by Anna Lewis
“I know, right?” Jackson sighed. “But they’re all mad at me or suddenly dating movie producers or, I don’t know, gone back to Greece or some nonsense.”
Shelby chewed on the inside of her mouth. Normally, she tried to hide any outward signs of nervousness or anxiety—such things were signs of weakness and there was no room for the weak in the upper-echelon of New York businessmen—but she allowed herself this one small bad habit. Especially when Jackson was clearly up to something.
“Do you need me to arrange a companion for this evening, Mr. Archer?” Shelby asked, but what she meant was Please don’t ask me to hire you an escort.
Jackson noticed her subtext, his eyebrows shooting up and his clear blue eyes widening in surprise. “No! Oh, god no, Shelby,” he replied, the grin wiped off his face. “Tonight’s going to be hard enough as it is without worrying about wrangling a call girl.”
Shelby didn’t even try to hide her eye roll at that one.
Jackson ignored her, plowing on through his diatribe. “I mean, half the board members will be there, judging me for not being my father. Plus, the head of Slaterson Inc. will be there and he keeps trying to get me to sell my shares of this hotel to him—”
Shelby smiled politely and tuned him out. Sometimes Jackson needed to rant for a bit before he got to his point. When he got like this, she just let him talk until he wore himself out. A short phrase caught her attention again.
“—and of course, fucking Andre Kennedy will be there, gloating about his prize for—”
Andre Kennedy was Jackson’s bitter rival. While most of the men of wealth in the city, and country, were old and getting older, Andre Kennedy was the only one who compared to Jackson in looks, success and, most importantly, age. Both men were barely over thirty-five, but Jackson had inherited his wealth and Andre had earned his.
Although Jackson never brought it up, it was clear that he was horribly jealous of Andre’s rise to fame and fortune. Where tabloids promoted Jackson’s jet-setting, womanizing habits, they lauded Andre for advancements in science and all the patents he held.
They were both on equal financial footing, but Andre was getting all the glory.
It drove Jackson crazy.
“So?” Jackson asked. “Will you do it?”
Shelby realized that she’d barely been paying attention to the stream of words flowing from her boss’ mouth. She’d been too busy thinking about the handsome, successful Andre Kennedy.
“Do what now, sir?” she stammered. Shelby hated being caught off her guard.
Jackson furrowed his brow. “Go to the gala tonight with me,” he clarified. “As my date?”
Oh no, Shelby thought. What have I gotten myself into?
***
The only positive thing about being Jackson’s date to the gala, as far as Shelby was concerned, was that she got to take the afternoon off to go buy a gown, and have her nails done and hair styled, all on Jackson Archer’s dime. And, for a favor of this magnitude, it was going to be a very, very expensive dress.
Shelby had attended a party with Jackson once before, back when she was an associate executive assistant to his father, Jackson Archer Sr. Jackson had been dating a B-list Hollywood actress at the time, currently creating controversy for a graphic nude scene, and his father had put his foot down and absolutely forbade Jackson from bringing her to the gala as his date. A screaming match had ensued and, although Shelby wasn’t privy to what actually happened, another member of the Archer Enterprises staff told her that Mr. Archer Sr. had threatened to disinherit his son if he dared bring the actress to the party.
So, Shelby had been dressed, groomed, and sent into battle as date/babysitter to the younger Mr. Archer. The night had been awful: Jackson had barely spoken to her and gotten absolutely sloshed at the gala. They’d left early and she’d loaded him into the limo with every ounce of strength and persuasion that she possessed.
Neither of them ever talked about it, but Shelby counted that night as one of the worst of her entire career. Frankly, she was shocked that Jackson hadn’t fired her when his father passed and he took possession of the company. She thought for sure he’d kick her to the curb, so she wouldn’t always be there, a reminder of that disastrous gala.
Yet here she was again. Going to a gala on the arm of Jackson Archer Jr., billionaire playboy and royal pain in the ass.
