The Paris Connection

by Cerella Sechrist

  “There was Ophelia, my ex-girlfriend.”

  “Lillian Reid’s daughter?”

  She’d heard the rumors, of course, about how Ophelia Reid had left her position at the company to move to Hawaii and marry the retired ad executive she’d been sent to recruit.

  “Yes, we were together for four years. I had even proposed, but she...broke things off when she left the company. That’s how I was assigned this position. It was meant to be hers, but when she left, Lillian assigned it to me instead.”

  “You still don’t sound too happy about it.”

  He met her eyes, and she was caught in the warmth of his gaze. “Oh, I don’t know. It might be growing on me a little bit.”

  She felt a flush building and directed her attention to her arm, rearranging the ice pack even though it didn’t really need it.

  “Tell me more about Avery,” Cole coaxed, and she was grateful for the suggestion.

  “Avery is perfect,” she announced.

  He laughed at this statement. “Well, it’s not like you’re biased or anything.”

  She laughed along with him. “Her hair’s dark, like mine, but she has her father’s eyes.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She jerked slightly in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Your eyes are nice,” he elaborated. “I just meant she’d be lucky to have that feature from you.”

  “Oh. I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well, she enjoys tea parties, of the make-believe variety.”

  “Don’t all little girls enjoy that?”

  Emma gave a slight shrug. “I never did. I was too engrossed in books to be bothered with that sort of thing.”

  He nodded. “I could see that.”

  “I loved fairy tales,” she added. “But only ones with princes and princesses. And happy endings, of course.”

  “It sounds like you always had good taste.”

  She grimaced. “No, that’s not true.”

  “Oh, come on, give yourself some credit.”

  “If I had good taste, I wouldn’t have chosen Brice. He barely gives a thought to Avery. How could I have chosen a man who doesn’t care about his own child?” She was surprised she had asked this question of Cole, and yet, his attentive ear and kindness had caused her to let her guard down.

  “I don’t know, Emma,” he answered. “But it’s not your fault that he didn’t want Avery. And it doesn’t make you a poor judge of character because you didn’t see that. You did the right thing by your daughter in the end. That’s all that matters.”

  She suddenly felt exhausted, overwhelmed by thoughts of her ex-husband and the events of the day.

  “I think maybe I should call it a night.” She removed the ice pack and twisted her wrist around to prove it was all right.

  “It’s been a long day,” Cole agreed.

  They fell silent. She could hear faint sounds of conversation and laughter from outside; the others were clearly still having a good time. She preferred being in here, though, she realized, in Cole’s company.

  “You’re sure your wrist is okay?” he asked, taking her hand in his once more and moving it gently from side to side.

  “It’ll be fine in the morning, I’m sure.” Perhaps it was his thoughtfulness and the intimacy they’d established in the past few moments, or maybe it was simply his proximity, but she felt compelled to speak openly with him.

  “Cole? Maybe I owe you an apology.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want you to come here,” she admitted. “I didn’t want the merger to happen. I refused to believe it was a good idea, but now I think maybe I was wrong.”

  “It’s all right, Emma. I know this merger is a tricky thing. There are a lot of mixed feelings about it.”

  “I know, but...” She drew a breath. “I shouldn’t have judged you, before I even knew you. You’re obviously very capable, and it’s clear you care about the people who work for you, and you’re charming and han—” She had to stop talking. Now. “I mean, you’re not so bad. For the most part.” She tried to keep those last remarks teasing and hoped he wouldn’t notice just how much she’d given away. She was relieved when he smiled without drawing attention to her effusiveness.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He hesitated. “And about earlier today... Again, I apologize.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him, and then, because she had to make sure he understood, she said, “I would never behave like that, you know. For one thing, I have a policy that I never date people I work with. Julien and I are just friends.”

  “I know.”

  “He was there for me,” Emma continued, “after Brice and I separated and then divorced. He helped me find ways to balance motherhood with my career. I don’t know why he did it, but it was kind of him. He still remembers Avery’s birthday every year. He always sends some sort of present. She looks forward to it. He’s been like a father figure to me, especially since I haven’t had a father of my own in a very long time.”

  He nodded at this, but she sensed something she’d said had bothered him. She waited to see if he would share it with her, but he finally got to his feet. She followed his actions, slightly disappointed at his lack of response.

  “Thanks for clarifying things for me.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, still uncertain why she felt he had closed her out.

  “Rest well, Emma.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  He left the kitchen, and after another moment, she did, too.

  * * *

  EMMA AWOKE THE next morning feeling slightly confused by her unfamiliar surroundings. She curled deeper beneath the covers, trying to orient herself until she recalled that this was the weekend of the corporate retreat. Once she remembered that important fact, she stretched out and tugged the sheets off her head, blinking at the sunshine streaming through the window. She replayed the events of the day before, tensing over Cole’s question at the ropes course and their conversation in the forest.

