by Letty James
“You look hungry.”
“Thank you,” Nikki murmured and resisted snatching up the treat. She forced herself to take a small bite, groaning as the buttery flakes melted on her tongue.
Madame smiled broadly at her.
“This is what I want the world to feel when they eat my pastries,” Nikki announced. She could feel her face heat at their scrutiny.
“A rather fleeting goal. Pastry is an indulgence, not a requirement.” He spoke as if he had had this argument many times before.
“And shouldn’t everyone indulge themselves once in a while?” Nikki retorted. No wonder Jessica had referred to him as cold. Except, all Nikki could feel was heat. Calm down, girl. She pushed up her glasses.
The man shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is discipline which breeds success, not indulgences.”
“I didn’t say that.” Why was she bothering to argue? She turned pointedly to Madame. “Perhaps you can recommend someone else who has a job available?”
Madame merely looked at Beauvais. He raised an eyebrow in silent communication with the older woman as she nodded in return. He sighed and looked back at Nikki. “I find myself in need of a new assistant. Someone I can rely on. Someone I can trust.” He raised his eyebrow as if he’d already evaluated her and found her lacking.
Nikki straightened, angered, but intrigued by his offer. “I will look for a job with a bakery, but thank you all the same.” Mimi would be ashamed to hear how ungracious she sounded. She stood and instantly regretted it as her thigh connected with Beauvais’s knee. Pushing her glasses up, she turned to take her cape from its hook. But Beauvais reached over her head and grasped it for her, unfurling the folds to drape over her shoulders. She twisted away from him, pulling her hair from underneath her collar as she stumbled against the desk.
His hand shot out to grasp her elbow. Their eyes locked for an instant and she stopped breathing. She wrenched her arm away to fasten her collar.
“Merci, Madame. Thank you for breakfast,” Nikki said stiffly. She hadn’t imagined the woman would turn her away.
“Ah, Nikki, please consider Gérard’s offer. He has a beautiful office. Right on the Seine.”
“A water view? Sounds like an indulgence to me.” She couldn’t resist the gibe.
He laughed and the whole room filled with the rich, booming sound. Nikki smiled, despite herself.
“Here. Take my card.” Beauvais retrieved a slim wallet from his inner breast pocket and handed Nikki a business card.
Nikki fingered the engraved gold letters on the stiff, cream-colored stock. She looked up and he gave her a wry smile.
“Come see me today and I’ll buy you lunch.”
Nikki merely nodded and said her goodbyes. Anger drove her out to the sidewalk and down the street. She considered throwing Beauvais’s card into the gutter, but something made her hesitate and she tucked it into her backpack. After all, she might need a meal later. Arrogant man. She’d show him. Soon he’d be on his knees begging for a bite of one of her pastries. Nikki shook her head over her fanciful musings. The grand Gérard Beauvais. Begging. Oh dear.
Chapter 2
Nikki made her way through the morning streets of Paris. Workers zipped by on scooters. Shop keepers hosed down dirty sidewalks. With a full belly, even the air felt different than home and the excitement of finally being in the city buoyed her steps. She walked past a bakery, the heady perfume of baking bread stopping her in the middle of the sidewalk. If she could find a bakery job, then she wouldn’t have to rely on the Beauvais family for a handout. She doubled back, ducked in to talk to the proprietor, and was promptly laughed out of the shop. Not giving up, she tried another baker who pretended not to understand her American-accented French. The last proprietor gave her a rude stare and turned his back to her.
Nikki had done a lot of studying in preparation for her dream. She’d read all the food magazines at the library every month. She’d watched most of the cooking and food shows, even when Tim whined about missing the ball game. She’d taken French classes at the community college at night to work off the rough edges of the dialect Mimi had taught her. And she’d read blog after blog of foodies living in Paris and what they did there. And, of course, she’d cooked, earning a reputation around the neighborhood as the dessert queen, as Mimi urged visitors to sample Nikki’s creations. Her biggest problem had been finding ingredients more exotic than the basics of flour, butter, and sugar. But none of it mattered now.
The sun broke through the morning mist as the sidewalks grew more crowded. A young lady jostled against her, splashing a cardboard cup of coffee down the front of her cape. “Stupid tourist,” the woman muttered as she flung her scarf around her neck.
She cringed, wiping ineffectually at the stain. She longed to sit down at a café and rest her feet, but felt compelled to keep moving. If she didn’t find a job, she’d be sleeping on a park bench come nightfall, and one night of sleeping in public at the train station had been quite enough. Now she understood what people meant when they talked about sleeping with one eye open. A man slid up the gate of a corner grocery and gave her a smile. Feeling a bit of courage from his friendliness, she stopped to inquire about job possibilities. Fifteen minutes later, she had only an apple to show for her efforts as she’d felt compelled to buy something in return for the man’s time. With a sigh, she stuffed it in her backpack for lunch.
