Two Nights in Paris
Page 2
I could always deejay, he thought. But that didn’t appeal to him as much as it should. Being a celebrity DJ used to be fun and paid well, but it was still work—late night work that he preferred to do only on an occasional basis, more as a hobby. If it became his full-time job, he’d hate it.
The only way to meet all the requirements was to work for Sylvie, which he was starting to suspect was the endgame anyway. Sylvie was expected to transition the conglomerate to her children eventually, but with his track record, he’d never considered she’d want him to be one of those children. If he came on board now, if he showed her he was no good at his job, maybe she’d leave him alone once and for all, and then he’d only have a short wait until he received a huge chunk of his inheritance after he turned thirty.
Still…
“I don’t have any skills,” Stephan said.
“You speak several languages fluently, and you worked for your father one summer.”
Oscar brokered boat sales, and that’s how he met Sylvie.
“That was ages ago. I was a kid, and selling boats is not the same as selling furniture or clothing or working in the film industry.”
“No, but the same skill sets apply. You’re a people person and can use that to your advantage. I think you’d be a star in business development, working with the SJ Brand stores and the third-party stores that carry my brand.”
Stephan deflated. She had an answer for every objection.
Her gaze softened a fraction. “You know this is for the best. You’re twenty-nine years old, and it’s time for you to grow up. At least try. For me, hmm? If you don’t like working in business development, we’ll see if you fit in somewhere else.”
“All right,” Stephan muttered.
Sylvie’s face brightened. “Good.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
Stephan heard the door open.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in a meeting. Inez wasn’t at her desk.”
With his back turned, he couldn’t see the person who spoke, but immediately his ears perked up at the soft, alluring sound of her voice. A voice he’d heard before.
“It’s fine. Come in.”
Sylvie waved the woman forward, and Stephan twisted in the chair enough to catch sight of her as she approached.
Roselle Parker was a mildly attractive woman holding two sketchpads at her side. She had cinnamon-brown skin, and her shoulder-length hair was styled into bouncy curls.
Sylvie took a couple of steps toward the younger woman. “Stephan, have you met Roselle before? She’s one of my fashion directors, overseeing accessories and the women’s workwear lines. She is one of my best employees. Whatever I toss at her, she handles. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Thank you.” Roselle blushed and lowered her gaze in a bashful manner.
“Stephan is going to start working here very soon, in business development. I don’t believe you’ve met before, have you?”
“Not formally. I’ve seen him once or twice in the building, and once briefly in the break room,” Roselle replied with a smile.
A nice smile to hide the fact that she’d been rude to him in that same break room.
Stephan came to his feet. “Nice to see you again.”
He towered over her, so she had to look up at him with a pair of bottomless dark brown eyes that sucked him in with their radiance. Like he did with every woman, he assessed her fuckability.
She gave him a firm handshake with very soft hands that sent an unexpected surge through him. His fingers tightened around hers, and he examined her features as if he had to sketch them later for an art final. She was cute, with prominent cheekbones and full, inviting-looking lips. A bit on the slender side, though not too skinny for him. Under her silk blouse, her breasts were too small for a handful but still a decent size. She had a small waist hidden beneath slimming black slacks, and dark heels gave her a little height.
Final assessment, he’d definitely do her. He wanted to do her if only she’d give him a shot.
Roselle abruptly withdrew her hand, cutting off contact and leaving Stephan feeling oddly bereft of her touch.
“I brought those sketches you asked for,” she said, returning her attention to Sylvie in a way that made him feel as if she were purposely ignoring him.
“Good. Let’s see what you have.”
Stephan reclaimed his seat, and both women rounded the desk. Sylvie sat down and put on her black-framed glasses, while Roselle showed her the designs.
Sylvie flipped through the pages. “Oh, these are lovely. I like this one a lot.” She tapped the page with a forefinger.
“I do, too. I think that skirt works for next year’s spring line.”
“Oh, absolutely. But instead of this blue, I’d go deeper to indigo.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
As Roselle bent over the desk, she tucked strands of hair behind her ear and laughed quietly with his mother as she pointed to something on a sheet of paper. She was definitely hot.
“That’s fascinating. We must do that,” Sylvie said. She made a check mark in the top right corner of one of the sheets.
“I thought you would agree.”
Was Roselle really that amenable or was she one of those people who kissed Sylvie’s butt because they were terrified of her?
Sylvie flipped to another page. “How are your plans going for the trip to Paris?” she asked.
Roselle straightened. “I re-confirmed the meetings this morning.”
“Wonderful. I hope you’ve scheduled some free time, too.”
“You’re going to love Paris,” Stephan said.
“I’d like to stay an extra day if it’s okay with you.” Roselle spoke directly to his mother as if he hadn’t spoken.
Was she ignoring him, or was that his imagination? He wasn’t used to being ignored, especially not by women.
