Nightclub Surprise

by Michelle Love

  Miriam looked a little startled. “Oh.”

  Shiloh tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry, Miriam.”

  Miriam shook her head. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that he called this morning to tell me that I should be very proud of having such a committed and passionate spokesperson.”

  Shiloh was stunned. “He did?”

  Miriam inclined her head. “And he told me that he would look again at the site.”

  Speechless, Shiloh could only open and close her mouth for moment. “Excuse me,” she muttered after a few moments, then left the meeting room. She strode back to her office and slammed the door. She grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

  Benoit sounded amused. “How nice to hear from you, Ms. Holt.”

  “What game are you playing, Vaux?” Her temper snapped as soon as she heard his chocolate-smooth voice.

  Benoit laughed. “You’ll find out at dinner, tonight. The car will pick you up at eight-thirty.”

  The line went dead, and Shiloh was left mouthing dumbly at the phone. What the hell had just happened?

  Shiloh slammed the receiver down and let out a stream of curse words. There was no way she was going to dinner with this man—no effing way.

  At eighty-thirty, when her doorbell rang, Shiloh was resolutely still in her jeans and old, comfortable T-shirt, barefoot, her hair shoved messily into a ponytail. She opened the door expecting to see an anonymous driver. Instead, Benoit Vaux stood leaning against her doorjamb, dressed in a dark red vintage T-shirt and jeans that hugged his slim hips. Shiloh had to admit—on looks alone, the man knocked it out of the park. He grinned at her.

  “Ready for dinner?”

  Don’t give in. “Mr. Vaux, if you hadn’t so rudely hung up on me, I would have saved you the trouble of coming here by telling you that I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”

  His eyes were amused. “So you don’t want to find out what I’ve decided about the land on Boulevards Coutances, then?”

  She crossed her arms. “What say you tell me now?”

  He shook his head—really, his grin was maddening. “No deal. I’m hungry. There’s a place I’d like to take you.”

  Shiloh’s stomach rumbled and she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not getting changed.”

  Benoit shrugged. “You look beautiful,” he said casually, before holding out his hand.

  Flushing at the compliment but ignoring his hand, Shiloh grabbed her purse and walked out in front of him. She heard his soft chuckle and gritted her teeth. God, he was infuriating.

  But, in the car—a hybrid, she was amazed to note—she studied him while he drove. His dark hair was cut in a style which showed off his long neck and his muscled shoulders. The red T-shirt suited his swarthy skin color; his dark eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a subtle, clean-smelling cologne which sent her senses reeling.

  He glanced over. “Trying to make me out?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Why did you give me such a hard time then tell my boss all of that bullshit?”

  “Not bullshit...” He shook his head, still smiling. “You made me think about what you said. I called a few people and maybe—just maybe—we can work together to both our mutual satisfaction.”

  “It’s not to my satisfaction,” she said without rancor. “It’s the city’s. I only act in Paris’ best interest, Mr. Vaux. I’m not against business or progress, you see. Just, I feel that both evolution and the environment could be more simpatico, you know?”

  He smiled over at her, and there wasn’t a hint of arrogance on his face. “I do know. Paris is in my blood too, Shiloh. And it’s Benoit.”

  Shiloh gave him her first genuine smile. “Benoit.”

  Over dinner she found him to be an attentive listener, and to her continued surprise, he knew more about her than she expected. She asked him about that; half-jokingly, she asked him if he had her followed.

  “I assure you, I would never invade your privacy like that,” he said, not fazed by the question. “Shiloh, everything I know about you I got from a very basic Internet search and asking around. And what you told me on our first meeting, of course.”

  She looked blank. “Harvard and Brown,” he reminded her with a laugh.

  “Oh, right. There’s not much else to tell … Wait...” A thought had come to her suddenly. “How did you know where I lived?”

  Benoit grinned. “When I said I asked around, I meant I have friends at the utility company.”

