The Paris Game

by Alyssa Linn Palmer

  Marc took his phone out to look up Sophie’s number. It buzzed in his hand as a text arrived from Sera: “Call me when you get a moment.”

  Later, he decided. The stack of information for the baroness was a monolith on his desk, demanding his attention. At least from the baroness, he felt needed. When he told her the estimates, she’d be grateful.

  Marc set up the headset he’d borrowed from Aurore on his office phone and began to dial the number for the baroness. His mobile phone rang. He glanced at it. The number wasn’t one he recognized and he considered leaving it, but curiosity got the better of him.

  “Oui?”

  “Marc?”

  He smiled in satisfaction. “Sophie. Just the woman I wanted to hear from. You made quite an impression on my staff last week.”

  “Did I?” He could imagine her blushing. “They were so nice. Monsieur Fournier offered me an internship—I didn’t know your firm did that.”

  “Not often,” Marc told her. He leaned back in his chair, swiveling to look at the tapestry that hung behind his desk. “But we do occasionally offer them to the most qualified candidates. Is it something you would want to do?”

  “Is it paid? I couldn’t afford Paris otherwise, and my family...” she paused, obviously looking for words. “I doubt they’d approve.”

  “You’ll be paid; I usually take the intern’s salary out of Fournier’s pay packet so he can’t buy new clothes for a month or two,” Marc quipped. He heard Sophie giggle.

  “How cruel of you.”

  “But kind to everyone else.”

  “Philanthropic, even,” she agreed.

  “Are you free later, Sophie? We could discuss the details over drinks.”

  “I wish I could.” She sounded disheartened. “I have a meeting with my advisor. I’m dreading this long distance call.”

  “What are you worried about? I’m sure you’ll impress him.”

  She sighed. “I hope so. I’ll spend the afternoon writing and then I’ll email him what I’ve done. I don’t think I’ve done enough in the time I’ve been here. If he’s not impressed...”

  “He will be. How could he not?” Marc interjected.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll need it.”

  “You should come by tomorrow and let me know how it went.”

  “Would late afternoon be all right?” Sophie asked.

  “Parfait. And I can take you out for a celebratory aperitif after you accept the internship.” If she interned with them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fulfill the bet with Sera, but she wouldn’t start work right away. Plenty of time to seduce her before she became an employee. Tomorrow could start with an aperitif, and end with her in his bed.

  “I’d better start searching my closet,” she joked. “Most of what I have is typical student wear.”

  “You look lovely in everything, Sophie.” And she’d look lovelier in nothing, but he didn't say so. His gaze fell on the nymph nestled in the corner of the tapestry. She stared back at him with an expectant look, and he could picture Sophie in just the same pose.

  There was an awkward pause on her end. “That’s very kind of you.”

  He chuckled. “Remember what I said?” He heard her laugh.

  “Yes, sorry. I’d forgotten—you’re not kind.”

  “Exactly. Until tomorrow, Sophie?”

  “À demain, Marc.”

  He hung up and turned back to his desk, flipping to the first section of Dawson’s report. He put on the earpiece and adjusted the microphone as he dialed the number for the baroness.

  Marc had just gotten off the phone with the baroness when Fournier knocked on his door. He rose from his chair and stretched.

  “Hello, Fournier. Still here?”

  “I thought you were going to be stuck here all night,” Fournier remarked. “I was just going to tell you not to fall asleep on the baroness, but now I can ask you how it went instead.” He paused for theatrical effect. “How did it go?”

  “Very well. There were a few items she was indecisive about, but most will go up for auction in several weeks. I’ll call Dawson tomorrow and get a quote for his services.”

  “Should we celebrate with a drink?”

  “Once the estate sells,” Marc replied.

  “Of course. Counting chickens and all that. Home then? Or will you be seeing Miss Harper?”

