Lost in the sensation of the most sexually abandoned situation I’d ever found myself in, a ping of electricity ricocheted from one delicate spot to another and another, as we played our game. He held my gaze, and it was only after the waiter refilled our glasses that he held my foot still against his throbbing groin.
He lifted his glass to mine. “You are very good at ‘this,’ chère. You have my absolute attention.”
God knows, he had mine. When I raised my glass to him, I felt a gentle nudge against my foot, a voluntary or involuntary response on his part. I felt his chuckle as well as heard it when I gulped down some ice-cold water and stared into the distance. I tried to collect myself, all the while very aware that he had control of my foot.
“Would you care to dance?”
“What?” His question surprised and confused me. Hillary and Aksel were rising from the table, furthering my confusion.
“Since your feet, or should I say foot, moves so beautifully, I thought you might like to dance.”
Only then did I realize couples were walking inside to dance. I gulped. “Yes.”
I eased my foot free and felt around for my shoe but couldn’t find it. I gave him a look that clearly said, “help,” because I felt his leg move against mine as he slid his shoe about, trying to find the silver heel. Just as I was about to give up and look under the white tablecloth, something sparkly caught my attention. My shoe.
I stuck a toe out to drag it back under the table while Sébastien chuckled at my obvious distress. I wanted to be angry, but it was too funny.
As he guided me past the Steinway, I slowed my stride so that I could watch the pianist’s fingers lovingly dance across the keys. The pianist winked when I smiled in admiration at his skills.
I happily sighed as I stepped into Sébastien’s arms. “You are an entertaining dinner companion, Kathleen.”
I burrowed in closer, saying nothing, just letting my body speak for me. He pulled me closer, so I molded up against him. “The music is beautiful, no?” He bussed my cheek after he spoke.
I nodded as my eyes fluttered shut and swayed to the music. I desired to feel it move through me and not apply any complicated dance steps. Within Sébastien’s embrace, one song then another wove their way through me and somehow bound me to him more.
It was in this place, soft and dreamy, where I was only aware of the music and the man, that I registered Sébastien’s muscles tense.
I lifted my head to look at him and saw him looking over my shoulder. I followed his gaze and found Hillary and Aksel.
“Shall we trade partners for one dance?” Aksel asked us both.
Not knowing what to do, I kissed Sébastien before leaving his embrace and stepping into Aksel’s arms. I cast a glance at the newly formed couple and saw them whispering back and forth.
On guard, I let Aksel lead me into an easy pattern of steps, while I asked him how he was enjoying the evening. He charmed me by speaking highly of Hillary, so my guard wasn’t up when he added, “Mademoiselle, I would like to meet with you.”
“What? Why?” I was so surprised, I forgot all about niceties.
He didn’t appear to be offended by my loss of etiquette. “I have a professional offer I would like to make. Perhaps lunch tomorrow?”
The girls were leaving in the morning; Sébastien was flying to Rome for business. I flipped through the millions of reasons to say no, but instead I found myself saying, "After work? 7:00, downstairs, in the bar?”
He smiled and inclined his head. “I will be there, waiting for you in the bar.” Then he shuffled us back toward Hillary and Sébastien.
A few notes later, the song finished, and I was back in Sébastien’s arms.
His arms held me, rigid with tension. “I missed you, chère.”
He didn’t ask me what Aksel and I talked about, but I could sense he wanted to. Then and there, I decided not to tell him about meeting Aksel tomorrow.
Whatever he wanted to talk about, I didn’t think it was worth upsetting Sébastien over. I’d tell him afterwards, if it was worthwhile. Instead, I tried to get us back onto even ground, so I laid my head against the lapel of his jacket and snuggled close. I listened to his heartbeat. The usual steady thud was there, and, as we swayed back and forth, I felt him gradually relax.
7:01 PM, Monday, October 5
Moving Tools
I SAT THERE with my jaw dropped, my mouth wide and gaping. “Seriously?” I wanted to add, “Get out of here” or “For real?” but my unconscious-self had clearly drawn a line somewhere, trying to maintain some level of professionalism. “You are offering me a position at your company? Based upon what?”
