by Avery Scott
“I’m going to get undressed.”
“Do you need help?”
Hudson stepped forward before Abby could say a word to stop him. Her silk shell was fastened with a single gold button on the back. Hudson reached for the tiny clasp, slipping it loose with surprising ease.
“You didn’t need to do that,” she started to apologize, but the sentence ended with a gasp when Hudson’s hands didn’t leave her body. Instead, he stepped behind her and dragged his palms heavily down her sides, ending at the waist of her pants while his lips brushed the nape of her neck. Abby’s body reacted immediately to the touch. Throbbing liquid heat seemed to ooze beneath her skin. She released a shuddering breath, momentarily lost in the sensation. Hudson took a step closer. The front of his trousers brushed against her bottom. He pushed his hips forward, making her feel his stirring arousal. The boldness of the move shocked Abby back to her senses. She yelped and jumped away as if she’d been burned.
“What are you doing?” she blurted, clutching her hands over her chest and backing away toward the door.
“What do you mean? I thought… I just…” Hudson looked as stunned as she felt. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “When you said that you wanted to turn in early, I thought that you meant…Well, I can see that I was mistaken.”
“It’s fine. I’m sorry,” Abby squeaked, unable to meet his gaze. Her head was spinning. Hudson thought that she was leading him upstairs to seduce him? Why did he think that? Had she given off signals to imply she wanted him? Better yet, why did the notion give her such a thrill? “You just…surprised me.”
Abby dearly wished that she could hear the thoughts swirling around inside Hudson’s head. He stared at her without speaking. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from his strong tanned fingers. Now that the initial shock had passed, she regretted the loss of his touch and the warmth of his hands.
“It won’t happen again.” Hudson stepped back into the living room with Abby trailing in his wake. “You know, I think I’m hungry after all. I’m going to go see if I can get dinner at the bar. You can use the apartment for yourself to get ready for bed.”
“Hudson! Don’t go!” she exclaimed, but he ignored her, escaping into the hallway and closing the door firmly behind him.
Abby stared in his wake, her mind reeling. What had just happened? Did she want it to happen? Why had it happened? One question loomed above them all. Just how “personal” was this personal assistant job supposed to be?
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Abby’s alarm went off at five AM. She slept better then she expected considering the confusing turn of events the night before. After such an emotional day, it was surprising that she had managed to sleep at all, but she was refreshed and revitalized when she awoke.
Abby stretched her arms and then tiptoed to the bedroom of the suite and peeked inside. She was relieved to discover that Hudson was fast asleep in the middle of the broad King bed. She didn’t hear him come in the night before. A part of her was afraid that he might not return.
She went through her morning toilette as quickly as she could manage, and then crept out onto the balcony with her tablet and got to work. It was a new day. She was determined to make a fresh start and to undo some of the damage that she and her sister had caused.
Abby’s first step was to review the day’s schedule, making a list of car rides to arrange, restaurant reservations to double-check and voicemails that needed to be returned. Then she opened her e-mail. Her heart sank when she read a note from Imogene telling her that the Fougeres had canceled the contract meeting that day to hold “internal discussions about how to proceed”.
The deal was obviously on the verge of collapse, and she knew that it was all her fault. She had to fix it.
Abby remembered how Mr. Fougere had seemed so kind and charming the day before. Surely he wouldn’t want her to lose her job? Abby hated playing on sympathies in that way, but it was the only option that she could think of. She briefly considered calling the Marche d’Ete offices on the phone to arrange an appointment, but she knew that it would be too easy for Mr. Fougere to hang up or to refuse to take the call. After checking her lipstick one last time, she collected her handbag and took the elevator downstairs to the lobby.
As a guest of the Penthouse, the George V had a car at her disposal. She found a location for the Fougere family on her tablet and directed the car to take her there. She assumed that the address was for a corporate office, so she was surprised when the limousine stopped in front of an elegant gray stone residential building in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
The front door of the home was painted black, with a red-enameled mailbox that hung on the stone to the left of the entrance. Overhead, pots of geraniums and bright green vines adorned small wrought-iron terraces on some of the windows.
She walked toward the door with a bit of apprehension, second-guessing her idea. What if talking to Mr. Fougere made things worse? Abby hadn’t exactly exhibited a flair for business during the trip so far, and she was nervous about arriving so early. It was just past seven-thirty, hardly a civilized hour for the French. She would have turned around to come back later, but then she remembered everything that had happened during the meeting and scrounged up the courage to move forward with her plan.
No doorbell was visible, so Abby rapped the heavy brass door knocker. A few minutes later, the door swung open to reveal a young woman in a black dress and white apron.
“May I help you?” she asked in French.
Abby quickly explained that she had come to see Monsieur Fougere on business.
“I’m sorry. He is not receiving visitors at this hour. Please call again later.”
“Oh! But I must see him. It will only take a moment!”
“Marie! Where is my toast?” A male voice chimed in. It sounded so close that Abby pushed her way past the servant. Abby was relieved to see André Fougere shuffling down the front staircase in a black silk dressing gown and striped pajamas.