Sylvie removed her glasses and set them on the desk. “Of course. One cannot go to Paris without doing a little sightseeing. And you’ve never been before, have you?”
“No, never. I’ve never been out of the country. I had to get a passport for this trip.” Roselle gave a little laugh.
“Then, by all means, take an extra day to do a tour. Visit the Louvre or take a trip on one of the boats that cruise down the Seine River. Enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you!” Roselle’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Stephan couldn’t help but stare.
Sylvie looked at him. “Roselle is meeting with the representatives of a high-end department store in Paris, Rue de la Mode. Our lines do very well at other Parisian retailers, and they want to partner with us to release a line exclusive to their stores—clothes, shoes, accessories, and bed linens.”
“You’ve never done bed linens before,” Stephan said. He didn’t know much about his mother’s business, but he did know that.
“No, I haven’t, but I’m open to the idea. The company is interested in a long-term relationship. Roselle is going over there to meet with them and check out their stores.”
“To see if they’re worthy of carrying your brand?” Stephan asked with mild amusement.
“Exactly. Not everyone is worthy,” Sylvie said with a heavy dose of arrogance. “There will be more negotiations afterward, but we want to at least meet with them and start a conversation.” She handed the pads to Roselle. “I like what I see with those sketches. Tell them to carry on. Have the rest of them to me by next week.”
“I will.” Roselle’s grin rivaled the sunlight pouring through the windows at Sylvie’s back.
She left the room.
“Where were we?” Sylvie asked.
“We were talking about me coming to work for you in business development.”
“Oh, yes. So—”
“Can’t wait.”
“You can’t?”
“Yes.” Stephan stood. “When do you want me to start?”
Chapter 3
“What are you up to?”
Stephan laughed. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You want me to be responsible and offered me a position with your company. Is that no longer the case?”
He thought again about Roselle. Her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about Paris, and of course that voice—alluring, sweet. He’d already imagined how she’d sound in his bed as he used his skills in all the ways he knew how to give her pleasure. Was she a screamer or a moaner? She had a quiet air about her, so he suspected she was a moaner. But he’d do his best to make her scream.
“Very well, I have every confidence in you. Do not disappoint me, Stephan. Consider this your last chance to impress me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal clear.”
“Wonderful.” The phone on Sylvie’s desk rang, and when she read the caller ID, she smiled and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she purred.
That must be his father on the line.
Sylvie glanced at her watch. “You’re early, but that’s fine. I’m wrapping up my conversation with Stephan now, and I have wonderful news. He’s coming to work for me.” She fell silent as she listened to his father talk. Then she nodded. “Of course, darling, I know. But I believe he’s serious, and I’ve impressed upon him how serious I am.” She locked eyes with Stephan. “Yes, I’ll be right down. I will. See you in a few minutes.” She hung up the phone. “Your father says hi.”
“Tell him I said hi back. Father is your ten o’clock appointment?”
She picked up her purse and tucked it under her arm. “Yes. Your father and I sometimes meet for mid-morning coffee or for lunch. Or we meet in the afternoon for tea. It’s not very often, but it was his idea, and I like it. I spend so much time working, and he thought meeting up every so often during the day for thirty minutes or so was a way to keep things fresh between us. He’s also insisted we do date nights, where he plans everything. It’s quite nice.”
She was positively glowing, and though he resented his father’s influence on her, their reconciliation made her happy.
Sylvie tucked her arm in his, and they walked to the door. “You’ll need to go down to HR and fill out the proper paperwork.”
Stephan cleared his throat. “In terms of salary, how much are we talking?”
“Enough to get you close to your suspended allowance,” Sylvie answered.
Yes! Stephan shouted internally, but kept his expression neutral, nodding with a grave expression on his face. That wasn’t perfect, but certainly better than the struggle he’d anticipated.
“You can start tomorrow, arrive at eight o’clock. Touch base with your sister first so she can talk to HR on your behalf and give you an idea of how the company runs. Since she’s over operations, I’ll let her take over from here.”
They walked out of her office, which led directly into an open reception area where Inez’s desk was set up. After a brief goodbye to her admin, they stopped at the elevator.
“Remember what I told you.” Sylvie tapped her cheek, and Stephan dutifully kissed it.
“I haven’t forgotten. Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior. I won’t let you down.” He tucked his hands into his pants pockets.
“I certainly hope you don’t.”
Sylvie entered the elevator cabin. Her disapproving stare was the last thing he saw before the doors closed.
Minutes after leaving Sylvie’s office on shaky legs, Roselle still hadn’t recovered from seeing Stephan Brooks again. She stepped into her cluttered office and leaned back against the closed door.
She’d had to tug her hand away from his because…wow. Like the first time she’d been in close contact with him, he smelled divine. The fragrance was leather mixed with a hint of citrus. And his voice, low and smooth, brought sex to mind and made her so uneasy she refused to look at him the rest of the time in the meeting because she didn’t want him to guess her lustful thoughts.