“I can see you are… surprised. Suffice it to say that my staff assures me you are a perfect fit for the job. You’re highly regarded professionally, and people like you, which is a definite bonus. Plus, you have the soul of an artist. For this position, your skills are the perfect match. Think of the Bethany Halvorsen show and dinner last night as interviews.”
Aksel Pedersen was offering me a job. At an unknown company, or at least at one I hadn’t found during my late-night sleuthing.
“What about Jean-Victor Meyers, the owner of my company? Isn’t it a little unfriendly to try and lure away your friend’s employees?”
He dipped his head. “Not my proudest moment, but he would do the same thing, if he found himself in my shoes. I’ve been searching for someone like you for several months.”
I weighed this briefly and knew he was right about Jean-Victor Meyers. I had no way of knowing if I was a perfect fit. I was more interested in what the issue was between him and Sébastien. “What about Sébastien? You can’t deny that there is bad blood between the two of you.”
Before I could say more, he interrupted, “I was led to believe you hadn’t been dating too long.”
That brought me up short. He’d been looking into my personal life, as well? Had Hillary told him? While Aksel had a point, I trusted Sébastien’s instincts. If he had a problem with Aksel Pedersen, I wanted to know why. So I said so.
“Mademoiselle, I’m not trying to be mysterious. I will simply say what I am allowed to say. We were in business, there was a breach of contract, we signed a non-disclosure agreement, and nothing more can be said.”
It was a one, two, three punch scenario.
I was curious. Given my job, I inferred from Aksel’s phrasing that the agreement was in regards to valuable information. Perhaps patents? Perhaps a trade secret was being protected. If so, this meant the agreement was in perpetuity—forever, so long as the owner continued to take reasonable efforts to maintain the information’s secrecy. I assumed that Aksel was the owner.
I was speechless. My brain was working hard to assimilate all this and what it meant to Sébastien and me. He couldn’t say, and, therefore, he wouldn’t bring it up. So how could I? How could I go to work for someone with whom he had this conflict?
I was intrigued though. I wanted to know more. The name of the company quietly sang from the recesses of my mind and thundered its way to the forefront of my thoughts. “Where is Flytning Værktøj located? I’ve never considered leaving Paris.”
“Yes, well, I am hoping you will want the position enough that you would be willing to relocate. We’d pay for the move, of course. Our facilities are located in Aarhus, Denmark.”
Christ, I thought I was going to faint. Spots floated in front of my eyes. I set my drink down on the bar and grabbed on for dear life. My brain shouted, “It’s not possible,” but I’d heard him say it. It was possible.
“Mademoiselle Ehlers, are you all right? Can I do something for you?”
I felt drugged as I lifted my eyes to his. He was blurry. He looked really concerned. I took the napkin he handed me. What do I need this for? I pressed it to my face, thinking perhaps it would cool me down. It was only when I held it to my cheeks that I felt tears puddle against my fingers. Shit! I’m crying.
“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”
>
Take it slow. I made my way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face several times. I focused on breathing calmly, taking long breaths in and blowing longer breaths out. When I felt like I was under control, I patted my face dry and repaired my makeup. “What am I going to say?” I asked my reflection in the mirror. “Fuck if I know,” it responded.
When I approached the bar, he stood up, looking nervous. Or worried. Probably both. I had decided to give him a very simple explanation and buy myself some time. “I’m sorry about that. I lost someone very important to me, years ago, who was from Aarhus. It’s not something that comes up ever, and it’s not a city you meet someone from ever. So, a surprise. I’m fine. Now, back to the job—”
He cut me off. “Kathleen, let’s talk about the job another time. I’m sorry you’re upset, and you need time to… Honestly, I don’t know what, but now is clearly not the time for this. Take the packet, think about it, and when you are ready, call me.”
