time, I don’t bother to take in my surroundings. Once inside, I push the door shut and collapse into my chair. The blanket quickly covers my entire body. Frustration sends shivers down my spine. I kick off my flats and pull my feet up close to me.

From where I sit, I can see the city lights illuminating the less fortunate neighborhoods. Though I can’t read the signs from this distance, I easily recognize my sister’s guesthouse. She’s going to be thrilled to hear that I managed to free up time for the holidays, especially after I’ve been repeating for months that when you’re building a career, you can’t afford to falter or take vacations during such critical periods.

Feeling a bit ashamed of such a lie, I start to put things into perspective. Since our parents left the country, the bond I share with Zoé has become incredibly important to me. Spending the holidays with her might not be as catastrophic as I’ve convinced myself over the past few months. A smile crosses my lips at the thought that she might teach me how to make that famous eggnog, a recipe passed down from our great-grandmothers.

“It might not be so bad after all, ” I say aloud to motivate myself, still reeling from the failure of my proposal to Bill.

“Was that meant for me, or is the alcohol making you talk to yourself?”

The voice coming from my office doorway is unmistakably familiar.

The broad shoulders of Trévis, one of our youngest associates, are leaning against the doorframe leading into my office.

Relaxed, with a huge smile on his face, he studies me. His hand, holding a champagne flute, makes several trips to his lips. His ability to remain silent while acting so expressively amuses me.

The women on our floor never stop talking about his irresistible charm. Even Bill once told me he must have some kind of magnetic appeal to have closed the deal with Mrs. Chest so quickly. In my opinion, it has more to do with his passion, which outshines any calculated determination. He’s what you’d call a real asset, not to mention his stunning looks.

I bite my lower lip when I realize I’ve been staring at him for quite some time. The blush rising to my cheeks only widens his mischievous grin. A row of perfect teeth, straight out of a toothpaste commercial, completes his bronzed face. He’s the only one here with such a tan at the end of autumn. Looking at him, neither his light sky-blue shirt nor his beige chinos and casual sneakers suggest the freezing cold that’s gripped Amsterdam for days.

“Real holiday weather, ” Zoé exclaimed last Sunday. I shrugged.

Despite my efforts to embrace December, the shadow of last year still looms. My sister’s idea would be to get back in the saddle–with a Greek god, preferably.

I don’t know if the gods were blond, with steel-blue eyes and sun-kissed skin, but Trévis certainly fits my idea of an attractive man. If I ignore the fact that his sparkling gaze stirs up that little fissure inside me–the one I’ve been trying not to name.

“Lost in thought, I see, ” he says.

I jump. His physical, silent presence had placed me in a protective bubble. Loneliness weighs heavily on me these days, yet I can’t picture myself with someone–not completely, at least.

I flash him a slightly awkward smile before sitting up, unsure if my blanket fully covers the tops of my legs, exposed by my somewhat short dress.

Though my posture wasn’t particularly dignified, he doesn’t mention it and steps into the office, settling into the chair across from me.

As usual, he doesn’t bother to sit properly, preferring to perch on the armrest instead.

In the soft glow of the lamp beside me, I notice his cheeks are redder than usual. The champagne flute in his hand is clearly not his first of the evening. After the whirlwind weeks we’ve spent in this office, I understand his need to unwind. I regret not indulging myself, but I have to admit–alcohol has never been my friend.

“How many times have I seen you with that blanket? ” he laughs, pointing at the cozy fabric wrapped around me.

Protectively, I clutch it with my arm, like a mother holding her child. This blanket has been the one thing I haven’t been able to part with for months.

It was waiting for me under the Christmas tree at the guesthouse. Zoé spent three months deciding to give it to me. With trembling hands, she approached me one morning as I was having coffee with her. Back then, I barely spoke to her, preferring to lose myself in work rather than her company. She swung the paper bag containing the gift back and forth, awkwardly hiding the small card stapled to the top of the package. I must have given her an exasperated look before she dared to hand it to me, and she confessed that she had weighed the pros and cons, afraid I’d spiral back into the dark place I was struggling to escape.

The black and red inked words from Nolan brought tears streaming down my makeup-covered cheeks.

“To love is wanting to protect one another. When I can’t hold you in my arms, this will be there for you.”

I slipped my hands into the package, fully aware that those words no longer held the same meaning for him. The softness of the blanket has never left me since. As if I can’t let it go without moving on.

“This blanket and I, we have a long history, ” I say to answer his puzzled expression.

He smiles at me so kindly that I force myself to loosen my grip on the fabric. My cold and rebellious attitude toward him isn’t new. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew two paths lay before me. One of them involved letting go of this blanket for good.

Instead, I became the distant and pragmatic woman. The friendly colleague who avoids ambiguous situations. But Trévis doesn’t seem fooled. Our mutual attraction is so obvious that in recent weeks, he’s tried several times to invite me to dinner.

After playing the “we don’t mix personal and professional lives” card–which fell flat when Bill assigned him to lead a new branch far removed from mine–I’ve ignored his advances as best I could.

Yet tonight, the champagne’s aroma and this heavy loneliness make me see things differently.

I sit up in my chair, letting my long, loose hair fall to one side. I rarely wear my hair like this. Being an associate feels like a responsibility that requires a certain level of professionalism, making it easier to maintain distance from others. But wearing a bun all day exhausts me. The sensation of strands brushing against my bare neck, exposed by this tight, bright red dress, sends shivers down my spine.

Trévis’s eyes don’t leave me for a second.

“Your dress is… breathtaking, ” he murmurs.

He’s not shy, and I’m surprised to hear him speak so softly. Reflexively, I lean forward to catch the rest of his sentence. His eyes sparkle as he opens his mouth, then closes it again. I realize my position reveals a bit of my cleavage. Blushing furiously, I sit back, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“You should dress like this more often, ” he teases.

