Hired by the Mysterious Millionaire

by Ally Blake

“I know.”

  “It just came out.” She pulled herself to her feet. “I barely know you. You could have a wife and kids back in Paris for all I know.” Please don’t let there be a wife and kids. “These are things a person really should find out before falling into bed with some random guy.”

  Armand simply waited for her to finish, his gaze forbearing.

  “Well, not random,” she ameliorated. Not even close. If she could have picked any man in all the world to have spent the night before with she’d have picked him. Not that she was about to tell him. She might have been in the habit of making mediocre choices but she wasn’t completely self-destructive.

  “I’m single,” he said. “Divorced, to be precise. No children.”

  “Really?” she said, one eyebrow raised. Maybe they should have labelled him Mr Mysterious. “Divorced, huh? What happened?”

  He looked at her as if he had no intention of going there, before, for some reason, he relented. “I disappointed her. It’s one of my more consistent skills. Disappointing those who do love me.”

  Evie swallowed. “Not possible.”

  “Believe it. Lucia was the aunt of the little girl on that first kidnapping rescue. She imagined my life was drama and heroism and fell for the romance of her vision. After five years of soldiering, I fell for the mirage of having someone to come home to. She never forgave me for refusing to play the hero. Just as my family never forgave me for refusing to play the good son in the first place and take over the Debussey auction houses.”

  Evie got one arm through her jacket before stopping. “That makes no sense to me. How could they all get you so wrong? You’re not a player—in any sense of the word. Hero is an overused word, so I won’t go there. But anyone who knew you and found themselves disappointed...? I’d like to meet them so they can tell me so to my face.”

  He watched her eyes as she spoke, his gaze hot and pointed, as if he was trying to see into her very soul. And something in his eyes made the next question one of the hardest she’d ever had to ask. “Where is she, Armand? Where’s Lucia?”

  “She was killed a little over a year ago.”

  Evie’s hand swept up to her mouth but not in time to cover the groan. “Oh, jeez. Armand, I’m so sorry.”

  Armand fixed the face of his watch until it sat just so. “We’d parted years before. One day she packed her bags and left and it didn’t even occur to me to stop her. Last year we reconnected at one of my family’s charity events, both apologising for having not put an end to things far sooner. A week later she was mugged. Stabbed while trying to wrest back her handbag. She bled to death before the ambulance arrived.”

  Oh, Armand. No wonder he brooded. No wonder he’d looked so bruised when she’d kissed him. He would have taken it all on himself.

  Evie took a step his way. “She sounds like a very strong woman. To have fought back. Quite the hero herself.”

  He ran both hands down his face and looked her way again. “She’d have liked that.”

  “Do you think you might have become more to one another again, if...if it hadn’t happened?”

  Armand shook his head. “We were the result of a rare weak moment.”

  Evie felt as if a fist squeezed around her heart. Was that what was happening here? Would he look back and think the same of her one day?

  Needing to lighten the room, to let him off the hook, she said, “Is that how Jonathon got you over here? Another moment of weakness?”

  His mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

  “Well, I’m glad. About Jonathon. Bringing you here. Not the rest. Though without the rest you wouldn’t be here. A butterfly flaps its wings...and I’m going to stop talking now.” A beat then, “Except to say that I’m truly sorry. For all that happened. And that your family doesn’t see you for all that you are. And I’m single too, in case you wondered.”

  She pulled a face and told herself to please stop talking. And she would, after she said one more thing. “Look, I want you to know that I didn’t come here for...last night.”

  “And I didn’t offer my room for...last night.”

  Her pause had been a case of sudden-onset modesty. His pause made her think of tangled sheets and slippery limbs and gasps of air as time held its breath.

  “If you like we can shake hands and part ways, go back to annoying one another in our tiny office and pretend nothing happened.”

  “But something did happen,” said Armand.

  “Yes, it did.”

  “You were the one who said I’m not a player. It means I’m no good at pretending. Let’s not attempt it.”

  Evie couldn’t stop her grin. “Okay, then.”

  He tilted his chin. “Grab your things, ma chérie, it’s time to go.”

  Evie quickly made sure she had everything she’d come with, looking around in case it was the last time she saw the place. Her heart squeezed at the thought. But she knew it wasn’t the lovely apartment she would miss.

  Armand pulled on his jacket with an elegant swish, then met her at the door. Where he took her by the hand and pulled her into his arms.

  Her eyes opened in surprise in time to see his close as he kissed her, hard and strong, his tongue sliding over the seam of her mouth until she opened to him and allowed him to sweep her away.

  No sign of the tender touch and slow burn of the night before. He had her so hot she didn’t even realise she was trying to climb him like a tree until he loosened his grip.

  When he pulled back her legs had gone limp and she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, giving her time to find her feet.

  “Stay here tonight.”

  It was not a question.

  “No. It’ll be fine. I’ll check in with Zoe to see if we can make it work for a bit, till I find a new place.”

