by Deana Birch
Director Vincent Renier paced in my boss’s dimly lit studio. My heartbeat mimicked his quick canter. The slow strings of the most recent cue played over the speakers.
“Non. Non. Non!” Vincent’s eyes bulged in my direction as if I could somehow stop the unraveling of his and Mario’s long-standing, successful partnership, and I flinched.
Mario had been working on the score to Vincent’s film, The Drifting, for weeks and we hadn’t even settled on a theme for the music. Every time we got close, Vincent would change his mind and we would have to backtrack. Today, we were time traveling into the past.
Mario propped his elbow on the huge console in front of him and chewed his thumbnail. One thing I knew for sure was that Mario hated writing while someone looked over his shoulder. The tightrope I was walking between pleasing the client and protecting my composer had just gotten longer and higher due to Vincent’s frustration.
And to throw my balance off even more, Dimitri—whom I’d managed to put off the night before so I could see Jake—was waiting for me in a bar in West Hollywood. The men in my life should really have gotten together. Maybe they could have played a game where my head and heart were the ball they kicked around.
Bingo. Every Frenchman I’d ever met was a fan of soccer.
“Vincent? Tu connais Dimitri LeClerc?” I asked with a grin that must have seemed out of place.
The middle-aged director peered at me with one eye and a lifted brow. “Toute le monde connait TriTri.”
I switched back to English for the sake of Mario. “He’s an old family friend and waiting for me across town. Why don’t you join us for dinner while Mario writes, and we’ll pick up the session tomorrow with lunch?”
I dared a glance in Mario’s direction. Hope and relief were pooling in his eyes.
Vincent clapped his hands together. “Excellent, I’ll drive.”
I really should have insisted on taking my own car; doing things this way meant that either Dimitri or Vincent would insist on driving me home—two scenarios I didn’t like either way. But I’d temporarily defused the situation, and there was no point in adding fuel to the dying flames of Vincent’s crankiness.
Vincent’s black Audi was spotless and reeked of new leather. Not even a speck of dust on the dark dashboard. I wondered how many times my friend Casey, who was Vincent’s assistant, had to send it out to be cleaned. Meticulous. It made perfect sense, given how picky he was. Fortunately, the small talk didn’t have much to do with the film and was more about me explaining how I knew Dimitri.
We found the French soccer king at the bar of a Mexican restaurant (no shocker), talking to a lanky blonde. I introduced the two men, and our language quickly switched to French, leaving the starlet in the dust.
At a small table, Vincent and Dimitri compared favorite sailing spots in the Mediterranean, debated sports, and discovered mutual acquaintances. Most of the conversation transpired between the two of them, with me adding a “beh, oui” from time to time so they felt like I was listening. I almost patted myself on the back for killing two egomaniacs with one tortilla.
A rich father and beautiful mother had instilled a sense of class in Dimitri, which was unusual for soccer players in Europe. More often than not, they were kids from the streets who worked hard and had natural talent. Dimitri had natural athletic talent and had also worked hard, but he had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth and gone to the best private schools in the South of France. He was a perfect fit for Vincent, whose tastes leaned toward bourgeois.
With his espresso in hand at the end of the meal, Dimitri said, “So, tell me. ’Ow is Louana doing at work?”
My eyes widened, and I gently shook my head. That bastard was checking up on all aspects of my life. Like he was in charge of me somehow. The audacity. The only thing shocking was that I hadn’t seen it coming.
“She doesn’t have a lot of experience,” Vincent said to Dimitri with a small shrug that was so French I could taste a baguette. Good God, I was having dinner with Smug One and Smug Two. But their insolence aside, I’d just learned that my number one client didn’t have much confidence in me. Maybe I was the reason The Drifting was going horribly.
“She’s a quick learner.” Dimitri winked at me. At least he’d acknowledged that I was still around the table and had somewhat come to my defense.