I scratch the top of my head, searching for a topic other than this indecently short, tight dress–not to mention its alluring color. I mentally note to thank my dear sister for this awkward moment as he suddenly stands up.

“I was just planning to drop by quickly, ” he explains. “Are you staying long?”

I shake my head. These kinds of gatherings have never been my thing, but I like saying goodbye to colleagues, thanking them for the years we’ve shared.

“No, I have an important meeting tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like to review the entire file with my team, ” I explain, realizing I haven’t been very talkative.

His incredible smile returns as he extends his right hand to me. I look at it, puzzled, as he gives me a wink.

“I’ll give you a ride. No need for the company to pay for two taxis!”

My first instinct is to politely decline, coming up with a flimsy excuse he’ll interpret as either a polite or cowardly refusal, depending on his perspective.

The second response surprises me as it escapes my lips without hesitation:

“I’d love to.”

My enthusiastic tone catches him off guard for a moment. But without missing a beat, he grips my hand to help me stand up gracefully. My position wrinkled my dress, but given its tight fabric, I doubt the creases will last long. Chivalrously, he fetches my heels, which I quickly slip on before grabbing my phone and sliding it into my handbag hanging near the door beside my long winter coat.

This coat, another choice by my sister, covers the entirety of the dress. Its long train stops midway down my calves, providing an indescribable warmth in this cold weather.

“Ready? ” he asks before locking the office door for me.

My perfectionist side itches to do it myself, but I see he wants to act the gentleman. I decide to let go and allow myself to be guided, despite my urge to take charge. We bid farewell to our colleagues without spotting Bill, which doesn’t bother me, before slipping into the first open elevator.

Trévis remains silent until we enter the taxi he had already ordered before coming to my office. His natural way of striking up a conversation with the driver amuses me. We quickly learn that our driver for the evening is the father of three wonderful children–one from a previous relationship and twins from his second wife.

“Those two are exactly alike, ” he sighs. “The same flaws, too. But I can’t complain; they’re just like the one from my first marriage. It’s give and take, ” he laughs, pointing to two photographs of his three newborns. The two women in the pictures are physically polar opposites.

Trévis compliments him on the beauty of his treasures, and I watch him, admiring the simplicity he exudes. It’s clear he’s not forcing it in the slightest. His gestures and voice are gentle. And I find myself lost in observing him as they continue their conversation. It’s only when my name is mentioned that I snap back to reality.

“It’s not really up to me, ” he continues, acting as if my name hadn’t come up in the conversation.

I glance between them, confused. Amused, the driver winks at me in the rearview mirror.

“From the way she’s looking at you, trust me, she’ll fall for your charms soon enough, ” he adds, slowing down.

My cheeks turn scarlet as Trévis turns to me, slightly surprised by the man’s comment.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but I have nothing to say. At that moment, it seems entirely possible my gaze toward him was misinterpreted.

“You’ve arrived, ” the driver announces.

Without thinking too much, I follow Trévis onto the sidewalk and close the door behind me. He takes a few steps before realizing I’ve gotten out after him.

The taxi is already pulling away, and I look at the unfamiliar building towering before me. Feeling a bit uneasy, I pull out my phone to call another taxi using the app when my friend’s hand stops me. In just a few strides, he’s caught up to me.

His eyes shine under the streetlights surrounding us. The silence of this residential neighborhood envelops us instantly. I look up at him, trying to understand what’s happening.

“Do you want to grab a drink? A coffee?”

Unable to voice my refusal, I shake my head. He laughs at my juvenile response and repeats his question.

“Do you want to come up to my place? Yes or no?”

I bite my lip, torn between the rational urge to call a car and the small pang in my heart that returns every night, reminding me of my loneliness and sadness.

“If you’re hesitating, it means you should say yes, ” he says.

I smile at his confidence, something I’ve lost since walking through the office doors. The everyday Tess hasn’t been a ruthless shark for a long time. She’s walled herself up in an high tower, protecting her heart by isolating herself from the world.

“I don’t know… ” I whisper.

He scratches his head, deep in thought:

“I can’t promise my lips won’t want to meet yours.”

My eyes widen at his unexpected honesty as he places a finger on my lips to stop me from reacting.

“However, I would never steal a kiss from you, let’s be clear. If you come up and only want tea, that’s all you’ll get to warm you up, ” he adds with a playful smile at the corner of his mouth.

I laugh at his way of presenting the situation before nodding. I know him well enough to trust that he’s a man of his word.

And so, I find myself following him into the lobby of an unfamiliar building, an odd sensation stirring in my stomach.

Chapter 2

Nolan

YOU’RE GONNA BATTLE

The first words of the song streaming from my alarm clock immediately open my eyes.

YOU’RE GONNA FIGHT

WIN OR LOSE

YOU’RE GONNA BE ALRIGHT

In one swift motion, I leap out of the massive bed where I managed to doze off for a few hours and stand in front of my mirror. The lack of sleep is glaring under my half-closed eyes, but I don’t care. I let the lyrics of the song give me the vital energy I crave.

REGARDLESS OF THE SCOREBOARD

YOU CAN DO ANYTHING THAT YOU WORK FOR

The reflection in the glass panel of my wardrobe reminds me that a good shower to tame this increasingly unruly mane wouldn’t hurt. Without stopping the music, I slip into the bathroom. The Italian shower, positioned on the ceiling, beckons as I let the single garment I sleep in fall to the tiled floor.

With a quick motion, I turn on the water and step back to avoid the cold jets–too invigorating even for a rapid wake-up.

I take the opportunity to grab two towels from the cupboard in the fully tiled room before stepping into the warm steam.

As the first drops touch my skin, my muscles instantly relax.