See You In My Dreams

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  “Max Devereaux to see Miss Prentice."

  “Certainly, sir.” The doorman gave Max a calculating smile, then called Nikki on the intercom. “Miss Prentice, Mr. Devereaux's here."

  "Thank you. Send him up."

  On hearing her cheerful reply to the doorman, Max's heart hammered into overdrive. Damn. He felt like a teenager, instead of thirty-eight-year-old man. Stop it

  Max regained his composure and walked briskly toward the ornate brass-door elevator. He jabbed the UP button twice and waited. He looked at his watch. He was still early.

  Ding.

  Max looked up, startled, then stepped aside, allowing a tiny elderly woman and her, equally elderly, white poodle to emerge. He stepped into the elevator and hit the button for Nikki's floor. All the way up to the twelfth floor, he reminded himself, this is just Nikki. Nikki. The runaway you rescued from the streets. She's not an ogre. There's not a mean bone in her beautiful body. This is merely a dinner with an old friend.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop. He took a deep breath and stepped off the old elevator. How like Nikki to live in an architecturally important building, one that possessed the charm and grace of another time. There appeared to be four apartments on the twelfth floor, Nikki's occupying the southwest corner.

  He walked to her door and rapped the lion's head knocker against the black enameled door. She opened the door immediately, in all her haphazard glory. Blonde hair damp. No makeup. Only two buttons on her cream silk blouse fastened.

  Mon Dieu.

  “Come on in. Sorry, I'm running late. I tried to reach you, but you must not've had your cell phone turned on,” she explained, padding across the highly polished hardwood floors in bare feet. “I have to finish my makeup and hair. I won't be long. Have a drink,” she told him over her shoulder. “The bar's in the black lacquer cabinet. Make yourself at home.” Her voice faded away as she hurried down the hall to her bedroom.

  Grateful she wasn't there to see his hands shaking, he poured a glass of wine. He still felt like an adolescent boy and drummed his fingers against the black lacquer cabinet. Was he making a mistake? No, at best it was dinner with an old friend. At worst, it was still dinner with an old friend. His sipped the wine. An excellent vintage.

  Max looked around the room and marveled at the former street kid's taste in furnishings. His mother had been a great influence on Nikki, but the flair with which the former street kid had assembled the eclectic furnishing was unique. An antique mask collection occupied a place of honor. Next to the mask collection was a piece of graceful Favrile glass. A brightly painted piece of art furniture, stood next to an antique bureau plat. Somehow she'd made it all work admirably. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Nikki was the reason his daughter Alexa had recently declared her interest in interior design.

  His daughter was much closer to Nikki than he. Nikki had remained with his mother for four years and had doted on Alexa, and the bond between the two had lasted.

  He had moved into the townhouse after Maman had died, but Alexa still considered Nikki her older sister.

  “Finally, I'm ready.” Nikki announced, rushing into the living room wearing a cream and khaki silk trouser suit, her wheat blonde hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders.

  “You look wonderful, Max. I think you must have found the Fountain of Youth. You haven't changed since our dinner at Sally's.” Nikki gave him a wide smile that made his heart lurch in his chest. “Of course, you did get rid of your curls.” Nikki pouted, then grinned.

  “Well, yes. GQ decreed long hair must go. So, what was I to do?” he teased, shrugging.

  Nikki giggled. “But of course, you could do nothing else."

  The sound of her unassuming chatter filled his ears with delight. He resisted the temptation to take her in his arms. Years of keeping her at arm's length had given him discipline. Instead, he contented himself with a compliment. “You are the one who's found the Fountain of Youth. You're lovely as ever.” He gave her a kiss on each cheek, then said, “Shall we go?"

  Nikki nodded. “Why don't we walk? It's a lovely evening, and I've been inside all day with the Trump shoot."

  “Of course.” Max had the distinct impression that for Nikki this was just dinner with an old family friend, not a date. Proceed with care, he cautioned himself. After all, that's all it is ... really.

  They walked the few blocks to L'Haute Cuisine while Nikki chattered on about Alexa and related an amusing story about meeting the Donald.