Jackson didn’t bother to get out of the limo when it arrived at Shelby’s building, instead letting the chauffer dash around the side of the car and open the door for her.
Shelby slid in, carefully arranging the layers of her newly purchased red Vera Wang gown across the backseat. She spent a ton of Jackson’s money on this dress, she was damned if it was going to get wrinkled on the way to the gala.
Jackson nodded a quick hello as she slid into the limo, eyes locked on his phone screen. He kept flicking his finger across the screen to the left.
“Hello, Mr. Archer,” Shelby said, to no reply.
She tried again. “You look nice tonight, sir.”
Jackson only grunted and took a quick sip of champagne from the flute tucked into a drink holder next to him. He remained silent, flicking his finger across the screen.
“Mr. Archer, is there anything I need to know about tonight?” Shelby finally asked. “Anyone we should make a point to speak to?”
This got Jackson’s attention, although he replied without looking up at her. “I think it’s the exact opposite, Shelby. We should probably make a point of avoiding everyone.”
Great. Jackson was in one of those moods, his charm replaced by spoiled rich boy petulance.
Shelby made a mental note to keep him from going to the bar too often, and allowed the limo to sweep them through the dark streets of New York and on to the Opera.
The entrance of the Central Opera was packed with reporters, paparazzi, and camera crews, all swarming around a red carpet. The Opera gala was the event of the New York philanthropy season, and anyone who was anyone was there.
Jackson didn’t take his sunglasses off as he pulled Shelby down the red carpet, stopping briefly to pose for a picture or wave to a camera. Shelby did her best to smile and look alluring, while the paparazzi all screamed at her for her name, wondering who she was. She simply smiled in return and kept her mouth shut.
Once they reached the end of the red carpet and mounted the marble stairs that led to the Central Opera House, Jackson turned and looked at her for the first time, his blue eyes widening in surprise.
“You look nice, Shelby,” he admitted.
Shelby wanted to smack him. She did not simply look nice, she looked phenomenal; she looked fantastic; she looked like a goddess. Of course, a self-involved prick like Jackson Archer would only come up with a paltry compliment like nice.
Instead, she plastered on her best obedient grin and thanked him. His eyes roamed up and down her ensemble, from the top of her carefully coiffed black curls, down the enticing curves of her red silk gown and down to the delicate tips of her delicate, crystal encrusted high heels.
Shelby started to turn to enter, but Jackson seized her arm and pulled her toward him. “I mean it, Shelby,” he said, gazing down at her. “You actually look…really nice.”
“Thank you, Mr. Archer,” she replied. Really nice was probably the best compliment she could expect to wring out of Jackson Archer on this particular evening. She’d better take it as a win.
Jackson tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and smiled down at her, rakish and charming. “Shall we?” he asked.
Shelby nodded. “Let’s,” she responded, and they stepped inside the bustling party, camera flashes searing her eyes.
***
The gala was bustling and soon Shelby lost track of how many times she’d been given the slip by Jackson. He kept introducing her to ancient old men and then slipping away while they were shaking her hand, complimenting her figure and asking what she did for a living. Shelby did not appreciate being ditched and left with crotchety o
ld billionaires while Jackson snuck off to the bar or into a bathroom to text.
She craned her neck and peered around the ballroom, trying to look interested in her companion’s dull story about a real estate acquisition in Tokyo while scanning the crowd for her boss. Jackson was nowhere to be seen. Typical.
Another older gentleman joined their small conversation and Shelby saw it as her opportunity to slip away and make sure that Jackson wasn’t getting wasted at the bar, but her previous companion stopped her with a gentle hand on the small of her back.
“Shelby,” he asked, “have you met Mr. Kennedy?”
Shelby looked up, all thoughts of Jackson Archer vanishing from her mind. Andre Kennedy, self-made billionaire and one of Celebrity magazine’s Sexiest Bachelors of 2017, stood directly in front her, hand outstretched and dark brown eyes twinkling down at her.
Shaking, Shelby reached her own hand out, hoping that she could maintain her composure. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kennedy,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.