She pulled out her cell phone and called her sister. Again, no answer. A tingle of fear traveled her spine. She pushed up her glasses and leaned against a black iron lamp post feeling utterly defeated. How could she have been fool enough to trust Jessica? She stood up straight and stalked down the street, no destination in mind.
Nikki stopped short at the stone wall overlooking the Seine. A chill wind ruffled the water and stung her cheeks. The thought of throwing herself on the mercy of the American embassy embarrassed her. She pushed her cell phone back into her knapsack and Gérard Beauvais’s card scraped against her hand. He had offered her a job, even if his kindness had been prompted by Madame. In her spare time she could continue job hunting at bakeries. She chewed on her lip as she stood on the street corner and studied the elegant lettering. Even if she had money, going back home wouldn’t solve anything. Her father was dead and last she’d heard her mother was living with her fifth husband in a Florida trailer park. At least if she went to see Beauvais, it could lead to something. If she went back to Loray, she might as well resign herself to working at the factory the rest of her life and baking pastries for neighbors who didn’t appreciate the difference between a sour dough baguette and a phyllo napoleon.
With a pounding heart, Nikki pulled out the city map she’d bought at the train station. Gérard Beauvais’ offices were only a few blocks away. Her tense fingers bent the business card.
She would simply ignore the jolt of instant attraction for Beauvais that had hit like a hammer to her gut. It had probably been the ache of hunger.
In no time, she stood in front of the glass door. Beauvais Investments swirled in gold script like filigree. Nikki pulled out her ponytail elastic and smoothed her hair back, redoing it into a bun at the back of her head. She fished around in her backpack for her one concession to feminine vanity—her Hint of Berry lipstick—and hoped she applied it straight.
Taking a deep breath, she went through the entrance only to find an empty office with two desks, a visitor’s couch, and a closed door. A deep, muffled voice could be heard behind the door. His voice. She stepped onto the plush cream carpet and surveyed the clean-topped, modern wooden desks. The click of high heels sounded in the corridor outside. Secretaries were there to keep the public out, not let strangers in. Without a second thought, she shed her backpack and second-hand cape and marched into Gérard Beauvais’s office.
She closed the door behind her. Monsieur Beauvais glanced up, no apparent sur
prise showing on his face. He covered the phone with his hand.
“It’s a little early for lunch, Mademoiselle Sommers.”
“I came for a job, not lunch.” She refused to humble herself to him.
His eyebrow quirked up, then he handed her the phone. “Talk to this man—in English. I can’t understand him. His name is Mr. Sanford.”
Nikki took the phone and it slipped against her sweaty palm. “Mr. Sanford? This is Nikki Sommers, Monsieur Beauvais’s assistant. He was called away suddenly and has asked me to speak with you.”
“Well, it’s about time we got a translator,” the voice on the other end drawled. “Mister Boo-vay is a wonderful man, but he’s got an accent on him as thick as a wad of chewin’ tobaccy.” Mr. Sanford proceeded to tell Nikki about the problems he’d had with throat cancer and how organic food had saved his life and he sure appreciated Mr. Beauvais’s belief in his product. “Now let me tell ya about the meetin’ details we’ve set up.”
By the time Nikki finished taking notes, she’d managed to prop herself on the corner of Monsieur Beauvais’s desk. How did she get there? Beauvais leaned back in his chair, his very solid shoulders filling the expanse of leather. His dark brown hair stood ruffled at the top as if he’d been running his hands through it. Stormy blue-gray eyes caught hers and again there was a breath-stopping connection.
A man.
A woman.
An awareness.
Sliding into his lap would be so easy.
Nikki practically threw the phone back at him and scrambled down. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she stood in front of Beauvais’ desk, glancing down at the notepad as she gave him a report on what Mr. Sanford had in mind for their next meeting. If he didn’t want her, then at least it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. Want her, strictly as an assistant, her conscience scolded, as her cheeks heated.
Beauvais gestured for her to sit on one of the leather chairs across from his desk. Smoothing her wool skirt over her legging-clad knees, she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything stupid.
He raised an eyebrow. “What made you change your mind?”
“I want to stay in Paris.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose and stared Beauvais down. Big mistake, as he returned her gaze with an intensity she’d never encountered. Her throat went dry.
“For how long? Your sister only stayed for three months.”