The first time she’d seen him, she’d only caught the back of his head when he was leaving for lunch with his mother and siblings—something they did once a month. But even the back view had been enough to make an impression on her. There was something about his walk—his presence—that impacted her during those brief seconds.
The next time they saw each other, she’d exited the building as he pulled up to the curb to pick up his younger brother, Reese, who stood on the sidewalk chatting with another employee. Most days she took public transportation to work, so she was on her way to the bus stop, but her eyes had remained on him as he rolled down the window and yelled for Reese to hurry up. Then their gazes connected, and the right corner of his lips quirked up knowingly. As if he were used to women staring at him. Right away, she realized she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, mesmerized like a fool.
With burning cheeks, she rushed away, mortified and praying she’d never see him again. Of course, luck was not with her. They saw each other yet again, this time in the break room. She was on the executive floor for a meeting and had slipped in there for coffee and one of the espresso chocolate-filled beignets a kind employee had brought from a local bakery.
Stephan was also there, punching a Coke from the vending machine. She would have darted out right away, but he saw her, so she mumbled a greeting. He said something about the beignets and pointed out there was only one left.
With a quickness that surprised even her, Roselle snatched up the beignet and slid her tongue along the length of it. “Sorry. I licked it, so now it’s mine.”
She experienced a sense of satisfaction as Stephan gaped at her. That teasing half-smile that tilted up the right corner of his mouth, as if he was secretly laughing at everyone and everything around him, was completely gone. While he stood there stunned, Roselle poured a cup of coffee.
She had no idea what possessed her to do such a thing. Perhaps to prove to herself that her attraction for him was not real, and perhaps to deflate his ego a little. If he’d thought she was interested in him before that moment, licking the last beignet so he couldn’t have it was a great way to squash that theory.
Roselle picked up the beignet with a napkin and headed to the door.
“You know what?”
Stephan’s voice stopped her. She should have kept moving but was curious about what he had to say.
“I haven’t decided if that was a turn-off or a turn-on. I’m leaning toward the latter.”
She’d rushed out, his soft chuckle echoing in her eardrums, intoxicating and devilishly warm in a way that annoyed her.
Today she’d struggled not to stare at him. He had a smooth face, and the hair on his head was cut so low it looked almost straight. Tall and broad, he’d dominated Sylvie’s large office, but not in an intimidating way. Everything else in the room receded like the blurred background in a photo, while he remained crisp and sharp and bright in tan chinos and a white, long-sleeved shirt.
He was painfully good-looking, with thick lashes above eyes the same light-brown—whiskey-colored—as his mother’s. But where Sylvie’s were sharp and assessing, his were filled with a hint of amused interest. He had a thin upper lip, but a full lower one that looked invitingly soft. The kind of lips that were perfect for sucking or nibbling on with her teeth. She’d met his father once when he visited the office, and Stephan had inherited his sandy-gold complexion. Based on the rumors she’d heard, much of his charm, as well.
Roselle shook her head to shake out of her momentary trance. She had a million tasks to complete, and none of them involved mooning over her boss’s son like some lovesick preteen with a boy band crush.
In the rectangular-shaped office, her desk sat to the left against a red wall. The desk was alm
ost completely covered with magazines, books, fabric, and patterns. A credenza next to it held her laptop and phone. In the middle of the tiled floor, a long table contained a sewing machine at one end, while textiles, scissors, measuring tape, needles, and other tools of the trade littered its surface. The walls were filled with pictures she’d torn out of magazines, as well as other visuals she’d grouped together in an effort to predict trends and create unified looks for the lines she oversaw.
Her two bookcases were laughably overstuffed, filled with more magazines and fashion books she used as reference materials.
Roselle stepped over a pile of magazines and dropped the sketch pads to the desk. She sat down in her burgundy leather chair. Though she needed to get work done, her mind wandered again to Stephan.
Did he have an Instagram account? She didn’t, but everyone else did nowadays.
With curiosity getting the better of her, she set her laptop on the desk, logged in, and did a quick search. She found his handle and began scrolling.
If the pictures on his page were any indication, she and he were complete opposites. He was flamboyant and threw raunchy parties that celebrities and socialites were invited to. She, on the other hand, was a loner. Her roommate was a traveling nurse, gone all week for work and on the weekends because of an active social life. Roselle spent her nights and weekends sewing or poring over fashion magazines. When she wasn’t doing that, she ate Chinese food out of a container and watched movies on Netflix.
Stephan also naturally had the kind of confidence she had to fake. There were plenty of pictures of him with his head held at an arrogant angle, arm casually thrown around some young woman’s neck who was either kissing his jaw or her body was turned toward him while she stared into the camera.
Roselle should be turned off, not turned on by the arrogance that practically oozed from his pores. He was obviously a cocky pretty boy who’d had everything handed to him his entire life, and whose sense of entitlement must be one hundred miles wide because of his wealth. He was definitely not her type.