  Twirling her wrist around beneath the covers, she was happy to feel no pain. Thinking of his apology allowed her to relax once more until she remembered how Cole had turned slightly distant at the end of the evening and how she’d tossed and turned for the better part of an hour as she’d replayed everything she’d said. She couldn’t believe how open she’d been with him about Avery and her relationship with Brice. It wasn’t like her to share so much, but the warmth of his fingers on her arm and the growing closeness she’d felt toward him after the team-building games had conspired to loosen her tongue.

  Perhaps his coolness in bidding her good-night had been because he found her revelations about her personal life immature and unprofessional. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, counting and recounting the wooden beams of the old château. Well, she couldn’t take any of it back now. She might as well make the best of it and enjoy the weekend as much as she could.

  She kicked off the covers and looked at the bedside clock. It was still early enough that she could probably sneak away unnoticed. She decided to dodge the others for a while and check out the forest chapel from the estate brochure. According to yesterday’s orientation, it was tucked away, just off the bike path, in the woods. Maybe some fresh air and privacy would restore her confidence.

  She ducked into the bathroom for a rushed shower and dressed in a black-and-white striped shirt and corduroys. She reached for her cell phone and then stopped, deciding to leave it behind. That way, she wouldn’t be tempted to respond if any of the others called to find out where she’d gone. Slinking out of her bedroom, she tiptoed down the stairs. She hesitated at the kitchen entryway, wondering if there was any coffee available, and then decided it wasn’t worth the risk. She wasn’t ready to face anyone, least of all Cole, just yet.

 
Heading for the shed where René had said the bicycles were stored, she was relieved to find it unlocked. She pulled out one of the bikes and climbed on, wheeling it toward the front of the house. She circled the drive a few times to practice. It had been several years since she’d been on a bicycle. Not since she’d first moved to France and married Brice, and they’d spent a week at a bed-and-breakfast in Vendée, where there were numerous cycling trails. As soon as she felt comfortable, she pedaled toward the forest path and entered the woods.

  It was a beautiful morning, the air clean and crisp and not too warm. Occasional signs assured her she was headed the right way, and it felt good to pump her legs to propel the bicycle forward. After about ten minutes, the path widened to the right, and she could see a lane leading into a clearing. As she steered into the curve, she recognized the stone building featured in the estate literature. She drove to the end of the dirt road and came to a stop, her eyes sweeping over the charming little chapel. The stone steps leading up to the door were traced with lines of moss sprouting from serpentine cracks, but they appeared well intact. She admired the door with its gothic arch and faded stained-glass plates fitted into the top. Above these rested another stained-glass window, its colors darkened with age, and then, toward the roof, a cutout of a cross.

  She wheeled her bike next to the stone steps and rested it against the building as she noticed a plaque, describing the chapel’s history. Written in French, it explained that the chapel dated from as early as the fourteenth century with restorations performed in the latter half of the nineteenth century. It had seen a rich and varied past that included everything from wars to weddings. She reached out to rest her palm against the cool surface of the stone and marveled, as she always did, at France’s long history. She’d always been a bit of a history buff, and while she loved American studies, her homeland’s past was much shorter than that of other countries. America had been an unknown and untamed wilderness when this chapel had already stood for centuries.

  She dropped her arm and headed up the steps to check out the inside. The chapel’s interior was cool and inviting, with terra-cotta floor tiles, stained glass, several rows of wooden seats and a prie-dieu—or prayer desk—at the front of the room. She took a few minutes to wander the circumference of the room, allowing her palms to run along the walls in an attempt to soak up the memories contained therein. Then she stopped before a sculpture just beneath the window at the front. The small statue was aged and worn, its stone pockmarked in several places. But she admired the artist’s skill in carving the lines of the supplicant’s face as she raised her eyes toward Heaven.

  She began to reach out to touch the clasped hands and then stopped, not wanting to cause any more damage to the crumbly, decaying figure. Taking a step back, she suddenly sensed a person behind her, watching her. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Cole standing in the chapel’s doorway.

  Her memories of the previous evening came back in a rush, and she turned to face the front of the room once more. Had Cole sought her out? Or was it simply a coincidence that they’d both found themselves in the chapel this morning?

  “I guess I wasn’t the only one who decided to take René’s suggestion,” he said.

  She listened as Cole stepped farther into the room, but she didn’t move to face him just yet.

  “I noticed one of the bikes was gone. I wondered if you were the one who took it.”

  “I thought it might be peaceful,” she responded, still keeping her eyes on the sculpture. She could hear his steps, circling around the room. After a few seconds passed, she turned and watched as he took in the sanctuary in the same way she had, methodically, cataloguing its details. He finally stopped at the prie-dieu and rested his eyes on her.