“Ms. Stuart,” he purred, her name rolled deliciously in the dark velvet of his voice. “The pleasure is all mine. Please tell me, did you enjoy your time in Paris?”
Shelby was shocked. The first and only time she met Andre Kennedy was just over a year ago, when they’d both been at a conference held at one of Jackson’s hotels in Midtown. Jackson hadn’t wanted to represent the company, so Shelby had gone in his place. She’d only talked to Andre briefly and mentioned that she’d be flying to Paris for business the following day. He remembered. Impressive.
Impressive and flattering.
Shelby mustered her most charming smile and answered, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kennedy, my trip was cancelled, but thank you for asking. I’m surprised you remembered.”
Andre laughed—a rich, low sound—and smiled at her. “How could I forget? It’s not every day that I meet a smart, savvy young executive who just so happens to be flying to my favorite city in the world. And please, call me Dre.”
Shelby smiled. “I’d be happy to, Dre, as long as you call me Shelby.”
“I think I can make that compromise, Shelby,” Dre replied.
Shelby took a moment to steady herself. While Jackson and Andre had the mutual distinction of being the youngest billionaires in America, Andre also happened to be the only African American billionaire in New York City. His good looks and sharp mind, combined with his ethnicity, made him the focus of almost every news station and gossip blog in the country.
Andre Kennedy had had several girlfriends, but all of them had been fairly long-term. He was almost the exact opposite of the womanizing Jackson Archer.
No wonder Jackson couldn’t stand him, Andre was everything Jackson wasn’t: he was self-made, a genius businessman, and a serial monogamist. The gossip blogs loved Andre Kennedy and despised Jackson Archer.
Shelby couldn’t help but feel bad for her boss. Jackson was handsome and charming, but spoiled. Andre was tall, with broad-shoulders and a dazzling white grin. His tuxedo clung to him like a love note and it was clear from the way the black wool draped over his arms and chest that he was built like a Greek god.
She couldn’t imagine that any women would look twice at Jackson with Andre in the room.
Shelby’s hypothesis was proved correct. She caught sight of Jackson, huddled in a corner with a tiny, skinny little brunette. Jackson was smiling down at her, but the brunette’s attention was fixed on Andre at the other side of the ballroom. Poor Jackson.
He took that moment to glance up and his bright blue eyes went wide at the sight of Shelby talking to Andre. Jackson whispered something to his tiny companion and then pushed past her, crossing the ballroom to approach Shelby and Andre. Shelby didn’t know what her boss said to the little brunette, but it wasn’t dismissive enough, because the tiny woman was trailing behind Jackson, pulled along in his wake.
“Mr. Archer, you know Mr. Kennedy, don’t you?” Shelby tried to greet him sunnily as Jackson drew near them, but his face was pulled tight in a frown.
“We’ve met,” Jackson snapped.
“Jackson, how have you been?” Andre, the epitome of good manners, reached his hand out to greet his rival. “It’s been ages.”
Not returning the handshake was out of the question, but Jackson’s frown deepened as Andre clasped his hand firmly. “I’ve been well,” Jackson replied tersely. “I see you’ve met my executive assistant, Ms. Stuart.”
“Yes, Shelby was just telling me about her cancelled trip to Paris last year,” Andre said.
“Shelby?” Jackson was nonplussed. “You call her Shelby?”
“Yes, Mr. Archer,” Shelby snapped back. “He figured out my first name.”
Jackson looked down at her, his eyes a bit hurt. The brunette was hovering awkwardly behind him, unsure if she should enter the conversation or not. Jackson ignored her.
“As a matter of fact, Jackson,” Andre continued, ignoring Jackson’s rudeness, “I’m flying to Paris tomorrow to meet with some potential investors, who are looking to work with American corporations on sustainability. I was wondering—”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Jackson drawled. “I’ve already got tomorrow booked up with meetings. Otherwise, you know, I would have been more than happy to join you. But I can’t. Because I’m booked. Oh, well.” Jackson shrugged his shoulders, the fakest gesture that Shelby had ever seen.