“Please, sir!” she called out. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your morning but...could we talk? I promise it won’t take long.”
Abby held her breath and watched the Frenchman’s face. As she had hoped, Monsieur Fougere looked pleased to see her, although his features betrayed his confusion. “Dear girl, what are you doing here today? And so early? I thought that we canceled the meeting?”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here. Can we talk?”
“Did the Quinns send you?” Monsieur Fougere asked studying Abby cautiously. He gestured for her to step further inside the foyer.
“No, monsieur. As a matter of fact, they’d probably fire me on the spot if they knew I was here. They’re probably going to fire me anyway. I really messed things up yesterday.”
Monsieur Fougere gave her a curious look before he spoke again. She noticed the lines around his watery blue eyes soften as he decided she wasn’t a threat. “You must have something very important on your mind then. Please, follow me to the kitchen. We can talk there while Marie brings coffee.”
Marie didn’t just bring coffee. She offered an assortment of decadent pastries that looked as if they should be presented in a storefront shop along with steaming dark coffee in a delicate china cup. Abby settled on a chocolate croissant and cream with her coffee.
“Now, my dear what brings you to my home so early this morning?” Monsieur Fougere asked in a fatherly way in between sips.
Abby hesitated. She tried to plan what she was going to say during the taxi ride to Sainte-Germaine, but by the time she arrived, she still hadn’t figured it out and had to wing it.
She opened her mouth, hoping that the words would flow, surprising them both when she blurted out something novel: The truth. “Monsieur, I’m here to ask you to reconsider pulling out of negotiations with the Quinns. If you would just agree to meet with them, listen to what they have to say, I’m positive that you can find an arrangement that will suit ever
yone’s financial interests.”
“Forgive me young lady, but this goes beyond just money. If I were looking for someone to buy us out and then sell off my components then I could do that without having to deal with the Americans.”
“Then tell me, sir, if I could be so bold. What exactly were you hoping to gain from partnering with Quinn Holdings?”
He didn’t hesitate with his response, but instead just simply stated, “I want to save a legacy that my family can be proud of. We don’t have the money to expand. Without expansion, my suppliers will move to companies like your Quinn Holdings, and I will be forced to stock my store with the same soulless pieces of plastic that they sell everywhere else. Marché d’Été will become just another supermarket and everything that I worked toward will be lost.”
That seemed simple enough. Abby wasn’t certain how maintaining the artisanal charm of the Marché d’Été shopping experience would appeal to Mr. Quinn. But there had to be more at stake. After all, no matter how much he loved his company, Mr. Fougere was a businessman like any other. He could not have built the company to its current size without a keen appreciation for financial concerns. She needed to understand, at least on a basic level, what kind of money they were talking about and how that would benefit both families.
“Please forgive me for being frank, but how does that help the Quinn’s?”
“What do you mean?”
“If they bail out your company, if they buy Marché d’Été and run it exactly as you always have, what is in it for them? I know it’s personal to you but there’s a great deal of money on the line. You can’t expect them to take this on as a charitable venture.” She momentarily switched back to English. “There has to be a happy medium, right?”
Monsieur Fougere looked perplexed. “Happy medium?” he parroted the words back in a heavy french accent, apparently unfamiliar with the idiom.
“A mutual benefit,” Abby explained, speaking in French again.
“They will still make money, my dear. Just not as much as if they piece us out. I have plenty of business opportunities right here in France that could offer me what they are planning. I will do everything in my power not to lay off the people I employ. They rely on me. Their families and communities rely on me.”
Abby could feel the love Monsieur Fougere had for his employees and for the organization he had built. Perhaps he had been too kind to his employees over the years and that was how he found himself in such a predicament in the first place. Abby didn’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise her.
“Look, I can’t make any promises but I can tell you that unless you talk to them, nothing will get sorted out and you’re right back where you started… Looking for another business partner to help pay your debts.”
Monsieur Fougere started to protest, but Abby continued, “I’m not trying to insult you. Please, know that. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your stores. From what I’ve learned about your market, it’s a wonderful thing. You bring local products to the people in their areas for affordable prices. I wish we had more places like that back in the States. Most families spend more money on food than just about anything except their homes, and they don’t even have the opportunity to buy items as nice as the ones you sell. It’s ridiculous. Trust me, I know more about budgets than I care to go into. It seems to me though, that without working with the Quinns or someone like them, your business is going to run out of capital, and you’ll be forced to lay all of those people off anyway. Isn’t it worth trying to come up with an idea that maybe isn’t perfect, but still has some benefits everyone?”
“And what is that magical idea?”
“That’s the part I don’t know,” Abby admitted.
Abby and the elderly Frenchman stared at each other for a moment as if they were both trying to work something out in their heads before speaking. It was Mr. Fougere who broke the silence first.
“If I agreed to another meeting, it would only be with the strict understanding that breaking Marché d’Été apart is not an option. Is that something that the Quinn’s could agree to?”