  Armand just looked at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “Lance has been on tour for how long?”

  “I’ll find a cheap hotel on a train line in the suburbs.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “I can’t stay here, Armand. The noticeboard at work has a couple of rooms-to-let notices. I think one might be Jamie’s—”

  Evie squealed as Armand wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her in close, his nose pressed up against hers. Forehead too.

  “You are not staying with that goujat.”

  “Goujat? What’s that?”

  “Bounder. Hound. Woof-woof.”

  “Ah. I thought you two had made friends.”

  “My friend is a hound. It’s decided; you stay here. Oui?”

  “Oui,” she said, and he grinned, his eyes squinting a little, giving him smile lines. And just like that she fell a little more. A lot more. So hard and fast her head swam.

  She’d only just started this adventure kick and already felt as if she had to hang on for dear life.

  * * *

  “No fancy car and driver today?” she asked when Armand strode towards the station.

  “I like the train.”

  “Honestly? It’s not some form of penance? Or undercover research?”

  “Honestly.”

  Just when she thought she had a handle on him... She liked the train, but if she had the choice she’d totally take the luxury of a driver.

  After another minute he said, “The train makes the travel time feel faster. The quiet in the car can be too much.”

  “Don’t like to be left alone with your own thoughts?”

  He glanced at her, that now familiar expression of surprise. Then, “Yes. White noise is better.”

  Before she could stop herself, Evie slid a hand into the crook of Armand’s elbow. He put a hand over the top and tucked her in tight. It had to be a French thing—this absolute self-confidence. No game-playing, no post-sex masculine posturing. It was a little overwhelming. An
d a whole lot lovely.

  “I like seeing the same people each day,” said Evie. “It’s like following a soap opera.”

  “Soap opera?”

  “A daytime drama. Where you become invested in their lives.”

  Armand smiled at her again and ushered her through the turnstile right as their train came along. By the time they got on, Armand’s usual seat was free. Coincidentally so was hers. By unspoken agreement they remained standing somewhere in the middle.

  “Careworn Mum,” said Armand.

  Evie glanced at the woman across the aisle with triplets climbing over her. “You name them? I name them!”

  Though “careworn” was a far nicer way of labelling the other woman’s predicament than “frazzled”.

  “I wonder how she attempts this run every week,” said Armand.

  “The neighbours who rent my granddad’s farm have young boys. Wildlings. Always better in open spaces than confined. What about those guys?” she asked, motioning to her usual pack of schoolboys on their phones.

  Armand said, “I call them Fear for Our Future.”

  Evie laughed. “Even you were like that when you were fifteen.”

  “I was never like that.”

  She laughed, believing him.

  But then she wondered—had he always been so self-contained? Or had the big, dark moments of his life shaped him so drastically they had hacked at his compassion, rubbed away any softness, leaving him unrelentingly unmoved?

  Was that why she had ultimately been so drawn to him? Because it was clear any “moments of weakness” would be rare. A man like that could never break your heart, as a man like that would never hold it in the first place.

  Armand caught her eye, his eyebrow rising in question. He saw right through her and always had. Meaning he probably knew exactly how she felt. Even before she did.

  She cleared her throat before saying, “Do you think that means that they all name us too?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “What might we be? I’m probably Knitting Woman. Or Beanie Girl. Or... Hang on a second. You’ve called me something a couple of times now. What was it?”

  “The Girl with the Perfect Aim.”

  Evie grimaced then laughed. “Right. Your foot.”

  “And my solar plexus.”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”

  “Never.”

  Another gap of quiet, though this one felt less empty. There was a strange kind of hum there now, filling the gaps. It was so lovely Evie felt like her smile was smiling.

  Until Armand asked, “What did you call me?”

  And like that Evie fell into her own trap. No way was she about to give up the fact she’d called him Hot Stuff in the Swanky Suit. Or—heaven forbid—her Train Boyfriend. She frantically searched for something believable.

  What did he do, apart from sit there scowling, and looking gorgeous—?

  “Reading Guy. We called you Reading Guy.”

  “Mmm...” he grunted. “That’s fair.”

  Phew.

  * * *

  The winter sun shone over the artwork scrawled into the walls of the alleyway as they neared the Montrose offices. Armand wasn’t sure he’d actually noticed the artwork before. Or that Jonathon’s entrance was in an alley.

  In fact, he tried to remember the last couple of dozen times he’d walked from the train station but it was a blur of grey. Shapes. Streets crossed. Corners turned. But today...

  “Can you smell coffee?” he asked. “And buttered toast?”

  Evie looked at him sideways. Then tipped her chin over his shoulder to the doorway of a café that seemed to have sprung suddenly from the wall to his right.

  “Was that always there?”

  “Not since the beginning of time, but yeah.”

  Armand only half heard, as his senses were all talking to him at once.

  Birdsong in the roof gutters, car tyres whistling against the damp bitumen. The tell-tale rainbow shimmer of oil on the path ahead. The sun glinting off the threads in Evie’s shiny jacket, the misshapen curve of her knitted hat.