  Marc straightened the files on his desk and slipped his mobile phone into his pocket. “You’ll be happy to hear that Miss Harper will be coming by tomorrow afternoon and we shall be discussing the intern position,” he told Fournier. “And do tell Aurore on Monday morning so I don’t have to repeat myself.”

  Fournier laughed. “Of course I shall. She’s been waiting for the news. I’m surprised she hasn’t resorted to emailing or texting you to get your attention this afternoon. Are you coming?”

  “Shortly. I’ll see you tomorrow, Fournier. I’ll lock up.”

  Fournier waved and Marc heard him on his phone, talking to his boyfriend. He took up his phone to call Sera, then glanced at his watch. He could go for a meal, he reasoned, and then stop in at the club on his way home. Then he could convince her to come back with him, and Jeremy be damned.

  The club was characteristically quiet for a Sunday evening. Edouard manned the bar, but only Benoît was on stage, playing a rendition of Stardust. Marc stepped up to the bar.

  “Bonsoir. What can I get you?”

  “Whiskey, the Jameson’s.” He surveyed the club again, wondering if he’d missed seeing Sera the first time. When Edouard set down the glass of whiskey, he turned back, looking puzzled.

  “I thought Sera was working tonight.”

  Edouard nodded. “She was supposed to, but Jean said she called in sick.”

  “That was all?”

  “Jean also made a comment about how she at least waited until Sunday to be sick.” Edouard rolled his eyes. “I think he was just annoyed that she got to drink good champagne all evening last night thanks to her admirer.”

  “Were they here all night?” Marc’s anger rose, but he covered it with a sip of whiskey.

  “That’s what I heard from Jean. I had the early shift yesterday,” Edouard replied. “The guy even sent her flowers.” Suddenly he looked embarrassed, dropping his gaze to look for his cloth. He began to wipe down his already clean work area. “Sorry, monsieur. That’s probably not something you wanted to hear about.”

  “Why not?”

  Edouard shifted on his feet, looking miserable.

  “I know you’re still—um—fond of her,” he said awkwardly.

  “That is true,” Marc allowed. Edouard seemed to relax. “So her new admirer and she were drinking champagne—maybe she’s just hung over.”

  “Maybe. But Sera hardly ever drinks to excess.”

  “So you think she’s actually sick?” Marc asked.

  “I don’t know. But the man she was with—her admirer—I didn’t have a good feeling about him.”

  Marc finished his whiskey and set the glass on the bar.

  “Another?” Edouard asked.

  “Oui. Did she go home with him?”

  “Jean never said.” Edouard glanced around the club. “But he must be in with Monsieur Royale, or you could ask.”

  “Is her admirer here tonight?” Marc glanced speculatively at the other customers.

  “No, not tonight. But he usually doesn’t come in until later.” Edouard poured Marc another whiskey. “He’s hard to miss.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He throws his money around. Jean loves him, but I think there’s something off about him, I just can’t pinpoint it.”

  Marc downed his whiskey. “Keep an eye on him,” he said. “Better to trust your instincts.” He pulled some money from his wallet. “Have a good night, Edouard.”

  “Bonne nuit, monsieur.”

  Marc left the club and was able to flag down a taxi almost immediately once he reached the boulevard St. Germain. It had barely disgorged its
previous passengers when he got in. He could just head home, but he knew that he wouldn’t. He gave the driver Sera’s address. He’d see her instead of calling. The cab ride seemed interminable and he tapped his fingers impatiently. He took out his cigarette case, then put it back. He couldn’t smoke in the cab. It finally drew up at the top of Sera’s street and he got out, striding down the narrow street.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He frowned. He didn’t usually receive calls this late. The number had been blocked, but he answered the call. The job had better be done.

  “Monsieur, you shouldn’t be trying to find us,” he heard a familiar voice say. He stopped abruptly.

  “Girard?”

  “If you keep it up, we’ll go to the cops,” Claude said.

  “You’ll go down too if you do,” Marc retorted.

  “Not as much as you will,” Claude replied. Marc could imagine his smug smile.

