“New year, new job?” Paul asked. “What do you do, anyway?”
“Executive recruitment,” he said cheerfully. “And it’s not a new job, exactly, just a transfer to a new office.”
Paul had dealt with recruiters many times in his capacity as Lucien’s assistant. Nobody began working in Lucien’s division without Paul’s approval. Mostly, though, these were lower-level employees—they’d only done an executive search once since he’d been working for Morel.
They strolled down the Champs-Élysée hand in hand, and as usual, Paul allowed himself to get lost in the magic of it, only half his attention on Jacob’s chatter, until Jacob stopped and tugged at his hand.
“It’s this way.” His eyes were sparkling with suppressed laughter, and Paul realized guiltily that he’d been very bad company.
“I’m sorry—”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s not me, right? You’re just distracted by how pretty this is.” He swept his arm out in an encompassing gesture.
“Yes,” Paul confessed. “I… it’s a guilty pleasure of mine.” He felt as though he’d bared his soul to the world, but Jacob didn’t make light of it. He just nodded.
“Can’t say I blame you. It’s pretty spectacular.”
DINNER WAS, SURPRISINGLY, not in one of the tourist trap restaurants as Paul had expected. Jacob had clearly done some research and managed to book them a table in a tiny family-run restaurant in a back street several blocks away from the Champs-Élysée. The menu was limited to the daily specials written up on a chalkboard, but the wine list was excellent, and the food, when it came, utterly delicious. Paul made a mental note. This place wasn’t close to home or work, but it would still be worth a return visit.
They talked about their respective travels, about their families—Jacob had a brother and a sister and assorted nieces and nephews, while Paul had only his sister and two nephews—and their work.
“So you’re the right hand of the big boss?” Jacob asked when Paul told him he was assistant to Lucien Morel.
Paul shook his head. “No, the big boss is Edouard—at least until he retires, but that won’t be for a while. But yes, Lucien is next in line.”
“That makes you a very busy and important person,” Jacob teased, and Paul laughed as he leaned back for the server to deliver their dessert.
“Well, busy, yes. Not so much important.” He eyed the pastry concoction before him. It looked delicious, but far too small.
“I bet Lucien Morel disagrees with you. Remember, I deal with executives all the time. The best ones almost always insist on being allowed to bring their assistants with them—and then they negotiate hard for them. A good exec assistant is worth more than most senior managers.” He glanced at his plate, then at Paul’s. “Eat up, and if you’re not sick of me yet, we can go to the market at the Eiffel Tower and get hot chocolate.”
“Sounds good,” Paul managed, and took a bite of his dessert. He knew his own worth—Lucien had made it clear many times that he could not manage without him, and he often got calls from headhunters. A good executive assistant was an extremely hot commodity. But most people didn’t realize the extent of what he did. His own family often suggested he go back to school for further qualifications so he could get “a better job.” One of his boyfriends had declared, “You have no ambition. You’re just an assistant and you don’t want more,” when they were breaking up. The warmth in his chest now was because he was finally being seen by someone he had a purely personal connection with.
And it was glorious.
VILLAGE DE NOËL at Champs de Mars, the Christmas market at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, was always popular, but especially at night when the lights were on. Despite the cold, people flocked to the area—and despite the crowds, it was still romantic.
They found and bought their hot chocolate, then wandered hand in hand through the stalls, admiring the crafts and gifts. Jacob made note of several things he wanted to come back for.
“Why don’t you get them now?” Paul asked. “I don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “No, I just want to enjoy the evening with you, not lug around shopping bags. I have time to come back while you’re working.”
“But some of the things you looked at were one-offs,” Paul protested, mentally noting the implication that they’d be spending a lot more time together outside working hours. “They might get sold.”
Jacob shrugged. “Then they get sold, and I find other gifts to buy my family. It’s not like I promised them anything in particular.” He tugged Paul’s hand. “Come on, I want to see the skating rink.”
By the time they were finally ready to leave, it was late. Paul still had a twenty-minute Métro ride home and an early morning the next day, but he was reluctant to call it a night. He wanted to invite Jacob home with him.
“I’m staying in the Trocadéro,” Jacob declared. “My hotel is about a ten-minute walk from here if we don’t dawdle. Is your place closer?”
Paul blinked. It looked like he didn’t need to be the one to act. “No. Your hotel is much closer than my apartment.”
“Okay, so we’ll spend tonight at mine, then. There’s a convenience store just down the street from the hotel where we can get you a toothbrush. Good?” He looked at Paul expectantly.
“Good. Uh… why don’t you come to work with me tomorrow? Not actually to work, but to La Defense. The Christmas market there is the biggest one in Paris. You can spend the day exploring it, and I’ll meet you for lunch.” He mentally rearranged some things. It shouldn’t be a problem for him to get away for lunch tomorrow while Lucien was on a conference call—he’d just need to keep his phone close.
Jacob lit up. “Really? That would be awesome. I’d planned to go to the market at La Defense.”
“Let’s do that, then,” Paul said decisively as they turned toward the road that would lead them to Jacob’s hotel. This felt nice. It felt comfortable. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed having someone in his life to make plans with.