  Cool at his collar, Armand lifted his hand to find he’d forgotten to put on his tie.

  “Look,” said Evie, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him up short. “Can we just have one more chat about this?”

  “This?” The fact that everything was loud, bright, as if he’d stepped out of a sensory deprivation tank.

  “This.” She waved a frantic hand between them. “Back in your apartment the thought of being all laissez-faire sounded fine, but here...” She glanced up at the building. “When we go in there, can we just keep things normal?”

  “Normal.”

  “I frustrate you. You ruffle me.”

  “That is true.”

  She glared at him a moment before bursting into laughter. He’d never known a person so quick to find joy. “I’m serious. I made such a big deal with the others about being one of the guys, if they found out you and I were...”

  Armand reached up and tucked in the tag at the neckline of the T-shirt she’d put on back to front. “Worried I’ll cramp your style?”

  “Are you serious? My cred would level up.”

  She sank her face into both hands and gave her head a wild shake, dark hair floating over her shoulders. “But what about Jonathon? He put his faith in us to work together, not...you know. What if I lose his respect?”

  A memory swam to the surface; Jonathon assuring him he Did Not Care if they did anything HR would not approve of. He tucked it back away.

  “Evie, are you planning on embezzling from the company?”

  Her head whipped up so fast her hair caught in her lashes.

  “There she is,” said Armand. “Will your work suffer because of last night?”

  She held up finger and thumb and held them a millimetre apart.

  Armand couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh. Before coming to this part of the world he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled.

  “Your fifty percent is everyone else’s one hundred, so that’s a moot point. It is none of anyone’s business. Including Jonathon. Yet you are determined we seal our lips?”

  She nodded vigorously. Then her gaze dropped to his lips, her wide-open face giving him everything he needed to know.

  “Then sealed they are,” he said. “You Australians, so uptight.”

  Her gaze slunk back to his, eyes narrowed. Then she quickly checked the alleyway, lifted up onto her toes, kissed him hard and fast, then ducked through the door and inside.

  Armand counted to thirty, looked into the camera that had no doubt filmed their entire conversation, gave it a jaunty wave, then opened the door and went to work.

  * * *

  “Mate.”

  Armand pulled up as Jonathon came out of his office. “Morning.”

  “Evie just scooted past like she had a dragon at her heels. Everything all right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  Jonathon looked at him a moment. “Great. So how was last night?”

  The fingers of his right hand curled into his palm until he realised Jonathon was asking about the Escape Room. Now who was acting uptight? “A corporate espionage soldier story? Subtle.”

  “Imogen found it. Worth her weight in microchips, that one. I hear you aced it. Jamie couldn’t hold it in this morning. I think someone has a little crush.”

  Armand’s fingers were again starting to tingle. “You only just noticed. He’s had his eye on her from day dot.”

  Jonathon’s mouth twitched. “I was talking about you. The kid totally wants to be you when he grows up.”

  Armand breathed out hard and counted to three. “Okay, then. I have a job to do—”

  “All in good time. Now, what were we talking about?”

/>   “When you think you might grow up.”

  “Right.”

  As one they turned to look over the railing at the Bullpen below, then they were off and running, reminiscing about their uni days, when growing up was the last thing on their minds. Deliberately leaving out the Turkish trip, during which they had both grown up overnight.

  Again Armand only listened with half an ear but by then his senses had well and truly recalibrated. And they were twanging like a plucked violin string.

  Something Jonathon said niggled at him. Not Jamie. Not this time. Time. He’d said “All in good time”. The man was so concerned about his huge new project he’d all but cried on the phone to convince Armand to come all the way over here to help him, and now he was saying it could be sorted out “all in good time”.

  Out of the corner of his eye Armand catalogued Jonathon’s fidgeting fingers, the way he shifted as if his shoes were too tight. The fact his gaze couldn’t quite stick.

  Dammit. Jonathon was hiding something. Knowing Jonathon, it could be anything—a new woman in his life, a new invention he’d patented, but it wasn’t.

  It was something to do with this project.

  “Everything all right with you?” Armand asked when Jonathon took a breath.

  “Sure, mate,” he said. Silence hung between them, taut and loaded. Until Jonathon sparked up with his trademark grin. “Why do you ask?”

  Armand considered pushing the matter. But he wasn’t prepared to go into battle without a further reconnaissance. He pushed away from the railing. “I’d better get to it.”

  Jonathon glanced down the hall to where Evie was no doubt already hard at work and said, “Go get ’em, cowboy.”

  * * *

  Evie stood beside Armand on the train platform, waiting for the evening ride back to his place. He was busy scowling and texting on his ancient cell phone—it was painful to watch—so she left him be.

  It had been the longest day of her life. Stuck in their small room, trying to concentrate on her work. She’d had to stop and go back more than once, which was not like her. In the end she’d begged if she could pack up her laptop and go to the cafeteria.