  The early spring evening was unseasonably warm. He wanted the night to last forever. Being with Nikki was comfortable. It seemed right.

  “M. Devereaux and Mademoiselle Nikki, how wonderful to see you both. I have a lovely booth for you,” Guillaume said as he led them through the small elegant restaurant.

  “Merci, Guillaume,” Max replied. It didn't surprise him that the waiter knew Nikki. Her striking face had graced the covers of countless magazines. Placing his hand in the small of her back, he felt the muscles in her back tense through her silk jacket, but she turned and gave him a sideways smile. He relaxed. That wasn't so bad.

  As they surveyed their menus, Nikki asked, “Do you ever think about our first dinner? I mean I was so—so ragged. I can't imagine how you managed to sit there and eat your dinner with me across from you. You must have been horribly embarrassed."

  “Mais non. I was having dinner with a beautiful young girl, who, incidentally, has matured into an incredibly beautiful woman."

  Nikki blushed. “Thank you. It's all due to you and Renée. I owe you everything."

  “You owe me nothing. I saw a beautiful child on the streets and gave her an opportunity. You've done the rest. But you never would've stayed there. You would've succeeded on your own."

  She shook her head. “Not like this. Renée took me in and treated me like I was her daughter. The life I have is a debt I can never repay."

  Alarmed at the direction the conversation was taking, Max shook his head. He didn't want her gratitude. He wanted her love. “This is becoming much too serious a conversation. You have worked hard these many years. You deserve your success. I was happy to be—hmm, an instrument of fate, if you will."

  Her eyes widening, she asked, “Do you believe in fate? Have you ever thought that—uh, maybe we were meant to be together?” Her tone pensive, she added hastily, “I mean in the sense that we are in the same business, same city, same planet. You know what I mean.” She looked down at her menu.

  “Oui, I believe in fate. The kind of fate which brought me to a stupid play in that section of town, where across the street from me, I would see a young beautiful girl in torn jeans, bumming cigarettes and running from a terrible man. Yes, I believe in fate, and I am thankful for it."

  She gazed across the table at him, a small smile playing about her lips.

  Damn. He'd said too much. He covered his confusion by quickly asking, “What do you want for dinner? Their coq au vin is the best I've ever eaten—in the States, of course."

  She gave him a fey smile, suddenly appearing distant. “Yeah, that's fine."

  “Are you sure?"

  Her faraway look vanished as quickly as it had come. “Yes, I love their coq au vin. It's my favorite.” Nikki flashed him a smile, illuminating her entire face with an inner glow that never failed to affect him. His heart clenched in his chest.

  Guillaume took their orders and left them. Again, they were alone. Time for the dreaded small talk. Max cleared his throat. “Uh, so how are things going?"

  “Well, Mr. CEO, you should know that better than I.” Her wide grin removed the pique from her tone. “The agency and I are both doing quite well, aren't we?"

  “Of course, I meant ... personally."

  A trace of confusion crossed her face. “Personally? I'm fine."

  “Are you seeing anyone?"

  “Moi? No way, besides...” Nikki stopped, looked down at her plate, then at him again. Her eyes intensely blue, her gaze steady. “...my heart's already
taken."

  “B-but?” Max stuttered. “I'm confused. I thought you said, ‘no way.'” Max inhaled, trying to act as if her answer didn't matter.

  “Oh, you know him quite well,” she teased, her face flushing.

  “Someone at the agency?"

  “The head of the agency,” she replied with a smile that made a dimple appear at the right corner of her mouth.

  The head of the agency? It took a second for her words to register. “You mean—"

  “Of course, silly. I've had a crush on you for years.” She laughed, sounding somewhat self-conscious.

  “A ... crush?” Max wasn't sure what he'd wanted her to say, but crush didn't begin to describe what he felt for her. Was she teasing him? Playing a girlish game? If she only knew the passion held in his heart for her, she would never be so cruel.