Abby wanted to say “yes” and set something up immediately, but she knew better than to make a promise that she couldn’t keep. “I’m not authorized to speak on behalf of the Quinns. The only thing I can guarantee is that, if you meet again, breaking up the company won’t be the only option presented. It can be a meeting to discuss what might be possible, with everything open for discussion. But you must come prepared with real numbers. You’re not going to get as far with Walker Quinn on heartfelt discussions and appealing to his emotional side as you do with me. Quite frankly, I’m not sure if he even has an emotional side.”
“His son is even worse!” Monsieur Fougere said, not trying to hide his disgust. “I bet this whole idea of dismantling us was his idea!”
Abby bristled at the remark. She didn’t think that was true. Hudson Quinn could clearly drive a hard bargain and he was obviously focused on his business, but after their evening at Musée d’Orsay she was starting to see a different side of her boss-one she liked a lot more than “business Hudson”. She still marveled at how much she had enjoyed their time together. Hudson was charming, funny even when he wasn’t barking orders or growling in frustration.
“I don’t know about that,” Abby said in Hudson’s defense, “Hudson and his father certainly approach business from a practical perspective, but it isn’t fair to say that they don’t care about the workers that they might impact, and they obviously admire your business model or they wouldn’t have started discussions in the first place.” Abby might have been stretching the truth with the latter remark, but it was obviously what Mr. Fougere wanted to hear. She decided to press her advantage. “I really think that we might be able to come up with something that makes everyone happy if you will just give us a chance.”
Monsieur Fougere took a long drink of coffee, draining the last drop of brown liquid before settling his cup on its saucer. He sighed heavily and then shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well. I suppose it can’t hurt to listen.”
“Oh, thank you!” Abby exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. It was all she could manage not to throw her arms around his neck. “I’ll call your office to work out the details. You won’t regret it, I promise!”
Mr. Fougere chuckled, “My dear, if it makes you this happy, it was worth it already,” he said and then gestured for the maid to accompany Abby back to the front door.
The ride back to the hotel seemed much longer than the drive to the Fougere home. It was all Abby could do not to call Hudson the second she left the house, but she figured this news was worth waiting to deliver in person.
She rushed into the penthouse suite of the George V feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl.
“Hudson!” she blurted, “You’ll never guess what-!”
She didn’t get to finish the thought. Hudson shushed her loudly and held up his hand to indicate that he was on the phone. Abby could only hear half of the conversation but that’s all she needed to know it wasn’t good.
“Listen! I don’t care if they won’t accept your calls. Keep trying, Imogene. It’s my ass if we don’t get this deal to close and you know that dad will make your life a living hell too. He’s been like this for the last fifteen years.”
Abby watched from the hallway entrance as Hudson paced back and forth, raking his hand through his thick, brown hair.
She contented herself with watching, her cheeks burning as she admired the way his perfectly tailored suit curved around his round bottom when he walked. From there, her gaze traveled down to his muscular legs. She imagined what he must look like without his clothes, picturing him fresh out of a shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. She really shouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts about her boss, but she was a red-blooded woman and it had been a really long time since she met someone who aroused such interest. Besides, she could appreciate Hudson’s body on an artistic level as well. He was almost too
perfect, like a Renaissance statue come to life.
“What is it, Gabrielle?” Hudson’s voice snapped.
Abby blushed when she realized that Hudson had finished his phone call and caught her staring. He tilted his head and frowned while awaiting her answer. She opened her mouth to tell him about her breakthrough only to discover that her tongue was thick and heavy and that she had forgotten how to speak. “I…uhm…”
“Get on with it, please!”
“Sorry, I… well… I went to see Monsieur Fougere this morning.”
“You did what? Gabrielle, what were you thinking?” Hudson immediately grabbed his phone again and stabbed at the redial button.
“Imogene, Ms. Levesque went to the Fougere’s this morning…Yeah, I don’t know what she was thinking either. Listen to me. I’m not playing around. You need to get Monsieur Fougere on the phone somehow. Beg! Plead. Tell him I’ll give him my firstborn. Whatever it takes, just get me five minutes with the man so that I-!”
“Hudson,” Abby tried to cut in but he ignored her. She tried again. “Mr. Quinn. Hudson!”
“What?” he snapped, finally deigning to pay attention.
Abby let a couple of seconds go by to be sure she had her voice. “I got the meeting.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment.
“You did what? How? When?”
Abby didn’t answer immediately, she just smiled when she saw the tension leak from his shoulders. His entire face and body relaxed and he took a deep breath.
“Imogene, I’ll call you back.” Hudson laid his phone on a nearby table and turned to stare at Abby, clearly eager for an explanation.
“I went to see Monsieur Fougere early this morning.”
“It’s only nine fifteen in the morning right now. How early did you go over there?”
“Early. Let’s just leave it at that. Anyway, I went to see him and asked him very politely to reconsider.”
“And just like that, he said ‘yes’? That doesn’t make any sense. What are you leaving out?”