“I wish she would learn to wear a skirt.” This time it was Vincent who winked at me.
What. The. Fuck. Vincent was known as a playboy, Casey had warned me. And it was true—every time we had a meeting with him, I wore pants. Asshole.
I blessed and cursed every ounce of manners my family had instilled in me. I sat perfectly still, with a tight, fake smile. But inside I was weeping and withering. These two men, whom I’d willingly brought together, had successfully dismantled any kind of power I had been foolish enough to think I had.
With perfect posture, I rose and said, “Excuse me. I’m going to settle the bill. You don’t mind if Dimitri drives me home?” I glanced to Vincent. “I won’t see him again for a while.” Take that, pompous pricks.
I turned and walked as slowly as I could to the register. I faked my way through the pleasantries of goodbyes and watched with a fictitious grin as the two men exchanged phone numbers.
But with the cool air conditioning from Dimitri’s rental car blowing on my hot skin, and after a string of French swear words he probably didn’t think I knew, I laid into him.
“You have absolutely no right to come and check up on me! That was humiliating.”
“Minette …” He drew out the word as if I was over reacting.
“I know exactly why you popped up in L.A. And don’t think for one minute I believe your actions are selfless.”
He opened his mouth, but I raised a finger.
“I’ll tell Stella myself when the time is right.” As soon as I figured out a way to crush my grandmother’s hopes and dreams for my future. I crossed my arms and hugged them tight.
Dimitri rolled his eyes and tapped the steering wheel. “Why ’aven’t you told her?”
“I don’t know, it’s new. It happened really fast.” And she wanted me to marry the man next to me and make babies in the South of France so she could parade them in front of her socialite friends.
“’Ow fast?”
The details of my whirlwind romance were none of his business, even if he thought otherwise. “It doesn’t matter. Just promise me—you at least owe me that. Especially now.” I narrowed my eyes and rolled back my shoulders.
His ridiculous pout had thankfully lost all its previous power. “Fine.”
“And tell me you will not magically appear in my life again without warning.”
We stopped at a red light and Dimitri turned to me. “I’m going to stop calling you kitten and rename you Tigresse.”
“Say it.”
The light switched to green and he turned down Sunset where we slowed to another stop.
“Does this mean I can’t talk to you anymore?” His bushy brows furrowed and a speckle of hurt—or maybe it was understanding—flashed in his amber eyes.
I let out a breath. Dimitri was a lot of things, but I truly wanted us to be friends. There was too much history. Between the vacations spent together as children and the holiday parties we’d always attended in Marseille, we were practically family. There was no doubt our paths would cross again, and much like my nonconfrontational mother, I didn’t want to cause waves with my grandmother. Or his parents. Jake was at the center of my heart, but that didn’t mean Dimitri and I should be on bad terms. Still, the man needed boundaries.
“It means you are fully acknowledging my independent life. No meddling.”
We crawled forward in the traffic, surrounded by SUVs and sports cars.
“I’m the one who ’as to go ’ome without you. Mama and Stella peck at me all the time.”
“I’ll tell Stella this weekend. And I’ll ask her to lay off.” Ha! That was a huge promise I wasn’t sure I coul
d keep.
“You love ’im?”
“I do.”
Dimitri’s shoulders slumped, and he stared out the driver’s side window. He took several breaths before looking at me again. “Pity. Tristan and Genevieve would ’ave been beautiful babies.” He winked and smiled.
“Tristan and Genevieve?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, those were the baby names I picked out for us when I was twenty.”
“You picked out baby names? You?”
“I was their father.” He faked shock and brought a hand to his chest.
He pulled the car into the driveway of my building’s car park. I tilted my head to the side and searched his striking face.
“Are we good? Friends?” I asked.
Dimitri nodded slowly.
“I hope you heal well and get selected for the Euro. I know that means a lot to you.”
He closed his eyes. “Ciao, Minette.”
