She was in his office.

Lady Rosalie Darlington-Whit was in HIS office.

Olivier looked at the woman who swore a thousand times that she will never walk into his casino. Yet here she was, still beautiful in an orange sweater, jeans, and light pink lipstick-the kind that made him want to kiss her and mess it up, as she deserves. "R-Rosalie...what are you-" he started, blinking as she plopped down in the chair in front of his desk. Then her last words made him stop again. "I'm sorry, you want to make a deal with me?"

"Damn straight I do."

"May I, pray tell, ask why do you want to make a deal with me, a man you said that you cannot stand? You did tell Town and Country that a couple months ago, at their-"

"Because I fucking told Lily Hamilton that we're going to Kingston Downs this weekend, where the Sapphire Derby is going to be held, and that I will be in your clubhouse box. Unless you have some other event you need to attend?"

Fucking hell...he'd forgot about the Sapphire Derby. He was glad that his assistant told him about the event and told her to call the maid and make sure that his little vacation home was ready when Rosalie burst in. Now Rosalie told him that she was going, all because of a little white lie that she was going to be in his clubhouse box.

The clubhouse box he'd imagined kissing her and drinking champagne with...

Clearing his throat to clear the image, he looked at her. "You told Lily that you're going to the derby with me and be in my clubhouse box," Olivier repeated. "Why, pray tell, would you tell her that?"

He watched those elegant shoulders rise and fall as she shrugged. "Because I want to shut her pretty little mouth up for once. She will happily tear my ass up online if I only came with Astrid and Gen and their husbands," Rosalie explained. "When she brought up the derby, I opened up my damn mouth and said that I was going with you. So now, me and you are going to sit here and come up with a deal that will please the both of us."

A deal...she wants to make a deal with him??? "What kind of deal?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, preparing himself for what might come out of that mouth of hers.

"Friends with benefits. No feelings, no attachments, no nothing. I come to you, we fuck, and we leave it at that."

Friends with benefits.

A smile appeared on his lips at the thought. He could be friends with benefits with her-he didn't mind that. "And Lily?" he asked, trying to keep control while his cock was straining his pants at the mere thought of Rosalie in silk underwear, straddling him and telling to do whatever he wanted to do with her-

Rosalie's face screwed up at the mere mention of the tramp. She wanted to shut Lily up so she wouldn't tear her ass up online and in the gossip mags, but she'd forgotten about her and figured this whole arrangement out. "She'll tear me up either way once she finds out about this...arrangement," she said slowly. "So we'll just have to do things lovers do, but without falling for each other."

"As in?"

"You take me out on dates. We go to events together. We have one day for sex. You are not with other women, and no more secrets."

"I'm sorry, mäi Schatz, one day for sex?"

"Did I stutter?"

One day wasn't going to happen. He needed a year to get Rosalie to do every single fantasy he had in mind. One day wasn't going to cut it. "We will have sex before events, that one day and whenever we need it. We are not carnivores. We are humans, my Lady, and you cannot sit there and tell me that you can resist me while we have dinner or I take you for a symphony or I take you dancing?" Olivier wouldn't believe that she would do that-he was trying not to jump her bones right then and there.

Lady Rosalie sighed. She was trying to resist him right now, and it was getting harder by the minute to even do that. "Hell, I did it with my husband when we started dating," she snapped, keeping in mind that she and her husband started dating right around college. "I can resist you-"

"Like you did at Madame Astrid's dinner party? When you kissed me back?"

Damn.

Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten before releasing it. She didn't need a reminder of that hot kiss that nearly made her melt to the floor. Rosalie wished that she'd bitten his lip after he kissed her, but she still didn't want to. "If you kissed me right now?" she asked, curious.

"I would throw you on this desk and lick you till you screamed."

Just picturing that made her lower half tingle and throb. She hadn't had that happened to her in a long time. Shaking her head of the thought, looking at him, Rosalie was struck by the fact that he had very beautiful brown eyes, while Elijah had those striking blues that twinkle in the light sometimes. But she was in the den with the devil, her devil, and he was becoming a bit demanding, something she wasn't going to take.

"That was...something out of my control," she said finally. "But I will agree with your terms, as long as you agree with mine."

"I'm still not having sex with you for a day."

"Fucking-we can have sex as many times you want before the event, after the event, anytime you damn well please! Just agree to take me out on dates, you do not see anymore women when you're with me, and no more secrets."

Olivier stopped when she said no more secrets. He had a secret he could just blurt out and tell her, about her husband's death, but kept his mouth shut. He'll tell her when she's ready. If she told him now, she'll definitely call him a murderer. She probably wouldn't believe him if he showed her what her husband did and how it was nearly done-a club dedicated to her called the Rose. "Very well," he said with a sigh. "I agree to those terms."

Rosalie got up, a satisfied smile on her face as she held out her hand, to shake on it. "Good," she grinned, feeling that spark running up and down her arm when he took her hand-and pulled her around his desk and kissed her again.

