Somehow he had to think about something else. Being with Nic would have helped. He and Nic had met at college and had been friends ever since, like their grandfathers, who’d done business together in the past.
Between the plane crash that had marred Luc’s life and the tragedy that had befallen Nic’s first wife, the men had suffered grief at different periods and could relate. Luc enjoyed being with him whenever they could break away.
But since Nic’s second marriage, they hadn’t seen much of each other. His friend was ecstatically happy with his new American wife. After he got back from California, Luc would call him so they could get together.
As for tonight, there would be a party with his family to celebrate one of his cousin’s birthdays. While he was getting ready to leave his suite, his assistant, Thomas, buzzed him. It had better be important because he was already late.
“Oui?”
“I just got a heads-up from one of our sources in Paris. Turn on your TV. Hurry!”
“More terrorism?”
“This news could be worse for us depending on the outcome.”
A frown marred Luc’s Gallic features. He reached for the remote in his desk drawer and clicked on to the six o’clock news. He paid Thomas well to keep his ear to the ground.
“Good evening, everyone. On this Friday, we’re coming to you from Chaine Huit in Paris, France, with breaking news that is already rocking the international perfuming community. Today, a stunning announcement came from Grasse, France, the perfume capital of the world, causing a negative fluctuation in the stock market.”
Tension lines deepened around Luc’s mouth.
“Within the last twenty-four hours, the iconic House of Ferrier has undergone a dramatic new change in management.”
A cold sweat broke out on his body. What change? No one had informed Luc.
The former biggest moneymaker in the perfume industry was one of the bank’s top clients and had been for ninety years. But two years ago the head of Ferriers had died and the business had slowly started losing revenue. A few months later, Luc’s own grandfather had passed away of a bad heart, making Luc the CEO of the bank.
Though the world didn’t know it yet, the quarterly gross sales reports indicated a declining percentage in Ferriers’s profits. Not totally alarming yet, but still, Luc was worried. Since his grandfather had been Maxim Ferrier’s banker, Luc had been the one to take over their various accounts in order to maximize the assets in an unstable economy. It was one of the reasons he’d gone to Nicosia in May and again in June.
But without the proper leadership he’d worried about the future of a company that had been part of the backbone of the French economy for close to a century. If it failed, the economic structure of Southern France would be jeopardized. Like many other businesses, Ferriers had stayed alive all these years. If it continued to go downhill, the bank would be affected.
“Two years ago, the world lost the greatest perfumer of our time, Maxim Ferrier, at sixty-eight years of age. Balmain, Dior, Givenchy, Caron, Guerlain, Chanel, Balenciaga, Estee Lauder, Rochas, Fragonard, Ricci, Lentheric—all the great major perfume houses considered him an icon the world will never see again.
“Since his death, the company has been run by the family and other staff who made up the board while he was alive. But today, they have finally appointed a new head.”
Luc ground his teeth. As he’d already found out, none of them had the Midas touch of the legendary perfumer himself. Who in heaven’s name would they have found and brought in to turn things around? Absolutely no one from any other perfume house in the world had Maxim Ferrier’s genius. Not in this generation. Probably not for another hundred years.
“Spill it!” Luc muttered furiously to the TV anchorman, who knew this broadcast was making the kind of news the media lived and died for and was milking it for all he was worth.
“Our station is the first to announce the name of Jasmine Martin, a total unknown, who has been put at the helm. She’s an unmarried twenty-six-year-old with no formal job experience and has brought no resume to the position of the multibillion-dollar corporation.”
“What?” In a state of shock, Luc shot to his feet.
“It’s an unprecedented move since only two men have ever held that coveted position in the Ferrier perfume empire...Maxim Ferrier, and before him, his uncle, Paul Ferrier, whose father had run a flower farm in the very beginning. Right now, we’re taking you live to the sacrosanct laboratory of the brilliant perfumer in Grasse. Our anchorman, Michel Didier, is standing by there, ready to interview her.”
While Luc walked over to the TV screen to get a closer look, the other anchorman introduced himself.
“Good evening from our network in Grasse. I’ve been invited inside the room where Maxim Ferrier himself developed his famous formula for Night Scent, a perfume that won every award and still tops perfume sales around the globe. This is a privilege for me and all our viewers. The whole world is waiting to meet you, Jasmine. May I call you that?”
“Of course.”
As the camera panned in on her, a cry of shock escaped Luc’s throat. No—it couldn’t be!
Hers was the beautiful face he’d seen at the dock on Yeronisos! He took a deep breath, trying to comprehend it. The woman who’d given Luc battle before he’d watched her charge up those steep steps, possibly to her death, was Jasmine Martin? The new CEO at Ferriers?
His dark head reared. He’d never thought to see her again. Yet there she was in the flesh, that fiery beauty he’d been fantasizing about every night.
How was it that she of all people on this planet had been made head of one of the most iconic companies in France? She was a daredevil who’d insinuated that Luc was on his way to middle age before she’d ignored him and gone straight up the cliff to jump off. He rubbed the back of his neck in consternation.