Too bad it was only temporary.
Pushing the thought aside, he concentrated on positive things: the night ahead and their plans for tomorrow.
AFTER A QUICK stop at the store, they slipped into the small hotel and went up to Jacob’s room. Paul wasn’t sure why he’d expected Jacob to be staying at a big chain, but he much preferred the charming independent hotel, even if the plumbing was a bit slow.
He’d barely come out of the bathroom before Jacob pounced, grabbing his shoulders and practically climbing him in his quest for kisses. Paul gladly obliged, gripping Jacob’s ass and hoisting him higher as he stumbled in the direction of the bed. They tumbled onto the white sheets, still kissing madly. Paul rolled them so he was underneath, not wanting to crush Jacob, but then Jacob’s hands were inside his shirt and all thoughts went by the wayside.
For a while, there was nothing but mouths and hands and kissing and touching, full-body contact, shivers and sensation. Paul lost himself in sheer pleasure, only pulling back when he was so desperate for air, he was dizzy. Panting, gasping, they stayed close, noses touching, sucking in oxygen but unwilling to move away from each other.
“We should get naked,” Jacob whispered, his hands still buried under Paul’s shirt, stroking his chest.
“We should,” Paul agreed, nuzzling behind Jacob’s ear. They didn’t move, reluctant to break apart, until finally Paul said, “On three?”
“On three,” Jacob agreed. “One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
They sprang apart, leaping off the bed and stripping off their clothes as quickly as they could. For some reason, Paul found the sight of Jacob hopping on one foot as he yanked off his pants incredibly arousing—even when he nearly tripped and cursed up a storm, causing them both to break out in fits of laughter.
Moments later, they were back on the bed, tangled up in each other, kissing deeply, hands exploring, and the rest of the night was lost i
n sensation.
Chapter Three
JACOB WAS PERFECT.
There was no other explanation. Paul knew intellectually that perfection was an unattainable state, but how else could he describe a man who suggested they go for a walk along the Champs-Élysée with no prompting from him?
He’d been prepared to give up his morning stroll for the day, even though the hotel was located so conveniently. He hadn’t even resented the idea—he’d had a wonderful night with Jacob and sleepy morning cuddles were no sloppy seconds.
Then Jacob had murmured groggily, “We should get up. We can grab a pastry for breakfast and take the long way to your office.”
“The long way?” Paul ran a hand down Jacob’s back, unable to get enough of touching the warm, smooth skin.
Jacob yawned, stretched, and finally sat up. “Yeah. We can cut across to the Champs-Élysée and walk up to the Arc de Triomphe and get the train from there. I know it would be quicker to just go straight to the Arc, but this way we can see the lights again. It’s so pretty in the dark—like a magical fairyland. Or Santa’s village.”
Paul stared at him, barely able to breathe. This man was a dream come true.
“What?” Jacob asked self-consciously. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It was just an idea.”
Reaching out, Paul grabbed the back of Jacob’s neck and pulled him forward for a kiss—the kind of kiss that promised all sorts of things. They were both panting when they broke apart, and for a moment, he considered just staying in bed and seeing where that kiss could take them.
But he wanted to experience the Christmas magic with Jacob, so he pushed aside his reluctance and smiled.
“Let’s get ready,” he said. “That’s a great idea.”
So now they were standing outside the Morel building, having enjoyed breakfast on the go as they took in the lights and the “magical” shop windows, then suffered through a crowded ride on the Métro. Paul had offered to show Jacob the way to Village de Noël, to which Jacob had given him a deadpan look and said, “Mate, I’ve got Maps on my phone. Plus, it’s big enough that I think it’ll be hard to miss.” He leaned into Paul and stretched up on tiptoe. “Kiss.”
Paul obeyed.
“You’ll meet me for lunch?”
“Yes. Maybe,” he added honestly. “It should be okay, but if Lucien’s schedule changes, I might not be able to make it. I’ll call you if I can’t.”
“Okay. But dinner after work?”
“Yes. If you haven’t already gone back to the hotel, we can go to my place and I’ll cook for you.” They could stop at the butcher on the way and get something a little bit special. “Otherwise, I’ll meet you at your hotel.”
Jacob chuckled. “Paul, there are over three hundred stalls at this market. I’ll be here all day, trust me.” He reached up for another kiss, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Paul waited a second longer before going inside and getting the elevator up to Lucien’s office suite.
When he walked into the reception area that housed his desk, he was surprised to find his boss waiting for him… along with his boss’s boyfriend. Lucien was leaning against Paul’s desk, leafing through a sheaf of papers that he recognized as last quarter’s finance report, but Simon was pacing before the windows.
“Finally!” he exclaimed. “The one time I’m desperate to talk to you is the only day ever that you’re not here before dawn.”
Paul rolled his eyes, something he knew not everyone could get away with at work. “That’s not true.” It was sort of true. “What did you need to talk to me about? Is something wrong?” he asked with genuine concern. Lucien and Simon had only been together for six months, but he’d gotten to know the Englishman quite well and liked him a lot. Plus, he’d mellowed Lucien, and a mellow boss was a great boss.