  “What do you want?”

  Claude laughed. “What do you think? I want the rest of our money. And then another ten thousand so we’ll go away.”

  “Five.”

  “This isn’t the time to haggle,” Claude snapped.

  “I can’t raise that in an evening. Give me a few days at least.”

  “One. That’s all.”

  “Two at least. Or take five.” He heard Michel in the background.

  “Two days. I’ll call you. And don’t try anything.”

  Marc put his phone back in his pocket. That bastard. In less than two days, Jeremy would have them, and Claude’s demands would be worthless. His angry steps echoed off the close buildings. He stopped at Sera’s door and buzzed her flat. There was no answer. He waited a minute and buzzed again. Still no answer. Surely she’d be home. He called Sera instead. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hello, Marc.”

  “Are you at home?” he inquired.

  “Oh, that was you? I haven’t been feeling up to company, but buzz again and I’ll let you in.” She hung up.

  He buzzed a third time and was granted entry. When he reached the top floor she was waiting by her open door, holding a cup of tea and wearing a thin black shirt and black leggings.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” she said, giving him a tired smile. The dark smudges under her eyes made her seem wan. His anger deflated and was replaced by concern.

  “I stopped by the club, but Edouard said you were unwell.”

  Sera beckoned him inside and closed the door. He kissed her cheeks and she leaned against him for a long moment. He rested his hand in the small of her back.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. “It’s chamomile.”

  “No thank you, ma chère.” She moved away from him and he followed her into the alcove that held her double bed. The covers had been drawn back.

  “Am I keeping you from bed?” he asked. “You could have said something.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping well,” Sera replied. She set her cup on the bedside table and slid into bed. She held out her hand. “If you don’t mind my lying here, we can talk.”

  Marc took her hand and came to sit on the edge of the bed. She curled on her side and he could feel her knees tucked in behind him. He stroked her hair and saw her smile.

  “Edouard has been worried about you.”

  “Has he?” Sera yawned.

  “He mentioned that you were with your new admirer—he was concerned.” Marc watched as her eyes flickered open. He pondered how to tell Sera of Jeremy without giving away his own involvement. “As am I.”

  “He was a necessity, but I don’t think I want to see him any more.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, at least.” He didn’t need to say anything now. He felt a bit like a hospital visitor and it reminded him of when he’d sat at his mother’s bedside. “Where did you meet him?”

  “At the club. He liked my singing.” She looked weary, but yet a bit worried. “I should have been more sensible.”

  “At least you know now.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing the soft skin of her cheek. The desire flared in him, and he wanted to dip his head and taste that softness. “I should go.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “You could stay, if you want.”

  “You need your rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She turned onto her back and looked up at him. Her gaze flicked down to their joined hands. “I sleep better when you’re here.”

  “And here I thought I’d have to seduce you.” Marc teased her gently to cover the need that surged through him. Her soft laugh was music in his ears, though he’d never admit it.

  “I’m a minute from sleep; you’ve missed your chance,” she said between yawns. “Will you stay, Marc?”

  “Of course.” As if he could ever say no to her. He bent and kissed her, an unusually gentle press of his lips, before he rose. He stripped off his clothes and down to his briefs, carefully folding his suit and laying it on the divan.

  “Briefs?” he heard her ask.

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Almost.”

  He chuckled. “If I’d known I was going to end up here tonight, I’d have worn those silk boxers you like so much.” He turned off the lamp and slid into bed beside her. She was immediately against him, her back to his chest. He took a breath as her buttocks brushed over his cock, warm through the thin cotton. He carefully eased his lower half away from her. Her fingers groped under the sheets for his hand and she tucked his arm around her, resting their joined hands over her breasts. He felt her relax against him, giving a quiet, contented sigh before her breathing slowed into sleep. He shifted closer, letting his nose brush against her soft hair, inhaling the flowery scent of her shampoo. He’d kill Jeremy if anything happened to her.

