She paused on a photo of Stephan seated on a sofa with a scantily-clad young actress on his lap. Two beautiful people stared into the camera.
Roselle laughed out loud. “Roselle, you’re not his type, either,” she murmured.
She’d have to keep her distance until this silly crush—or whatever it was—went away. With Stephan working in business development, located on the same floor as her office, they’d run into each other from time to time, but she’d be sure to avoid him whenever possible.
“Get back to work,” she admonished herself. She exited Instagram.
Pushing thoughts of Stephan from her mind, she picked up the phone to call a vendor.
Chapter 4
Roselle walked briskly from her office through the quiet reception area, on her way to a late lunch. She was starving.
One of the admins wore headphones over her ears as she transcribed dictation, and the other admin waved while talking on the phone. Roselle waved back. The two women provided support to Roselle, the other fashion directors, and the creative director of the furniture line.
Her mind was going a thousand miles a minute, excitement practically thrumming through her veins. After talking to her aunt last night, she’d stayed up late scouring the Internet for details about Paris and had bookmarked dozens of tourist sites.
She found details about the riverboats that cruised the Seine that Sylvie had mentioned. They were called Bateaux Mouches, and if there was time, she definitely wanted to take one of those excursions. But there were two things she was absolutely determined to do—stroll down the Champs-Élysées and take a selfie with the Eiffel Tower in the background.
To think, three years ago she’d been in a bad place after…no. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t go there.
Roselle went down the hall and came to a full stop when she saw Stephan in front of the elevator. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of days. She last saw him on Tuesday, cursing at the copy machine until she showed him how to restart it. Then she’d ducked out and gone back to her office, waiting until she was sure he was gone, before returning to make copies.
Stephan turned in her direction, looking handsome in a dark blue blazer and pale yellow shirt underneath. No tie.
“Hi,” she said and then mentally berated herself for the breathless sound of her voice. Why did he make her so nervous?
“Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.” He flashed a grin, making her belly do a strange little somersault in a blatant display of nerves.
“I’ve been busy.” She came closer but remained a respectful distance from him.
“Going out for a late lunch like me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, staring at the closed doors.
“You know what, I kind of get the impression that you don’t like me.”
She looked at him. “What makes you say that?”
“You hardly ever speak, and when you do, it’s in short sentences, as if you can’t wait for our conversation to be over.”
Roselle had been dodging him but hadn’t expected him to call her out. “That’s your imagination,” she said, returning her gaze to the elevator doors.
“Uh-huh. Where are you going to eat? I’m headed over to Kayak.”
Kayak was an upscale restaurant tucked away behind one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. She’d never eaten there, but she did know that there was no way he could drive to Kayak, eat lunch, and return to the office within an hour. He was looking at a minimum of two hours. He would probably get away with it, though. One of the privileges of being the owner’s son.
“I’m walking to Subway down the street,” she replied.
“I’ve never eaten there. I heard they have good sandwiches. I’ll have to try it sometime.”
Roselle eyed him skeptically, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“What’s that look for? I’ll eat at Subway.”
“I doubt that, but okay.”
“You don’t think I’ll do it.”
“I’m sure you will,” Roselle said, voice laced with a heavy dose of skepticism.
“I’m canceling my car and going to Subway.” Stephan removed his phone from his pocket.
“Don’t do that on my account.”
The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped in. The same way he dominated his mother’s office, he filled the car with his presence. From the corner of her eye, she saw his thumbs move quickly over the phone’s screen.
“You challenged me, so I’m going to meet that challenge. Hopefully, you don’t mind having company.” He looked up at her inquiringly.
Roselle shrugged. “I don’t mind,” she said casually, the thrumming excitement she’d felt a few minutes ago about Paris returned twofold at the thought of lunch with him.
“Good. Then it’s settled.” He tucked the phone into a pocket.
They nodded at other employees who entered on one of the lower floors, and they all rode the elevator to the lobby. Soon, they were out the door and headed on foot to Subway.
“So, what do you recommend I try at this place?” Stephan asked.
“Any of their sandwiches are good, but I’m partial to the meatball sandwich,” Roselle said.
They strolled at a leisurely pace, sticking close enough to talk, but not close enough to touch. When they arrived at Subway, Stephan opened the door and let her enter first. There was a line, and she heard him groan behind her.
“It won’t take long,” Roselle assured him.
Stephan leaned close to her ear. “How does this work?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear.
She swallowed and turned a little toward him to reply. Their eyes locked for a second before she glanced away. “First, you tell them the bread you want. The choices are there.” She pointed at the menu board. “Then you tell them if you want a six-inch or a foot-long.”
“Whoa, a six-inch or a foot-long? What kind of establishment is this?” Stephan whispered.
Roselle giggled. “That’s the size of your sandwich. Six inches or twelve inches.”