She cursed mentally as her body was pressed against the wall, his big hand cupping her face as he changed the angle of his head so his lips can fit perfectly against hers. He nudged her lips open, and she did with a soft sigh, and his tongue slipped in. He tasted her gently, taking a sip of her as if she was a glass of superfine champagne, and she pulled back...and slapped him.

"Don't you fucking ever do that again," she growled, storming over to grab her bag and stormed out of the room, leaving Olivier with a hand on the wall, rubbing his chin and chucked, touching the place she slapped him.

"Kann net op den Derby waarden, Lady Rosalie," he says. (*Cannot wait for the derby)

~

The morning of the derby is a sunny one, and everyone dressed up in their spring colors and outfits, and Kingston Downs looked like a bouquet of roses. At the huge millionaire terrace and dining room, everyone is either at the chef's buffet, sitting down eating, drinking their coffees and sweet teas and soft drinks, women dressed in big hats and enjoying themselves while the TVs are playing races from last year. The room was filled with the murmurs of people talking when Lady Rosalie walked in, wearing her Tiger and Water Lily dress she brought from Etro Milano and the Jimmy Choo red patent leather mules with a crystal strap across her foot, a huge hat on her head, while Olivier chose his Gucci slacks and shoes, navy Ralph Lauren polo shirt and his black Daniel Wellington watch. They go over to the buffet, passed Lily's table, and the blonde looked up and her mouth dropped.

"Darling?" Daniel turned and noticed his wife's mouth dropping. "Are you alright?"

Shaking her head and turning back to her table, she shook her head. "Not at all," she told him, turning back to her meal.

It seemed like something so simple, as people was eating. But when the two walked across the tables of the elite, that made the look up, mouths dropping as they watched the couple sit down at their table, sitting with the Spencers and the Ayers. The scenic vantage points all over the room was perfect, and as Rosalie dug into her food, she couldn't help but to look up to see people pointing and whispering at her and the man next to her.

"They're staring, mäi Schatz," Olivier muttered, taking a bite of his potato and ham frittata, smirking. He didn't need to turn around to know that they were talking about them; he knew that she was eating it, and she knew she won shocking Lily Hamilton. "Enjoy it."

"I am," Lady Rosalie snorted, drinking her sweet tea. She turned to her roasted tomato and cheese tart, picking up her fork to dig in, when a voice cleared their throat. She turned and looked up to see Isabelle Morissette, the teenage step-daughter of Taylor Drake, which made her bristle.

Isabelle Vaillancourt Morissette Drake was just like her mother, Maria Vaillancourt Morissette, with long blonde hair, blue eyes and was wearing a seersucker shirt dress and simple sandals. She was just only nineteen, but already Isabella was going to start in a romantic comedy with Timothée Chalamet really soon. But Rosalie remembered her as the daughter of Maria Vaillancourt, the only woman Elijah slept with before he married Rosalie, and the step-daughter of the man who staged a coup to take over Elijah's office "Bonjour Lady Rosalie," Isabelle said with a small smile. "Comment appelles tu? Papa and Mama wanted to come and say hello, but..." Isabelle's eyes strayed over to Olivier, who was grabbing a bagel and smearing some cream cheese on it.

The way she was looking at Olivier made a small ember of jealousy flare in the pit of her stomach. "Ça va bien," she answered. "I didn't see them there," she admitted, lying through her teeth. She did see Taylor sitting there, eating and drinking his orange juice while loudly boasting over his horse, a Paint named Colorado, can beat any horse here, while Maria just tittered next to him. "Maybe after the derby I can go over, say hello?" she really didn't want to say hello to someone she can't fucking stand after all this time.

"I was hoping you could go over there now...to say hello to Papa. Just yesterday he was talking about Sir Elijah."

...He what?!

Rosalie felt like the world had just ended. How dare Taylor Drake speak of her husband after everything he did?? She had half a mind to go over there and curse out Taylor for everything he ever done-staged a fucking coup, nearly thrown her husband out on his ass and swore that Sir Elijah will never serve in an Atlanta court ever again-before Elijah started another attorney's office and fucking won back his reputation before he died.

Before she could, a hand was casually dropped on her wrist, and she turned to see Olivier looking at her with a look before turning to Isabelle. "Peut-être plus tard, Isabelle," he told her in perfect French, shocking the both of them. "Après le déjeuner et le dîner?" Isabelle slowly nodded, still shocked at the words coming out of his mouth. "Bonjour, Isabelle."

Nodding once one more, she left and went back to her table. Though Rosalie was thankful for what Olivier did, putting his hand on her wasn't going to work, and she snatched her wrist away from him as she stewed in her breakfast.