He was a kind man. Whatever his conflict with Sébastien, I could see in Aksel’s eyes that he was kind. I looked down at the elegantly packaged offer he had presented me and tapped my long, tapered fingers on the stack. “Thank you.” I had to ask, “Can you please say the name of the company once again, slowly?”
Concern bracketed his blue eyes. “Of course.” He said it again, but slower.
I repeated it back, “Flit-knee Vairk-toy.” Just saying the word aloud brought memories rushing to the surface. “Thank you,” I repeated. “I will get back to you soon.” It was a rote response, but I knew I needed to take this slow.
1:00 PM, Tuesday, October 6
Flight Plan to Control Tower
AFTER A SLEEPLESS night and a restless morning, I finally felt ready to engage the outside world. At precisely one o’clock, I picked up the phone and punched in a long string of numbers.
“Faith Clarkson, International. Charlotte Young’s office. How may I help you?”
“Kathleen Ehlers, L’Oréal Paris, for Ms. Young.”
“Just a moment.”
Charlotte quickly picked up. “Kathleen, how are you?”
“Let’s start with how you are. You made it home all right? What did the doctor say?” She’d had an appointment that morning.
“Let’s see, where to start? Everything is normal, according to him. The fact that I’m huge, can barely walk, have boobs that can out-compete Tiziana’s, and the Braxton Hicks coming and going—all completely normal. I’ve already spoken with Faith Clarkson twice today, which means I am likely to develop hemorrhoids and acid reflux.” She chuckled and then resumed. “I’m thinking of sending her the placenta just for fun.”
“Excellent!” I replied sarcastically. “Charlotte, I only have a minute. A meeting beckons. But I was hoping to come visit this weekend.”
“So soon? I mean, sure. I just thought for sure you’d need time to recuperate and have Sébastien all to yourself.”
“I’m fine. I just want to have some quiet time, before the baby comes, which sounds sooner than later.”
“Sounds fabulous. Let me check in with Liam and make sure there isn’t something going on that I don’t know about.”
There was a time when Charlotte was the most madcap of us all—other than Tiziana, of course, who functioned in a universe all by herself—but the least judgmental, and very sensible, when necessary. She was the perfect person to talk to about all “this.”
“No problem. Call me when you know, so I can book a ticket.”
When I hung up the phone, I pulled a folder and laptop toward me and made my way to the conference room at the end of the hallway. To draw attention away from the shadows under my eyes and the strain on my face, I had put on a gorgeous, navy-blue, knee-length Stella McCartney dress with a lacey overlay of delicate white leaves. I had pulled my hair into a chignon to showcase the delicate fabric. A small, black, patent-leather belt cinched my waist. The pièce de résistance were my favorite dark-blue Fendi heels. I smoothed a hand over my armor and made my way down the hall to a conference room.
I sat down in a chair at one end of the long conference table. Today’s meeting was with representatives of Agnès b., Comence, Thierry Mugler, Michel Klein, and Pr. Christine Poehlman. Really, a research and development meeting that I was attending, on Monsieur Detriche’s behalf, as a formality. Once everyone got down to brass tacks, I quietly withdrew from the conversation and began to tap away on my keyboard, updating my boss on the status of the meeting. When I snuck out and was almost at my office door, my path crossed with Monsieur Huse.
“Relieved or disappointed that life has returned to normal after last week’s fashion madness?” he asked. Then, observing my outfit, he added, “Still the height of fashion, though.”
Ignoring the last comment, I answered, “A little of both, of course. You will be pleased to know that the meeting with 3Suisses went well.”
Monsieur Detriche approached us and thanked me for attending the meeting.
“Anything I can do to help.”
Monsieur Huse pointedly glanced at Monsieur Detriche before handing me a folder. “Mademoiselle Ehlers, as you know, L’Oréal is considering acquiring Urban Decay. If you could take a look at this initial data and work your magic, I’d be grateful.”