“Okay, got you.” Amusement filled his light brown eyes.
Roselle continued explaining the process for getting his food. When it was their turn, she placed her order for a six-inch meatball, and Stephan placed his for a foot-long BMT.
They eased down to the register. “I’ll pay for both of these sandwiches,” Stephan said.
“I can pay for my own meal,” Roselle said.
“I’m sure you can, but I want to.” He pulled out a credit card and spoke to the clerk. “Make both of them combos and add three of those chocolate chip cookies.”
“Thank you,” Roselle mumbled.
“Not a problem.”
The woman rang up the order, and after they collected drinks and chips, they sat at a table against the wall that two construction workers vacated seconds before.
“So, what does a fashion director do?” Stephan asked, opening the paper wrapped around his sandwich.
“A little bit of everything,” Roselle answered, which was one of the many reasons she loved her job. “I have to understand fashion trends and know fashion history and coordinate events. I handle the branding for the two lines I oversee, and I sometimes have to travel. In the past, it’s solely been in the United States, but Miss Sylvie wants me to do more international travel.” She used to call her Ms. Johnson, but Sylvie had given her permission to call her Sylvie. She’d compromised and called her Miss Sylvie.
“Sounds like you like it.”
“I love it. How do you like working in business development so far?” Roselle asked.
“So far, it’s not bad, but it’s early yet. I look forward to working with you, though,” Stephan said.
“We won’t be working together,” she said, confused. Not unless they were specifically assigned to work together, and she couldn’t see that happening.
“You’re wrong. You and I are going to become real close.” He took a big bite of his sandwich.
“W
hy do you say that?”
He shrugged. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
“When you say real close—”
“I mean real close.” His unwavering gaze met hers.
Oh. “I thought we were just doing lunch.”
“We are.”
“That didn’t sound like lunch conversation. Sounds like you were hitting on me.”
“And if I was?”
She paused. “Don’t you prefer women who are a little more…glamorous? Actresses, models, that kind of thing?”
He set down his sandwich and finished chewing. “You ever consider modeling yourself?”
“Me? No.” Roselle shook her head at such a ridiculous suggestion.
“Why not? You have the look.”
“No, I don’t.” She laughed at him.
“Sure. Pretty, great body…” He dropped that gem into the conversation like it was nothing.
Heat crawled up Roselle’s neck to her face. “I’m too short for runway.”
“You could do print ads. How tall are you? You look about five-four.”
“I’m five-five, thank you very much.”
“Gotta get that extra inch in there, huh?” he said with a chuckle.
“If I left off an inch on your penis length, you’d insist I add it, wouldn’t you?”
His eyebrows flew higher. “Ouch.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, but I didn’t expect that from you. You got a little fire in you, Roselle.”
He looked at her with renewed interest, but she pretended not to notice, taking a sip of her drink instead.
People always acted surprised whenever she stood up for herself, but she’d learned to do that over the years, though it didn’t come naturally. As a quiet personality, she would rather not bring attention to herself, but by perfecting the tough-girl act, she’d created a persona that others related to.
“Now you know,” she said.
“Yeah, now I know,” Stephan said slowly.
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
“I used to model,” Stephan said.
“When?” She shouldn’t be surprised. He was tall and had the right look, including great facial bone structure.
“Years ago, when I was fifteen. I started modeling for one of my mother’s designer friends and lasted about six months before I quit.”
“Why did you quit?”
“Got bored.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, and she suspected there was more.
“You quit because of boredom? That doesn’t sound like the whole story.”
“It’s not the whole story.”
For a moment, his mask dropped. A frown creased his brow, and she had the surprising urge to smooth it away with her fingers.
He continued. “Having all those people fawning all over me all the time made me uncomfortable. All they ever talked about was my looks, as if…I don’t know, as if there was nothing else there. As if I had no substance, so I quit.”
“That sucks when people think of you in a one-dimensional way,” Roselle said gently. “Does it still bother you when people fawn all over you?”
The sexy half-smile reemerged. “Nah. Now I use it to my advantage.”
The way he looked at her, she might be his next victim.
Stephan shoved the last cookie over to her side of the table. “You can have it.”
“Why?”
“Because you moaned a little bit when you ate the last one.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Did I?”
He nodded. “I shouldn’t have given it to you. Should have licked it and made it mine.”
Roselle shifted in her seat. “About that beignet—”
“Don’t worry about it. I thought it was funny.” Amusement filled his eyes.
“In my defense, I like anything with chocolate. There’s another sandwich shop near the office, and they have these chocolate cookies with chocolate chunks, chocolate chips, and M&Ms. They’re so good. Thanks for the cookie, by the way.” She broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth.
“So, you’re a chocoholic. Next time we’ll have to stop in there.”
“The sandwiches are awful.”
“Then we’ll only eat the cookies.”