With the metal handle in my grasp, I turned back. “It was nice to see you.” I opened the door and walked to the iron gate where I’d first spotted Dimitri on Sunday. There was no need to check if he was watching me. I slipped in my key and walked through the courtyard to my apartment.
When Jake came home in the middle of the night, he woke me with a hum in my ear. He kissed down my neck and I shivered from his stubble. I rolled onto my back, and he hovered over me.
“I was worried when I didn’t see your car.” His hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and then he was gripping my hip. “But you naked in bed is the saving grace of my shitty day.”
I tucked one of his light brown locks behind his ear. “The Squabbling Spades strike again?”
Jake purred as he twirled my nipple with his tongue. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m busy.” He bit down, and my back arched. His hand moved from my hip to between my legs and a finger dipped between the folds.
“You’re right. Keep doing that.” I closed my eyes and melted into the bed.
“Oh, I’m going to do more than that, baby.” As soon as the words were out, his mouth was on mine for a deep, full kiss.
My nails dug into his back as his quick circular assault between my legs persisted. Warm energy pooled in my core threatening to combust. He broke the kiss and leaned back as he opened my legs wider. Down his mouth trailed as my need for him and a release hung in the air.
His tongue traced its way around my clit before he blew cool air that made me clench in anticipation. A finger teased my ass before slipping in the tight hole and he groaned. Jake’s thumb glided in on the other side and he squeezed.
That ridiculous mouth was back, working a stuttered rhythm toward my bliss. My body tingled and when I reached down to squeeze my nipples, it was all I could do not to scream. I convulsed instead, my orgasm turning me into a whimpering puddle. The stress of my day drowning in its waters.
“You are a beautiful, frustrating beast.” Jake pecked my cheek. “Flip over.” He kissed me again. “And hold on. I have some angst to work out.”
“I love your angst,” I said as I turned onto my stomach.
Jake palmed my ass and grumbled, “Don’t let me get to the point where you can’t take it.”
Slow, deliberate thrusts morphed into quick pumps as our skin slapped together. Jake’s fingers gripped my hips, my body under his full command. The hypnotic pace was a hazy escape and didn’t allow time for overthinking. I was sure that part of Jake was claiming me back as his own. He knew I’d seen Dimitri and I knew I’d have to tell him about the dinner.
His guttural cry married with a final plunge and we collapsed with his stomach clinging to my back. We caught our breath and I wiggled to face the man I loved.
“God, baby. I fucking needed that.” He fell onto the other side of the bed, the chilly air replacing his hot body.
I stood up and steadied myself against the bed, my head still slightly spinning from the sex. As I walked down the hall to the bathroom, I called over my shoulder, “I think it’s fair to say that we both needed that.”
By the time I got back to the bed, Jake had righted the duvet and was already on his side waiting for me to push my ass into his stomach.
“ ’Night, baby.” I kissed his heavenly mouth and spooned him.
“Where’s your car, anyway?” he asked as he nuzzled.
“Can you drive me in the morning? I left it at work.” Work. Where I was possibly the cause of massive failure. Work where I would be wearing blue pants and a cream blouse tomorrow.
“My pleasure.” Jake yawned and settled into sleep.
I squeezed his hand, thankful we were back on track.
4
JAKE
* * *
Louana threaded her arms through a cream blouse in the U-shaped closet. It still floored me that I got to share these intimate moments with her. The simplicity of her outfit only highlighted the loveliness of her being.
“Do I have time for a shower?” I stretched my arms up overhead and tapped the top of the doorframe.
She smiled up at me while she buttoned. “I’ll make you a coffee. Thanks for waking up to take me.”
I was starved for the details of her dinner with the ex, but I wanted them to come from her and assumed that in the car, she would spill the beans. I scratched my head as I walked down to the bathroom, where I had a quick shower.
Clean, but barely awake, I sipped the coffee she’d made as I drove through Hollywood.