  Shiloh’s eyebrows shot up and for a moment she didn’t know whether to yell at him or laugh. She chose the latter. “Man, you really are something else.”

  Benoit was unrepentant. “I used what was available to me.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Fair enough. But I mean what I say, Benoit. Paris is suffocating. We need those green spaces more than ever now, if you could just consider the big picture. That’s all I ask. I’m not naïve; I know how the world works. I just don’t think it should be at the expense of our planet.”

  Benoit was listening to her, she could tell. His gaze never left hers and now he nodded, slowly. “Shiloh, believe me. I understand your position and, yes, our company could do more. But we also have to consider that the population is growing every day and these people need some place to live. But I have a proposition for you.”

  Shiloh was intrigued. “Which is?”

  “Come work for me. Work with me to try and strike a balance. I’m not saying give up your job; I can tell it’s important to you, but work with us as a consultant. I promise you this now—if we go ahead on the Boulevard Coutances project, my company will invest an equal amount of money on creating new green spaces in the city. My only condition is that you are involved in making those decisions.”

  Shiloh felt her heart racing, excited at the prospect of making a real difference. Still, she hesitated. “Why me, Benoit? I’m not even on the Board at L'Institut.”

  Benoit leaned forward and she caught his scent—clean and woody. Her stomach did a little dance and she felt her face burn. If he saw her blush, Benoit didn’t say anything, for which she was grateful. “Shiloh, in this world, to find someone who is as passionate as you is a rare thing, sadly. When I see it, I can’t help myself. I want to harness that passion to make things happen.”

  Shiloh smiled shyly at him. “I admit, you have surprised me this evening, Benoit.”

  His dark eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Not as soulless as you first thought?”

  She laughed, her face going red again, but she nodded. “I’m reserving judgment.”

  Benoit laughed. “I’ll take that.”

  He drove her home and kissed her hand at her door. “That was a fun evening. We should do it again.”

  Shiloh smiled. “I’d like that.”

  When he was gone, Liv stuck her head out of her bedroom. “Was that Benoit Vaux?” Her voice registered amazement and Shiloh grinned.

  “It was.”

  “You’re dating the big bad wolf?”

  Shiloh rolled her eyes. “Not dating. We’re working together.”

  Liv looked skeptical. “Yeah, right. Working together on what’s in his pants.”

  Shiloh sighed. “Really, not.” Her mind flitted to his dark eyes, the sensual mouth, the tall, hard-bodied physique. No, stop it. She followed Liv into her room and sat cross-legged on her friend’s bed. “It’s not like that.”

  Liv was sitting at her vanity trying—and failing—to apply false lashes. She glanced at Shiloh in the mirror. “Heloise dated him back in the day, you know.”

  Shiloh ignored the jolt of jealousy that hit her. “Really?”

  Liv nodded, giving up on the eyelashes. “She said he was hot, but absent. Didn’t give his heart away. She got tired of being treated like an inconvenience in the end.”

  Shiloh stayed silent, wondering why it should bother her so much. “Well, I’m just working with the man, so it makes no difference.”

  Liv gave her an amused glance. “Come tell me that again in six w
eeks.”

  Lucia knocked on Ori’s crowded desk and Ori, discombobulated, her mind deep in her work, looked up and blinked. Lucia grinned. “I’ve been calling your name for about ten minutes now ...” she exaggerated. “It’s way past seven. Come get something to eat with me.”

  Ori checked her watch. She’d been so focused on what she was doing that she hadn’t even noticed the other staff leaving the huge open plan office in Maceo’s gallery. She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes and Lucia sighed.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentler. “You look exhausted. You’re going at this too hard. Is it AJ?”

  Ori swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I’m trying to distract myself,” she said, her voice gruff, and Lucia put her arms around her friend and hugged her.

  “No one expects you to be over this anytime soon,” she whispered, and Ori felt grateful for her kindness and leaned into the hug.

  “I know, and everyone has been wonderful, especially you and Maceo. I just feel this emptiness.”