Roselle gulped. Why did that sound dirty? Maybe because he’d lowered his voice and his intense gaze suggested he wanted to eat her.
“We’ll see,” she said, a little breathless.
Chapter 5
Darn it. She was going to be late getting back to the office. Roselle all but ran down the sidewalk.
She didn’t punch a clock but was not the type to take advantage and return to work whenever she felt like it. She’d been so busy enjoying Stephan’s company she lost track of time. Aside from the flirtatious conversation, he wasn’t as bad as she thought.
He wasn’t only sexy. He was funny and easy to talk to. The kind of man who made you laugh out loud in public and screwed the hell out of you in private. Though she had no business thinking about him in private.
“You don’t have to rush back,” Stephan said, taking long, effortless strides and keeping up with ease.
“You don’t have to rush back,” Roselle said pointedly.
She pushed open the glass doors before he had a chance to open them for her.
“Hold the elevator!” she yelled, scurrying across the marble floor to the closing doors.
One of the passengers held them open, and she squeezed in, slightly winded from her accelerated pace. Stephan slid between the doors and stood on the opposite end.
On the third floor, three occupants left. After the sixth floor, they were alone again.
“You’re not going to get fired, and if you get into trouble, I’ll gladly admit that I’m the reason you were late.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather not be late,” Roselle said. She stared at the numbers as the cabin climbed higher.
The elevator stopped on their floor and opened to a plain white wall with the words SJ Brands emblazoned on them in gold. There was no reception area. To the left was a set of sofas and the beginning of the creatives department. To the right, another grouping of chairs, and the beginning of the business development department.
Roselle hopped off the elevator.
“Wait a minute,” Stephan said, grabbing her upper arm.
His touch sent a flare of heat blazing across her skin and scattered her thoughts. She jerked away, staring at him in shock.
He stepped back and held up his hand. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I…it’s fine.” She rubbed the spot he’d touched. It felt warm as if he were still touching her. She’d feel his touch long after they walked away from each other.
“I know you have to get back to work, but I wanted to see if you’d like to have lunch again sometime.”
“Um, maybe.”
He frowned. “You didn’t enjoy my company?”
“I did, but I usually eat alone.”
“Is that what you prefer?”
“Sometimes. It gives me time to think. It’s nothing personal.”
“Just so you know, I enjoyed your company, even if you didn’t enjoy mine.”
“I did enjoy your company, but I want to make sure you don’t expect more from me. We’re coworkers.”
He angled his head to the side. “Are you implying I might want more than friendship?”
Wait a minute, hadn’t he flirted with her back at Subway? Was she misreading the signals? “I-I didn’t mean—”
“I get it, it’s hard to resist me.”
Roselle opened her mouth to refute the claim, but he interrupted. “Believe me, I know. It’s a burden I’ve carried all my life. I’m aware of the effect I have on women, but there’s nothing I can do about these good looks. Blame my parents. I do try my best to tone down the charm. After all, with great power comes great responsibility,” he said gravely.
“I’m not sure what to say to such a blatant display of narcissism.”
&nbs
p; “You could agree to show me the ropes and help me be successful.”
“Your mother runs the company, and your sister is second in command,” she said pointedly.
“All the more reason why I need help. I have to work hard to impress them. Come on, help a brother out. I’m looking for a friend, someone who can help me understand the fashion industry. If you can’t handle being friends with a stunningly attractive man without wanting to jump his bones, then you, madam, have a problem. And you know what, now I don’t want to be your friend.”
He was using reverse psychology. She knew it, and he probably knew she knew it, and still, the words coming out of her mouth were, “If you’re that insistent that you need a friend, I guess we can be friends.”
“I don’t want you to make an exception for me. I know I’m a newbie in the industry, and you’re a seasoned vet.”
“I will lower my standards to make an exception for you.”
He clutched his chest. “Thank you. I’m speechless with gratitude, milady.” He did a little bow.
Roselle laughed. He was too much. No wonder he always had women clinging to him in his Instagram pictures. Who could blame them?
The humor disappeared from Stephan’s face, and he leveled that unwavering gaze of his at her again. “But seriously, I had a good time.”
Roselle shifted from one foot to another. She needed to get back to work but didn’t want to walk away. “I did, too. Thanks for paying for my meal.”
“You said that already.”
“Thank you again.”
“And us eating together won’t be a problem, right? No one’s going to run up on me in a dark alley?”
“Why would you be in a dark alley?”
“I have no idea.”
They both laughed.
“No one will run up on you in a dark alley,” Roselle confirmed.
“Good,” Stephan said decisively.
Their eyes locked for a moment where time stood still. Then a slow smile came across his lips, and she wondered if he knew her thoughts. Had he guessed how attracted she was to him and how hard she was fighting that attraction?
Two Nights in Paris Page 3