It defied logic that a woman so careless with her own life was now running a billion-dollar corporation. Luc was so incredulous over what had been announced, he couldn’t make sense of anything.
This evening she wore her hair caught back at the nape. Instead of wearing a T-shirt and bikini, she was dressed in a peach-colored suit that revealed her gorgeous figure.
Behind her were stacked rows of hundreds of bottles, reminding him of the wizard’s shop in the Harry Potter film he’d seen with two of his nephews. Those magic potions that still delighted moviegoers everywhere.
Yet the potions behind this woman had worked their own special magic in the cosmetic world, yielding billions of dollars in revenue.
“I have many questions to ask. But for all those watching our broadcast around the globe, this question is foremost in everyone’s mind. How did you of all people, of all women, get picked, and at such a young age?”
An impish smile broke out on her alluring face. Luc’s breath caught. The memory of their heated exchange had caused him one restless night after another since his return. Twenty-six meant she was older than he’d thought, but it still rankled that she’d dared to accuse him of trying to pick her up.
She folded her arms and lounged against the edge of the lab table.
“You’re going to get your scoop now, Michel,” she teased with that same audacious maturity, so at odds with her lack of judgment when it came to her safety. There was a twinkle in her dark blue eyes. The first time they’d met she’d been wearing sunglasses. Luc had to admit he’d never seen anyone so natural in front of the camera. “I’m Maxim Ferrier’s youngest grandchild.”
Grandchild?
The well-known anchorman was taken by total surprise and looked as blown away as Luc felt.
“Since I came along last of his twenty-one grandchildren, he nicknamed me Jasmine. That’s because Jasmine is the flower harvested last in October. He said it was his favorite flower because of its beguiling scent. Thoug
h my parents named me Blanchette after my mother, his name for me stuck.”
Michel shook his head. “Just keep talking. I won’t interrupt because I’m speechless and enchanted, and I know everyone else is too.”
Her gentle laugh reached down to burrow inside a disbelieving Luc, who couldn’t comprehend any of it. “I used to hang around my papa. I thought of him as this amazing sorcerer and pretended to be his apprentice. He never seemed to mind.”
“Obviously not,” the journalist interjected. “Tell the audience why you think he chose you to run the company.”
“He once told me I was the only one in the family who got the nose. Not his own children and not any of his grandchildren got it, he said. Just me. I thought he meant I had a Roman nose like a horse. I was so hurt I ran out of the lab crying. He had no idea how much I loved him, but I was horrified that he thought I was ugly.”
The anchorman laughed heartily, but Luc’s throat closed up with emotion. Children were so literal, as he’d learned from being around his own nieces and nephews.
“Then he came after me and explained what he meant. He said I was so smart, he thought I knew what a nose was. He said I had a beautiful nose like my grandma. But he was referring to the fact that after sixty years, another perfumer had been born in the family, someone like himself who could identify scents. That person was moi and he was overjoyed.”
Michel smiled. “No wonder he named you to succeed him.”
“I still can’t believe he did that and I am still trying to come to grips with it. No one could ever fill his shoes. I’m stunned to think he believed I could.”
“I’m not surprised you’re in shock,” the anchorman commented at last. He stared at the camera. “Mesdames et messieurs, you couldn’t make up a Cinderella story as unusual as this, not in a hundred years. I wish we had more time for the interview. Before we have to end this segment, the audience wants to hear about your grandmother.
“We know she was a great beauty right up to the time of her passing. Not only was she a devoted wife, she was a great intellect who authored several books.”
“She was fabulous.”
“While you were growing up, you must have known over the years that the international press touted them the most beautiful couple in the world. The French have called them the Charles Boyer and Marlene Dietrich of the modern era. American media labeled him more handsome and sophisticated than Cary Grant. She has been compared to Grace Kelly and Princess Diana. What do you say to that, Jasmine?”
“What more can I add? They were beautiful people from that era, inside and out. She loved him so much, she died three months later.”
Luc hated to admit it, but part of him was spellbound by her and knew the anchorman was too.
“After seeing this broadcast, people will say you inherited her beauty.”
“No woman could ever compare to her. If you could have heard my papa on the subject. If ever a man loved a woman...”
Luc heard the tremor in her voice and couldn’t help but be moved by her humility. He could never have imagined this side of her after their explosive meeting on Yeronisos. Unless this was all playacting. If so, she was the greatest actress he’d ever known.
“Is it true he never gave an interview in his life?”
“That’s right. He disliked publicity of any kind. I’m only doing this one interview because our family has been besieged by the media for years. The outpouring of public sentiment over their deaths has been so touching and overwhelming, I hoped to be able to thank them through your program.”
“It’s a personal honor for me, Ms. Martin. Would it be too forward of me to ask if there’s a special man in your life?”
“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll answer with a ‘yes, it would.’” But she said it with a mocking little curve of her mouth that made Luc’s emotions churn in remembrance of her erroneous assumption about him. The anchorman was quick to recover, but he looked embarrassed. Luc knew what it felt like to be slammed by her like that, although she’d been gentler with the other man.