  It hadn’t helped that Tyson Janek had been all over the news, giving interviews about the tragic death of his son, giving a performance so convincing that for a second Ori could almost believe he was in mourning. But then Tyson would look into the camera and beg Ori to “Come home. Let us be a family for AJ’s sake.”

  Bastard. Ori would grit her teeth, her eyes filled with tears, and shut off the television. She hid her despair as best she could from Maceo, but it had been a subdued homecoming.

  She and Lucia went to grab something to eat, but Ori was nearly asleep by the time Lucia called one of Maceo’s security guards to take her friend home. Ori dragged her feet as she walked into the large, luxurious penthouse she called home. Maceo had called her and told her he would be home later; he was meeting with some prospective buyers at an artist’s studio across the city. So Ori drew a hot bath and soaked in it, her head resting against the cool tile of the bathroom.

  Her phone rang just as she was getting dressed. Pulling her robe on, she grabbed it and, without checking the caller ID, said hello.

  “Hello, Orianthi.”

  Ori frowned. She didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”

  “You’ll find out. Orianthi, would you do me a favor?”

  Ori sighed. “Look, whoever you are, I’m not in the mood, so….”

  “I thought you looked lovely tonight, at the restaurant with your friend.”

  The shock slammed into her. “What?”

  “You heard me. I was close, Orianthi. Very close. But not as close as I was in San Francisco.”

  Him. Ori’s knees felt shaky, and she sat down on the bed. “What do you want?”

  He laughed. “You.”

  Ori drew in a breath. “You can’t have me, whoever you are. I am not a possession for you to acquire or whatever the hell it is you want. Get help, freak, and don’t come near me again.”

  A small pause. “The favor I ask is this. Go to this website and see.” He gave her a short web address. “You should see it, Orianthi. You’ll learn something about your future.”

  The line went dead. What the fuck? Ori closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She had enough to deal with Tyson and now someone else? Or was it someone playing a sick joke?

  Reluctantly, she grabbed her iPad and brought up the website her caller had mentioned.

  And she froze.

  There were two photographs on the website’s only page. One depicted a dead woman, a crossbow bolt buried deep her belly, her blood spilling from the wound. If Ori hadn’t known for sure it wasn’t herself, she would have sworn it was a picture of her. Viola. Under her photograph was one word: Dusk.

  The other photo was of Ori herself in the hotel room in San Francisco, unconscious, her T-shirt pulled up and a knife placed on her stomach. Underneath, it read: Eventide. The message was clear. Someone had murdered Viola, and now he was telling the world that Ori herself was next.

  Ori dropped her iPad and ran for the bathroom, only just making it before she threw up again and again, sobbing all her fear out.

  Maceo found her still hunched over in the bathroom a couple of hours later and when he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, it was all he could do to make out her garbled words. When he understood, his blood turned to ice.

  “He’s going to kill me,” she said, defeated. “He’s going to kill me, and I don’t know how we’re going to stop him.”

  Tyson Janek had expected the police to question him about the attack on Ori in San Francisco but no one had contacted him. He was a little pissed—whoever had attacked Ori hadn’t been in his employ, but he wanted to have the opportunity to talk to the police so he could try and glean some clues to who it might have been and who was infringing on his territory. It was bad enough that that bastard Bartoli was fucking his angel; now someone else wanted to kill her? No. This would not be borne.

  Despite this, he talked to every one of his staff, asking them if they had gone rogue and attacked Ori. They all denied it. Good. They were aware that only he, Tyson Janek, would put his hands on her. The consequences of their disobedience, he told them, would be catastrophic. They got the message.

  He’d had Maceo Bartoli followed and knew they were now back in Venice. Good. Being at home granted them some complacency, and at least Tyson knew where Ori would be. He would have to postpone his plan to kill her; doing it now would only endanger the fragile platform he was building. He had the press’ sympathy about AJ –best not risk that. Quietly, some of his party faithful were talking about bringing him back into the fold, and today he would fly to D.C. to have closed door meetings with them.