“I need to hear about your date!”
What.
Looking at Lucien, whose mouth wore a tiny smile, he said, “Did you run home and immediately share the details of my personal life with all and sundry?” He knew Lucien had no secrets from Simon, but really… this wasn’t the kind of thing that came up in casual conversation.
“He’s been worried about you,” Lucien said smoothly, putting down the report and straightening. “He thinks you work too hard. I wanted to put his mind at rest.”
“And I am not all and sundry,” Simon protested hotly. “I’m your friend. Sort of. I think of you as a friend, anyway.”
Flattered—it was warm feelings all around today—Paul smiled and dropped his messenger bag beside the desk. “Thank you, Simon. I think of you as a friend too.” In a respectful, your-boyfriend-can-fire-me kind of way.
He mentally chided himself. That wasn’t fair. Lucien would only ever fire him if he did something egregious, and he knew it. Their relationship was built on the kind of blunt honesty that many employers wouldn’t tolerate.
“So, come on, tell me. How was the date? Jacob, right? What’s he like?” Simon planted himself in one of the visitor chairs and fixed his gaze intently on Paul.
He hesitated for only a moment. “It was wonderful. Jacob is… he’s funny and sweet and very intuitive. We had a great time.”
“Are you seeing him again?” That was Lucien, who’d dropped all pretense of only being there because Simon was.
“Yes. He’s at the Christmas market today. We’ll have lunch together, if the schedule allows.”
Simon turned to Lucien. “Make sure the schedule allows,” he ordered, and Lucien snorted a laugh.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m so glad for you,” Simon continued, ignoring his boyfriend. “You work so hard, and that’s partly my fault. Mostly Luc’s, but I know we rely on you too much for personal stuff.”
“Anything to do with Lucien’s life is part of my job,” Paul pointed out, but he appreciated Simon’s consideration. “And I’m always happy to help.”
“We know,” Lucien chimed in. “That’s why you’re worth your weight in gold.”
“So….” Simon sounded a little hesitant. “Do you, uh… do you think this… thing… with Jacob could develop into something?”
Paul shook his head, ignoring the pang the thought caused. “He’s just on holiday. He leaves in a few days.”
“Oh.” The downhearted tone matched Simon’s expression, and Paul couldn’t hold back his laugh.
“Since when are you such a determined matchmaker? I promise, I do have a life outside the office.”
Simon smiled sheepishly. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll stop being so nosy. I should really get to work, anyway.” He said his goodbyes and soon was rushing out the door. Paul settled into his chair with a sigh as he reached to switch on his laptop. When he looked up, Lucien was still hovering on the other side of his desk.
“Is there something you need?” Mentally, he reviewed the morning’s schedule. All the notes and files needed were already neatly arranged on Lucien’s desk in the order he’d require them. It must be something new.
“No. I….” He seemed unusually flustered. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but if you like Jacob, then don’t let the fact that he lives elsewhere be a deciding factor. That can be overcome. What does he do? I’m sure we could find him a job.”
Paul stared at his boss incredulously, and Lucien’s face reddened.
“That’s… uh, he’s an executive headhunter,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say that didn’t call Lucien’s sanity into question.
Lucien nodded enthusiastically. “Good! We don’t need one here at Morel, unless he wanted to try general recruitment for a while, but good headhunters are always in demand.”
“He doesn’t speak French.” Now he was just being mean, he knew, but he so rarely got a chance to see Lucien off-balance like this.
“Neither did Simon when he moved here,” Lucien pointed out.
“Ah, but Simon wasn’t applying for jobs where he would be required t
o speak French. I suppose I could move to Australia…,” he mused, and then lurched out of his seat as Lucien turned so very pale that Paul was certain he was about to pass out.
“I’m joking,” he assured as Lucien dropped into one of the visitor chairs, and he hurried to get him some water. “We’ve been on one date, Lucien. Neither of us expects this to become more.”
Lucien gulped the water, and color slowly returned to his face. “You have a nasty streak,” he commented, but before Paul could apologize, added, “If you moved to Australia—or anywhere else—we could make it work. You’d need to have an aide to liaise with here in the Paris office, but—”
“Lucien, I’m not moving to Australia. One date, remember? Why is this so important to you?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe Simon’s right and I feel guilty about how hard I work you.”
“Or you want me distracted so you won’t have to work so hard,” he teased. “If I had complaints about my job or my hours, you’d know. I promise.”
“You’re right. Thank you.” He got up and turned toward his office. “Just one more thing.”
Paul braced himself.
“You know Léo”—one of Lucien’s closest friends—“also met an Australian tourist who was just visiting for a little while. And look at him and Ben now.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “The situations are not the same.”
“I know. But it’s something to think about.” Snagging the report he’d been reading, Lucien disappeared into his office, finally leaving Paul alone, now swamped by hopeful thoughts and crushing doubts.
Chapter Four
AT ELEVEN, HE sent a text to Jacob confirming he’d be able to meet him for lunch at one. A thumbs-up emoji was the only response, but at twelve thirty his phone dinged again.
A Christmas Chance Page 2