  “You were my first love. I know you never knew. Renée did. But I got over it. You were so much older than I was ... and sophisticated. Of course, you were only twenty-eight, but to me...” She shrugged, a mannerism so like his mother's.

  “I suppose I am ancient to you now—an old man of almost thirty-nine?"

  A dreamy expression came into her eyes for a moment. “No, not at all. The gap is not so wide now.” Quickly she took a sip of wine.

  A flush spread from her ivory-columned neck to her face. The tell-tale blush pleased Max, more than he'd ever thought possible. He hoped her jocular tone was merely a cover for deeper emotions. Many a truth is spoken in jest. Who said that, he wondered, Shakespeare?

  “No, it isn't,” he croaked, the words dying in his throat. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Intoxicating—it left him speechless.

  A troubled expression crossed Nikki's face. “You know, I miss Renée so much."

  “I do too.” Max swallowed the emotions that threatened to overcome him.

  Nikki's face lightened. “It's odd. When I first moved in, she was wonderfully kind, but so strict. She made me stop swearing and stop smoking. She was one tough lady. After the first few days I thought I'd run away again, first chance I had."

  “But you didn't."

  “No. I guess, even then, I was smart enough to know Maman was right about ... pretty much everything."

  “Yeah, she was."

  “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

  “You haven't. She was important to both of us. It's only right we should remember her ... and miss her."

  “I didn't really know what to say to you after the memorial service. I wanted to go to the services in Paris, but—"

  “I understood. You grieved for her too."

  “But still I wanted to offer you comfort. I just didn't know what to say."

  “You were there for Alexa. That meant a great deal to me."

  “It was only natural."

  “I never thanked you for it."

  “It wasn't necessary."

  At the time, he'd been overwhelmed by his mother's sudden death. Without being asked, Nikki had taken Alexa home with her for a week, while he'd dealt with the arrangements for the New York memorial service and Parisian funeral.

  The sommelier interrupted, “Monsieur Devereaux, the wine.” Deftly, he popped the cork, offered it to Max, pouring a sample into his glass.

  Max tasted then nodded to the sommelier, who then poured a glass for each of them.

  He took another sip. “I think you'll like this. It's produced by a vineyard quite close to my farm in Provençe."

  Nikki sampled the white wine. “Mm,” she said, savoring it. “It's perfect. Not too sweet. Not too dry."

  The tip of her pink tongue catching a stray drop of champagne from her lovely lips was almost more than Max could bear. Dear heaven, he wished he could do the same. From the corner of his eye, he saw Guillaume bringing their dinner. Saved, from making a fool of himself.

  “Monsieur, Mademoiselle."

  “It looks wonderful and smells like heaven,” Nikki commented, looking up at Guillaume.

  “Oui, le chef, he is in very fine form tonight, Mademoiselle."

  “Merci, Guillaume,” Max added. He found it odd he and Nikki had frequented the same small restaurant and yet never crossed paths.

  Guillaume bowed, “Enjoy M'sieur, Mademoiselle."

  Max watched her take a bite of the chicken. “Is it to your liking?"

  Nikki swallowed. “Mm, yes, it's tender and juicy. And the sauce is mmm."

  Aware he'd been staring at her mouth, again, he picked up his knife and fork and cut off a bite. The aroma filled his mind with memories. Years before, coq au vin had been his father's favorite dish, and his mother had prepared it frequently while he'd been alive.

  “I guess you're all settled in the townhouse by now."

  “Uh, yes. Pretty much. It's still a little odd, not having Maman there. Sometimes, I almost expect her to walk in the door."

  “You must be lonely with Alexa in boarding school."

  “I am, but the agency takes up my time."

  Nikki reached across the table and touched his hand, her expression worried. And as always, the merest touch from her revved his heart.

  “Please don't think I'm questioning your judgment for sending Alexa away to school."

  “I never thought you were. Anyway, it's the best solution, for now."

  “She likes the school. At least she does now. She's made some new friends. In fact, I haven't heard from her in several weeks. Actually, I think that's a good sign. When she first went away, she called me nearly every night."