"Don't you ever do that again, you bastard," she snarled softly at him, making Olivier chuckle as she finally dug into her roasted tomato and cheese tart. Olivier smiled a bit as he finished up his food and sipped on his mimosa for a while, staring out at the scenic views before it was time for the race to begin.

Saying goodbye to the Spencers and the Ayers, Rosalie and Olivier went over to the photo op station-the Spencers and the Ayers had already talked to the press, and the fashion bloggers and everyone was going crazy over Genevieve's Alice and Olivia grass green mock midi dress with a mock neck and Astrid's pink dress that she had Tom Ford make her for personally. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Olivier, who gently gripped her hand.

"Ready, mäi Schatz?" he asked, giving her a little bit of a smile, which helped her relax.

"Did I ever tell you that you look handsome in that shirt?" she asked once they stepped on the grass and he pulled out his aviator sunglasses as they walked through the photo op section. The flashing lights of the paparazzi's cameras went off, going crazy at the sight of the two of them. Then the questions were shouted out at them.

"Lady Rosalie, is it true that you're dating Olivier Barthel?"

"Olivier, did you dump Chrysélie Natel for Lady Rosalie?"

"Lady Rosalie, did you dump Gerard Farrington for Olivier?"

"Lady Rosalie, is it true that Isabelle Drake is your daughter?"

"Lady Rosalie!"

"Olivier Barthel!"

Questions were coming left and right, and the two answered as much as they could before Olivier's PA whisked them away to the Belvedere's owner Club Box, though the question about the infamous Quebecois starlet Chrysélie Natel made her freeze up a bit. She heard so much about Miss Chrysélie and how she was going to star in an action-adventure movie with Michael B Jordan, but how she was almost the female version of Olivier, though the rumor was that she was supposedly dating him, but she guessed the rumor was false if he's here with her. She also knew that she was petite and brunette just like her, and looked like a drop dead version of Miranda Kerr.

"Are you still talking to her?" she asked, making Olivier stop when they were close to his box.

"Chrysélie? No," Olivier answered, his hand on the doorknob. "I broke up with her after I found her in bed with someone else." he explained, opening the door to the private suite.

Rosalie walked into the carpeted suite, mouth dropped to see the scenic vantage point of the Winner's Circle in front of her, along with a couple comfortable chairs and a mini bar, which had some Moët & Chandon Impérial champagne chilling in the bucket. The Belvedere Casino and Resort logo was blazing on the TV screen, and she turned to Olivier, who closed the door behind him. "This is-" she started, as Olivier went to the champagne and started to open it.

"Perfection?" he finished, popping the top and pouring them each a glass. He wanted it to be perfect for her, even when it was time for the races to start. "I always make sure I watch the races in style." he passed her a glass, and then took his as they sat in the chairs together. "To the derby-and us," he said once they sat down. A smile tugged Rosalie lips at that, as she clinked her glass with his before taking a sip.

Once the race began, the two bet on horses and win, sipping on the champagne and having fun. For once, Rosalie isn't scared or angry at him. She was actually enjoying herself with him, laughing and groaning when one of their horses didn't make it.

"See that horse there," Olivier said, pointing to a chestnut thoroughbred with the Belvedere's logo on the tack. The rider was dressed in crisp white and blue, and Rosalie had to lean over a bit to see. "That's Sweet Blossom," he told her, making her giggle as they watched the horse line up with the others. "She's one of my horses, and she's also one of the top horses here and on my track."

"How medieval of you," she said, leaning back and picking up a skewered scallop with sage and bacon and placed it in her mouth. She couldn't believe that he actually had a horse in the races, a beautiful one at that, and the track itself..."Where's your track?"

The question made him turn to her, a grin on his face. "On the casino grounds, of course," he answered smoothly. "I go there every morning to ride her before I start my day. Used to do it at the academy."

"A-Academy?' she echoed, the word reminding her of the times Elijah would talk about the academy and how his friend would ride his horse on the track every single morning. She started to entertain the idea that he was talking about Olivier, but then she shook her head-she wasn't that far-fetched yet.

"Elijah...had a horse named Mischief," Rosalie shifted back in her seat, keeping her eyes on Sweet Blossom, who raced past another horse. "He named it after my brother, Decker, and he would race the horse himself when the Sapphire Derby came around." the thought of Elijah riding that horse and how scared she was when he'd get on it made her think some crazy things-one of them was that he was going to break his neck-but then after the races he'll feel energized and ready to go. "She passed, though. Elijah and I were devastated when he had to bury her."

A sad look crosses Rosalie's face, and Olivier got quiet, remembering Mischief-and it wasn't named after her brother, but after hearing the story, he sighed and poured them more champagne as the waiter brought them a berries and cream shortcake with plates, forks and a knife. Getting up, he goes over and cuts them a slice before sitting back down next to her. "To Sweet Blossom and Mischief," he said once he passed her a plate. A small smile tugged Rosalie's lips as she took her plate and clink forks with him before placing the bets again.