  Yes, at last, his career was beginning to resurrect itself and he would not risk that. Yet.

  He was lost in thought when his aide came to find him. “Boss, there’s something you need to take a look at.”

  Tyson took the iPad from his hand and glanced at it. For a long moment he studied the two photographs, then glanced up at the aide with anger in his eyes. “Call the media team. I want them here. Now.”

  Despite herself, Shiloh was enjoying working with Benoit more than she wanted to admit. Yes, he was an arrogant S.O.B., but he was also a good listener. They would argue, but it was always about substantive things, never petty or small-minded. Shiloh would give her opinion and then Benoit would pick it to pieces for good and bad points and vice versa. And from the ashes of their arguments, a solid ethos, an ideal, was created.

  Shiloh conceded that the apartment block on Boulevard Coutances was ideally placed, but she talked Benoit into making it low-price housing for the Parisians who needed to commute into the city center for work, rather than more luxury penthouses for the uber-rich. They spent days together planning new green spaces for the city and even Shiloh’s implacable boss, Miriam, was pleased.

  One particular Thursday, Shiloh had been working late when Benoit knocked at the door of the office he had loaned her. “Come, let’s go eat.”

  Shiloh shook her head. “I have to finish this; I’m not in tomorrow.”

  “Playing hooky?”

  Shiloh grinned. “Kind of. Moving house; I finally have my own place.”

  “Congrats. Look, what is it you’re working on?”

  She showed him and, smiling, he shook his head. “We won’t even close on that land for three weeks. Come, let’s go eat, and you can tell me about your new place.”

  Shiloh realized she was actually starving. And so, twenty minutes later, they were seated at her favorite burger joint. Shiloh sipped her soda, feeling the cold wash of the liquid on her tongue and the sugary rush hitting her system. “This was a good idea, Benoit.” She studied him. He had pulled his tie down and opened his collar, and had shrugged out of his jacket.

  As Shiloh had gotten to know him, she had wondered how she had ever thought he could be soulless. She was ashamed now of accusing him of being something so generic. She had Googled him and found a wealth of information—not least that his band of brothers, The Mi
dnight Club, were the most important people in his life. She had scrolled through pages of photographs and never had he looked more animated or happier than with his friends. There were women, of course, of all types but only one woman had cropped up on more than one occasion, a woman called Marcella. She had looked regal and intelligent, and Shiloh couldn’t help but be a little envious. She seemed like an important person to Benoit. Her curiosity got the better of her now, and she smiled at him.

  “Who is Marcella? She seems important to you.”

  Benoit looked surprised and then, hiding a grin, he nodded. “She is a good friend, a very good friend. She is traveling at the moment.”

  “So, she and you …?.” She let the question hanging. Her face was burning, but Benoit shook his head.

  “No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean, it is, but we are not a couple, just friends.”

  “With benefits?” Shut up, Shiloh told herself sharply. It’s none of your business.

  “If you like. There is no commitment between us, but she will always be important. How about you? Are you dating?”

  Shiloh shook her head. “No time.”

  “Come on, now.” Benoit leveled his gaze at her. “You are a beautiful woman. You must have admirers?”

  Shiloh shrugged. “If I do, they’re not known to me.”

  There was a long silence. “I can think of one right now.”

  Shiloh’s flush deepened and to break the tension, she glanced at her watch. “Hey, look, this has been fun, but I have a really busy day tomorrow.”

  Benoit smiled. “What time do you need me there?”

  Shiloh blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m offering my services; I’ve moved house more times than most.” Benoit held up his big hands. “Plus, you know, I have that buff thing going for me.” In anyone else’s mouth it would have sounded arrogant and ridiculous, but the playful gleam in his eyes made her laugh.

  “Then how can I refuse, Mr. Buff?”

  “I am strong like bull.” And he flexed his biceps. Shiloh burst out laughing.