  “She did?” Guilt swept over Max. His daughter deserved a home, a real family. What had he done? He'd sent her away from the only home she'd ever known ... at the time she needed it most.

  “That's why I think she's adapting. She's having too much fun to call."

  “Not too much fun, I hope.” The thought of his little Alexa—and that was exactly how he thought of her—doing anything but studying worried him.

  Nikki gave a short bark of laughter. “You do realize she's growing up, don't you? It won't be long before she's dating."

  “Dating?” Max shook his head. “No, I don't think I'll allow that until she's at least thirty.” He suddenly grinned. “I suppose all fathers say something like that?"

  “Wouldn't know,” Nikki said, her expression suddenly serious. “I never had one. I was only two years older than Alexa when I ran away."

  “Y-you don't think she'd do something like that, do you? Has she said something?” He cringed at the thought of his daughter on the streets. He ran his hand back though his hair and took a large sip of wine.

  “No, of course not. Her situation is very different from mine. She's had the love and support of her family. She would never run away like I did.” Nikki frowned, looking down at her plate. “I don't even know why I said that."

  “I-I'd be—I mean I don't know what I'd do, if she ever—"

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

  “I am worried."

  “That's only natural, but I'm sure she's fine. Wintercrest is a wonderful school."

  “It is."

  Throughout the rest of the dinner, he grew so involved in watching Nikki eat and emit sensual little noises as she did that he ate very little.

  “Aren't you hungry?” she asked, setting her fork across her plate.

  “Not really.” Max took his napkin and wiped his mouth. Again, Guillaume appeared and saved Max from another awkward moment.

  “M'sieur, Mademoiselle, dessert?"

  “None for me, thank you,” Nikki replied.

  "Non, seulement deux cafés s'il vous plaît."

  “Very well, M'sieur Devereaux.” Guillaume turned to Nikki. “Mademoiselle," he said, giving her a brief bow before leaving them alone, again.

  Max drummed his fingers on the table, stopping abruptly, once he realized what he was doing. Looking up, he detected a note of amusement in Nikki's eyes. Dammit, she was enjoying his discomfiture.

  “Has Alexa thought about where she wants to go after W
intercrest?"

  Nikki's question snapped Max from his drift. “Uh, yes, Parsons I think. It's the best, after all."

  “Mm hm.” She sipped her wine, then added, grinning, “If she doesn't change her mind at least five times in the next four years."

  “Mon Dieu, you don't think she'll change her mind that many times, do you?"

  Nikki giggled, a low delightful sound. Max shivered. He'd always loved her voice, low and husky. It stimulated emotions, nearly kin to memories, in him. Unexplainable, really.

  “You'll be lucky if it's only four or five times."

  “I tell you, this is not a topic that warms my heart. Frankly it gives me the chills. Alexa is very stubborn when her mind is made up."

  “Oh, yeah ... just like Maman."

  Max hoped she would think it was Alexa's future that disturbed him so, rather than the sound of her voice. “It is no laughing matter. Fatherhood is a very difficult proposition."

  “You're a great father. Alexa worships the ground you walk on. It'll work out."

  Relieved by her encouragement, Max sighed. “I hope you are right. The next few years are going to be interesting."

  Nikki raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Mm hm."

  Guillaume brought their coffee, steaming hot and fragrant, and poured it. Bowing again, he left them.

  Still at a loss for words, Max struggled for a way to broach his feelings. He was sadly out of practice in wooing. For the past ten years, relationships had never been important, merely convenient.

  “We must do this again—soon,” he said, silently cursing his ineptness. He could be glib when it didn't matter, but when it did, the words jammed in his throat.

  “Yes, I'd love to. Call me anytime. Leave a message on my voice mail, or the service can locate me,” she'd replied, a little too quickly he thought.

  “Of course.” Max concentrated on sipping his coffee, thankful that the very mundane act of drinking made conversation unnecessary. He glanced at Nikki. She sat, staring at her cup with fascination. Maybe she was as uncomfortable as he.

  Later they walked back to Nikki's apartment, enjoying the brisk autumn air. Max stopped at the door to her apartment.