“Message received. Wasn’t your grandfather the one who coined the phrase, ‘Provence is God’s garden’?”
“Oh, no, but he often expressed that sentiment to me.”
“While you’ve been talking, I found another passage in your grandmother’s book where she quotes him. He must have been writing about you.
“‘Jasmine seems to be a flower made for nostalgia. It grows in doorways and winds over arches, linking it to the intimacy of home. It begins to bloom as the days become hotter, and it releases its scent at the hour when tables are set in the garden or in narrow lanes. It is associated with the melancholy of dusk and the conviviality of summer evenings. Its fragrance permeates the air, making it a background for love.’”
She cleared her throat. “I remember him saying those words. I think Papa had a love affair with flowers all his life.”
Watching this interview had tied Luc in knots. The woman he’d met two months ago was nothing like the flower just described.
The anchorman nodded. “For those of you who still aren’t aware, the book Jasmine’s grandmother wrote, Where There’s Smoke, is the definitive source on the life work of Maxim Ferrier. It’s being reissued in a second edition with several sections of new information to coincide with the announcement of the new head of Ferriers and will be out on the stands tomorrow. When the first edition of the book came out, it became number one on bestseller lists worldwide. I confess I was enthralled by it.”
“Thank you. Grandma worked on it for years. After my papa died, she had it published to honor him.”
“No one knew him better than she did, except for you, who came in a close second.” Again Luc saw the secret curve in her smile that reminded him of the way she’d smiled at him before letting him have it. The sensation twisted his gut as much now as then.
“Let me read one last thing your grandmother quoted from her husband. ‘An exceptional perfume has a top note to entice, followed by the rich character of its middle note. Then comes the end note to bind all three, supplying the depth and solidity needed to make a lasting signature.’ He was a poet, wasn’t he?”
“Papa was so many things, I hardly know where to begin.”
“I wish we didn’t have to stop. Thank you for letting us see inside your world. It’s been an honor and privilege.”
“For me too.”
“Congratulations on your new position, chosen by the head man himself. What greater endorsement, n’est-ce pas?” He turned to the camera. “That’s it for now from Grasse. Back to you in Paris.”
Luc shut off the TV, stunned out of his mind by her interview. A bomb had been dropped. He was still trying to recover from the fallout. Pacing the floor, he realized this meant he would be dealing with her in the future. His heart thudded at the very thought of it.
Now that the news had gone global, anything could happen and probably had behind closed doors at Ferriers. He couldn’t imagine the members of the Ferrier board, twice or triple her age and most of them family, tolerating the granddaughter to become the head of the company. If they knew what Luc knew...
This was nepotism at its best. Either Maxim Ferrier had become senile toward the end, or she’d had him wrapped around her little finger because she’d inherited his gift. But that gift didn’t mean she had the grasp for business or the necessary ability to run one of the most famous companies in existence. There’d been no mention of her education. She had no work experience. As far as he was concerned, she had no common sense either.
The Ferrier board had to have the same opinion about her and would soon find a way to vote her out. But until then Luc would have to be extra careful how he proceeded when the day came he had his first business meeting with her. Frankly, he couldn’t imagine it after their explosive encounter on the island. Yet, to his d
ismay, the thought of being with her again charged every cell in his body.
“Luc?”
It had been a long time since Thomas had walked in without knocking, but Luc understood why. His assistant looked dazed. “I never saw or heard anything so amazing in my life.”
“You’re not alone, Thomas.”
“She’s more beautiful than her grandmother was, if that’s possible.”
It was possible. The image of her standing at the base of the cliff had never left him. But there were imperfect parts of her the camera hadn’t seen, parts that he felt spelled a lot more trouble for Ferriers.
“I still can’t believe she’s the new face and power at Ferriers. She may be Maxim Ferrier’s favorite and worth millions herself, but she looks too young and defenseless to go to battle against dynasty builders with three times her age and experience.”
Luc would have thought the same thing if he hadn’t been the recipient of her words, which could slice and dice a man to shreds in seconds. His assistant wouldn’t see her as a defenseless woman if he’d watched her attack that rocky island on those breathtaking limbs of hers with the strength and agility of a military frogman.
Thomas’s eyes gleamed. “This means that from now on you’ll be meeting with her instead of Giles LeC—” he started to say, but Luc stopped him right there because he didn’t want to hear it. He needed time for the news to sink in first.
“I’m late for a party and have to run. See you on Monday.” He left by his private exit. It opened into a hallway leading to the private parking lot with a security guard.
Ever since the incident in Cyprus, he’d fought the temptation to find out who she was. A simple phone call to the boating concession that rented dinghies would have told him what he wanted to know, but somehow he’d managed to stop himself in time.
Dieu merci he hadn’t let the desire to meet her in person and set her straight about a few things outweigh his innate caution. Otherwise, she truly would have had the last laugh knowing the director of the Banque Internationale du Midi was a voyeur stalking beautiful young women throughout the Mediterranean while on vacation.
The Prince She Never Forgot (Harlequin Romance) Page 20