It was a public vote of confidence. I hid my guilt (Flit-knee Vairk-toy) and surprise (Monsieur Huse had never bypassed Monsieur Detriche before). “Absolutely. I will set up a meeting when I have taken a look.”
Five minutes after returning to my desk, Denise entered with a box lunch. Carefully opening the box, I pulled out a plate with a generous slice of vegetable terrine, a demi-baguette, and a wedge of Brie. I would have preferred Roquefort, but the residual smell in the office would have been hellacious. Using a chunk of bread to push the bite of asparagus, roasted red pepper mousse, and tomato onto my fork, I savoured it while searching the Internet for something light and easy to read. I came across some articles about Tiziana and Ted at a restaurant in London last night. Then I opened my email and was surprised to see one from Liam.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subj: Visit this weekend
Kathleen,
Charlotte mentioned you’d like to come to London. We’d love to have you, and, to be honest, I’m hoping to beg a favor. Charlotte will not appreciate finding out that I’m asking you for help, but since you’re the decorator in the group, I am hoping you will take pity on me and help pick out a decent color for the baby’s room. She’s gone all pastel on me. Barking-mad shades of yellow until the eyes bleed and the stomach heaves. If you can take pity on me (and the baby), send me your flight information.
As you know, no nights out at the disco, I’m afraid.
Thanks a million,
Liam
“Poor Liam.” Impending fathers had such a treacherous path to walk. His comment about the disco made me laugh out loud, remembering a year or so ago, when Hillary had hosted a weekend party at her place in London. We’d stumbled upon a tranny bar in Covent Gardens. Fortunately, the regulars had taken a shine to us. What had really cemented the connection was Tiziana va-va-vooming around the club. She’d spent all her time giving out makeup tips, and we had been the recipients of many a free drink.
Putting down my fork, I took a wad of bread and wiped it across the surface of the plate, picking up the last pieces of terrine. Stuffing the tasty bite in my mouth, I chewed as I clicked away on the keyboard. Twenty minutes later, when everything was sorted, I emailed Liam.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Visit this weekend
Hi there,
More than happy to help out, though I warn you, I have no experience decorating nurseries.
I am really looking forward to time with just you two and seeing the new house. I promise, Charlotte and I will do nothing more exciting than a pedicure and sparkling water!
My flight leaves Paris at 4:00 pm (3:00 p
m your time). I’ll be landing 5:20 pm (your time). I can take the Tube from Heathrow.
See you soon,
Kathleen
***
With Sébastien gone, I threw myself into demolishing most of the kitchen after work, exhausting my body and giving my brain time to process. Gradually, I assimilated the fact that I was genuinely and deeply excited about Aksel Pedersen’s job offer, though terrified about moving to Aarhus and all the other upheaval (which was putting it mildly).
The idea of working for an engineering company whose products allowed artists to realize their visions was so compelling that I found myself surfing the Internet, learning all I could about kinetic art. I followed its origins in French Impressionism and was surprised that a couple hours passed as I traced its evolution to the installation of Kinetic Rain in the Changi Airport. As I watched golden tear-shaped orbs waltz in the air, I found myself wondering why Aksel Pedersen had poked around and found me.
Though Sébastien and I traded email and texts, I didn’t bring up the job offer. The fact that I missed him, yearned for him, was both exciting and terrifying. Always on my mind was my sense that a new job working for Aksel Pedersen would kill our fledgling relationship, so I kept everything to myself, not wanting to give up the exhilaration of feeling so alive.
10:30 PM, Friday, October 09
The Color of Dreams
THE MOMENT MY foot hit British soil—well, British tile—I was hailed by an even-more-pregnant Charlotte. I willed myself to not outwardly react. Seeing Liam poke up the corners of his mouth, I immediately corrected my expressionless face and beamed a bright smile. He gave me a thumbs up. Charlotte walked slowly. The glow she’d emitted when she’d first arrived in Paris was gone. Now, she looked tired and… done.
Liam raced ahead of her. When we hugged hello, he chastised me, “You looked positively horrified.”
Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) Page 16