She really needed to look for a new job. Executive babysitting for Jackson Archer was getting more embarrassing by the day.
“Actually,” Andre pressed on, ignoring Jackson’s blatant rudeness, “I was going to suggest that Shelby go in your place. That way, Archer Enterprises will be represented in front of some important international clients and you can still attend to your business back here in the U.S.”
Jackson’s mouth gaped. He was clearly not expecting this plot twist.
“What do you think, Shelby?” Andre asked. “Want to join me in Paris?”
Shelby smirked, the edges for her mouth quirking up into a smug little comma. “Dre,” she replied, “I’d be delighted.”
***
The light of the transatlantic sun lit up Andre’s profile, creating a golden halo around his rich brown skin. Shelby couldn’t help stealing glances at him across the cabin of the private jet, this whole experience was too perfect to be real.
Jackson hadn’t been able to come up with a single excuse for her not to take this Paris trip with Andre, and here she was: guest of the world’s most eligible billionaire bachelor as he whisked her away to Paris on his private jet. Shelby wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve this, but it must have been something good.
She had to keep reminding herself that this was just a business trip, that she was just here representing Archer Enterprises, but that was rather difficult, considering that Andre kept looking up at her and smiling across the cabin.
They’d chatted briefly, Andre had updated her on some of the executives that they’d be meeting in Paris, then each of them had retreated into their own private business on the long plane ride from New York to Paris. But Andre kept looking at her and Shelby kept looking at Andre.
Something was brewing.
Jackson had been furious the night before as they left the Opera gala together. “He’s only using you to get to me, Shelby,” he’d snapped, knocking back another drink as the limo sped through the dark Manhattan streets.
Shelby had no reply to his comment, except to point out that none of this had to do with her. “I’m going as a representative of Archer Enterprises, Mr. Archer. I’m there, working for you, sir.”
This had set Jackson off on another lengthy tirade, but he was unable to come up with any legitimate excuse to forbid Shelby to go to Paris.
And, so she went.
But Shelby didn’t think it was just business.
There was the way Andre had taken her by the arm as they’d boarded the plane. The way he smiled at her from across the cabin. The way he introdu
ced her as “my friend, Shelby,” to all the members of his staff.
That all seemed like a little more than business.
The collected Kennedy party shuffled off the plane at Charles de Gaulle airport and breezed through customs. The staff took their luggage and Andre escorted Shelby to his black town car.
“We have the investor meeting this afternoon,” he informed her, “but I thought that you might like to see a few sights first.”
To Andre, “a few sights” meant a trip to Notre Dame, a whirlwind walk through Montmartre and lunch at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
“This is incredible,” Shelby gushed as she leaned out over the steel railing and peered at the city of Paris spread out beneath her.
“If you look over there,” Andre sidled up to her and pointed one long, brown finger in the direction of the First Arrondissement. “You can see the building where we’ll be having our meeting later today.”
Andre’s other hand lightly caressed the small of Shelby’s back and she shuddered. This was just business, she reminded herself, just business. Still, she found herself drawn up to meet Andre’s gaze only to find that he was looking back at her, brown eyes soft and fond.
Shelby didn’t know if it was the brilliance of the bachelor billionaire gazing down at her, the breathtaking view of Paris below them, or the magic of the City of Lights, but she found herself drawn to Andre. She moved closer—her green eyes locked on his—and then closer. They were within inches of each other now, it would only take the slightest move from one of them to close the distance and succumb to desire.
Andre was gazing down at her and Shelby felt herself move forward to close those last few inches—
And her phone pinged.
Startled, Shelby and Andre jumped apart as she searched for her phone.
From Jackson Archer: Where are you? What are you doing???
Shelby sighed, then turned the phone to vibrate and crammed it in her purse.
Andre was looking at her, curious. The intensity of the moment before replaced by cool professional detachment. “Important text?” he asked, straightening his tie.