  Chapter 13

  Marc’s office phone buzzed, interrupting his perusal of Dawson’s offer of representation. He picked up the receiver.

  “You have a visitor, monsieur,” Aurore said. He could hear Fournier in the background and another familiar female voice. He smiled.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  He closed his laptop and set it to one side, straightening his jacket as he rose. In anticipation of Sophie’s visit, he’d chosen to forego a tie within his black shirt. His plain silver cufflinks set off the faint grey pinstripe of his suit. He knew it was a striking look—the dark colors were simple and elegant, but he still looked casually approachable. He strode down the hallway, hearing Fournier’s laugh and the quieter giggles of Aurore and Sophie. He turned the corner, pausing on the threshold. He was unnoticed momentarily, giving him time to take in the scene, focusing on Sophie as she stood next to Fournier, wearing a slim-fitting grey dress with ruffled cap sleeves. It fell modestly to her knees, and she looked like a delicate bird next to Fournier’s gaudy suit. She’d left her hair loose down her back.

  Aurore was first to notice his arrival. “There you are, monsieur.”

  Sophie turned, giving him a shy smile that was prettily accented by the slight blush that rose on her cheeks. In a moment he was kissing those cheeks in greeting.

  “I’d almost given up on your arrival,” he told her, ignoring Fournier and Aurore. “I’m glad you came, Sophie.”

  Her blush deepened. “I was caught up in my work and lost track of time.”

  Fournier chuckled. “Monsieur, she’d be perfect as an intern if she already works so hard.”

  “We’ll discuss the terms,” Marc replied, sharing an amused look with Aurore. Fournier’s lack of subtlety extended further than just his wardrobe. “Shall we step into my office, Sophie?”

  Fournier made as if to follow and Marc gave the man a stern look. He retreated to lean casually against Aurore’s desk. Marc escorted Sophie down the hallway, laying a hand on the small of her back to direct her into his domain. They paused in the doorway as she stared in awe at the tapestry. He bent closer to her.

  “You can go up and look as close as you like,” he said in a low voice.
She gave a start and turned to smile at him. He gave her a gentle push. “Go on.”

  He watched as she dropped her bag on the chair in front of his desk on her way to the tapestry, then turned to lock the door. Her hand hovered over a particularly intricate section of blooms, but she obviously didn’t dare touch the stitching. The nymph still wore her expectant look, but this time it seemed as if she was challenging him to make his move. Marc waited impatiently as Sophie examined the tapestry, leaning against the edge of his desk. Finally, she left off her perusal.

  “Where did you get this? It’s incredible.”

  “It was inherited. I suspect my great-grandfather may have ransacked some provincial chateau for it.” He smiled. “It’s always hung in these offices.”

  “This is what I’d have loved in my room instead of ballerinas. I could pretend there was a door hidden behind it, and a secret stairway.”

  “I used to wish for that. And that it would lead to a passageway with treasure.” He knew he was close to his prize; Sophie would be his tonight and then Sera would be his even longer.

  Sophie laughed. “Or just to sneak out of the house and have some fun. Treasure enough for me.”

  “Where would you go?” he asked.

  Sophie left the tapestry and walked over to his chair. When he nodded, she lowered herself onto the leather, shifting until she’d settled herself comfortably. He looked down at her, letting his gaze linger on her slim legs that tapered into small feet in delicate grey ballet flats. As she spoke, he thought she had little idea of her own appeal. Her enthusiasm and innocence was completely unconscious. Even if he hadn’t purposely been trying to seduce her, he would have been tempted.

  “I would have gone anywhere my grandmother wasn’t. Later, I would have liked to sneak out and look at the paintings she thought were inappropriate.”

  “If you lived here you wouldn’t have to sneak around.”

  “She doesn’t follow me into the museum like she used to—she can’t keep up.” Sophie smiled. “But I’m not keen to go back to Ottawa and be under her thumb again. You said that the internship is paid?”

  “It is.”