  “You weren’t planning to join us for breakfast this morning, I take it.”

  “I just wanted a bit of time to myself.”

  “Oh.” She thought she heard disappointment in his tone, and the thought confused her. Did it mean he would have missed her had she not come for breakfast?

  “If that’s the case, I’ll leave you alone,” he offered.

  “No,” she said as he turned to go. “No, I didn’t mean you had to go. I don’t mind the company.”

  She was surprised at herself. It would have been much easier to let Cole leave her in peace for a few minutes more.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” He moved toward her again. “Then I’ll stay.”

  She felt an unexpected happiness at this. He came up beside her, and they stood in quiet reflection for several minutes, studying the sculpture and the stained glass.

  “You’re right, it’s peaceful here,” he murmured after a time.

  “It is,” she agreed, and then she couldn’t help but turn toward him. “Listen, Cole, about last night—”

  “I wondered when you’d get around to that.”

  She looked down and fidgeted. “I’m not normally so...candid.”

  She felt his breath flutter her hair as he leaned close. “I’m glad you were. It gave me the chance to get to know you a little better.”

  “I’m not sure I shared anything you needed to know.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I learned quite a bit about you last night.”

  Her curiosity got the better of her. “Like what?”

  He moved forward, strolling around the front of the tiny prayer desk, his eyes roving over the ceiling. “I learned how much you love your daughter.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “You could have,” he agreed, “but it wouldn’t have been the same as getting the big picture, like you gave me when you weren’t as worried about what I was thinking.”

  She crossed her arms. “Okay, fair enough. What else?”

  “I learned why Julien means so much to you.”

  “I thought we covered that earlier in the day.”

  He shook his head. “Not the same.”

  She sighed. “Okay, then.”

  He stopped moving and turned to look at her. “And I learned you’re a hopeless romantic.”

  She scoffed. “Hardly.”

  “You disagree?”

  “I’m not a romantic. I’m a working mother, juggling a daughter and my career. I am the picture of practicality.”

  “You wish.”

  She gasped in indignation, though his accusation stirred something deep inside her. “Exactly what did I say that led you to this stunning revelation?”

  “Nothing. And everything.”

  “Do you enjoy being vague? Because I can tell you, it’s not an attractive quality.”

  “Well, we can always talk about how you called me handsome.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Oh, but you were going to.”

  So, he had noticed. Of course he had, it wasn’t something he was likely to have missed. “I’m sorry if I spoke inappropriately.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. You were a perfect lady.” He rested a hand above his heart. “My virtue is intact.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re getting off topic.”

  “Right.” He dropped his arm back to his side. “Where were we again?”

  “Explaining how you came to the conclusion that I’m a romantic.”

  “Well, there are the obvious signs.”

  She waited for him to elaborate.

  “You left behind everything that was familiar to move to a foreign country.”

  “So did you,” she accused.

  “I didn’t come here for love. You moved to Paris for Brice, am I correct?”

  She remained silent.

  “That’s strike one. And when you divorced, you stayed in a city that you obviously love—though I can
’t imagine what makes it so special—even when there was nothing left for you here. Stop me anytime if I’m getting this wrong.”

  She pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong, and though she wouldn’t admit it, she wanted to hear what else he had to say.

  “Strike two. You fell in love with Paris, like any woman infatuated with the idea of the City of Love.”

  “It is so much more than that,” she fired back at him. “You haven’t spent enough time in the city to understand.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  She sighed. “Go on, then. I can’t wait to hear what my next strike is.”

  He took several steps closer so that he stood mere inches away. “You won’t date anyone you work with.”

  His proximity annoyed her, and she took a step back. “I’ve always had a policy of not getting involved with anyone at the office.”

  “Because you’re afraid you won’t be able to control it. You put that rule in place to keep yourself safe from...yourself.”

  “You don’t—” She stopped. She couldn’t very well say he didn’t know her. After her confessions the night before, he knew more about her than she would have liked. “—know what you’re talking about.” She fixed her error.

  “Maybe not,” he agreed. He moved toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s too beautiful a day to be inside. Are you coming?”

  She couldn’t see any reason not to, so she followed him back outside. They wandered, by unspoken consent, around the side of the chapel, and caught sight of a gated cemetery. They went to stand by the wrought-iron fence and looked over the tombstones.

  “Listen, Emma. We didn’t get off to such a great start.”

  “No,” she agreed. “We didn’t.”

  He rolled up the sleeves of the white hoodie he wore, and she admired the cords of muscle in his forearm. He must find time to go to the gym in between his hours at the office.

  “I don’t want you to feel bad about everything you told me last night. I’m not teasing you when I say you’re a romantic. I still think you are,” he hastened to add, “but that’s not a bad thing. In fact, maybe you can help me figure out exactly what it is about Paris that’s so special.”