Louana cleared her throat. “So. I just want to make it clear I told Dimitri that him showing up unannounced was not cool. I reminded him that I was in love with you.” She reached out and strummed her fingers on my forearm. “Which I very much am, by the way.”
This was all good. She was talking. She was working. But I still didn’t understand what, exactly, had thrown her. “He seems to have some kind of power over you. Which boggles my mind because you fight me every step of the way.”
She picked at a nail. “You’re not going to like this.”
I had already spent too much time imagining her with that clean-cut fuck and my blood threatened to boil out of my skin. The worst part of jealousy, as I was finding out, was the constant need to feed its curiosity. “Just say it.”
“We had a stupid game that we played.”
I floored the jeep and moved through traffic, getting closer to her office. I didn’t want to hear any more, yet I was dying to hear it all. I glanced over to her; she was still twisting her hands and picking at dirt that was probably non-existent under her nails.
“What kind of game?” I tried to keep my tone calm, but it rang sour.
“I used to fidget a lot when I was nervous.” Her hands smacked her thighs. “I still do, apparently.”
“What does that have to do with him?” I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. It made this more real.
“He noticed it. And we kinda worked on me stopping.”
I slowed to a stop and flipped the blinker to turn left into the parking garage of Louana’s office building. The small cringe she’d made after her words was a bad sign. A very, very bad sign. Fuck me. She was talking about sex.
“He fucked your fidgets away?”
Her mouth opened and closed without a sound. Holy fuck. Her ex-boyfriend had programmed her behavior with orgasms. Not only that—how many times had she thought of him while resisting her little nervous tics?
“I’m sorry. I know you hate that he was my first for a lot of things because I am your first for them.”
I pulled the car into the garage and rolled down the window to take a ticket.
“You’re coming up?” she asked with a high note on the last word.
“I was going to see Steven. But now I just think I’m going to go throw up in your bathroom. Jesus Christ, Louana.” I shook my head and we drove in thick silence until I parked.
Quietly, she said, “This is why I don’t talk. It doesn’t make things better.”
I’d never imagined she would be right about not talki
ng, but maybe she had a point. I hopped out of the jeep and slammed the door. We walked—well I kinda stomped—over to the elevator. She pressed the button, then turned to me, placing her hand on my chest and looking up with her dark eyes.
“I’m sorry this hurt you. I’m so tired of us hurting each other.” She slid her hand under the collar of my T-shirt and rested it on my chest. “I love you so much more than I ever loved him. Our relationship is equal; that’s why I fight you. Dimitri and I were unbalanced. I don’t want that. I want you.”
My eyes closed, and I dropped my head back. I didn’t know how she’d done it, but she’d made it all go away. It was like her touch had branded the words into my skin, searing in the sincerity and truth.
“Thank you for saying that and thank you for talking to me.”
The elevator dinged its arrival and we rode to her floor holding hands and made plans to have Sam and Gina over for a barbeque. When we got to her reception area, I was ready to kiss her goodbye and wish her a good day.
Except the receptionist for the floor was sitting behind a huge bouquet of flowers and said, “Louana, these came first thing for you.”
Fuck him. Seriously. Fuck. Him.
Louana swallowed hard, said a weak “thanks,” and carried the vase to her office. I stalked behind her, and when she put the flowers down on her boss Bob’s desk, I perched my hands on my hips by the door.
“What did you do to deserve flowers?” I added a little jilt of my head to highlight the smirk on my face.
From behind the desk, she smoothed her eyebrows and dragged her fingers down her olive cheeks.
“Read the card,” I insisted. Fucking curious beast. I couldn’t resist a snarky tone.
She snatched the little envelope out of the pink-and-lavender mess and opened it.
“It’s in French.”
Was she hoping that would stop me? “Translate.”
“Happy belated Mother’s Day—Love, Tristan and Genevieve.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It’s a joke.” She tucked the note back inside and placed the card in the plastic fork she’d plucked it from.