“Jessica worked here?”
“Work? More like trouble-making.”
A sudden rustle of wings on the window ledge behind Beauvais captured the attention of both of them. They watched as the puffed-up male courted the submissive female. Gérard laughed out loud. “Paris. The city of love.”
Love? Looked like animal attraction to her. Nikki whisked off her glasses and polished them with the sleeve of her sweater, simply for something to keep her hands and eyes occupied. When she looked up, the air rippled between them as they studied each other. Beauvais’s mouth still twitched up as he took in every detail. She wondered if he was amused by the birds or by her.
He sat back, elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. The mouth that devoured macarons as if they were orgasmic bombs. She forced her gaze from his mouth to his eyes.
“Do you know where Jessica is?” Nikki asked hopefully as she leaned forward. “I’ve been trying to reach her.” Clearly, there was no love lost between the two of them, but if she could at least talk to her sister for a minute, it would ease her mind.
Beauvais picked up a pen and juggled it round and round until Nikki felt dizzy.
“I understand she left for Holland six months ago.”
Nikki slumped back in her seat. She could have easily passed her sister on the streets of Amsterdam. “Did she leave a number? Maybe it’s different than the one I have. You know how it’s so easy to lose a cell phone.” Why couldn’t she shut up? He obviously didn’t care to be interrogated. What if they had been lovers and Jessica’s bitter email about Beauvais had simply been the aftermath of a quarrel? She couldn’t imagine Jessica with Gérard Beauvais. Jessica went for more of the androgynous type, the kind this man could break over his knee like a skinny stick. No, it had probably been Jessica burning another bridge. She was very good at that. Nikki clamped her mouth shut.
“She left no number.” His tone sounded ominous.
They stared at each other across the expanse of the desk, like prizefighters sizing each other up. He would have the definite advantage, but she had tenacity and absolutely nothing to lose at this point. She sat up and adjusted her glasses. This was no time to dither. She had a mission and she needed to concentrate.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve simply been concerned for her since we were supposed to meet yesterday. I’m sure she’ll turn up sometime. Right now, I’m here to discuss the job.” Nikki paused to take a breath. Beauvais didn’t say anything, simply sat there playing with his blasted pen and looking at her.
Nikki chattered on. “I don’t have a resume, but I could type one up. As I mentioned before, I worked in the office of Goodman’s Canning Factory. Here.” She jumped up and snatched the pen from his hand and scribbled the factory’s number on his desk blotter. “That’s my former boss’s information. He’ll give me a good reference.” She sat back down and smoothed her skirt, trying to give him a bright smile when all she wanted was to throw herself onto her knees and beg.
He leaned back, his hand over the pen as if he could read her intentions from her heat on the metal.
“I will be sure to talk to Monsieur Slattery.” He spoke deliberately, as if warning her she better not be hiding anything. He paused, tapping his mouth with the pen, making Nikki’s mind wander again to question what had driven Monsieur Beauvais to the bakery. Tim had no interest in sweets. She should have realized their relationship was doomed from the moment he proclaimed her sugar cookies boring. The perfect blend of vanilla and baking goodness was certainly not boring. She bet Monsieur Beauvais didn’t find cookies boring. She bet he dreamed of cookies, pastries—hell, simply food—just like she did. Before she could open her mouth to ask him and embarrass herself, he spoke.
“It appears you are quite willing to fill my former assistant’s place. I have erratic hours and expect results.” He turned to his computer, talking all the while as he clicked through documents and pressed various keys. The printer behind him whirred to life. “As you know, Beauvais Investments owns several organic food companies, with dealings in many more. We strive to improve the world’s food source and thus improve the world’s health. We are not zealots or missionaries.” He gave her a pointed look and Nikki wondered if he was warning her against Jessica-like behavior. “My personal assistant is required to live in my home and attend to my needs as I see fit. You will, of course, be compensated quite handsomely.” He pointed to a salary amount on the document. More than double what she had made at home.
Nikki’s heart pounded. Her French was excellent, but she couldn’t quite decipher the nuances to what he was trying to tell her. Was he propositioning her? His eyes glittered as he stared at her, challenging her to say no and run away like a scared bunny.
“Your needs?” She coughed, her throat suddenly dry. Surely he was joking about anything sexual. She scanned the contract, the date jumping out at her. A year. Saving a year’s salary would make it possible for her to do anything she liked when it was complete. And she would be in Paris. She could make it her mission to visit every single bakery in the city within the span of a year. And perhaps convince this Monsieur Formidable to join her on her tour.
Chapter 3
“Yes, Mademoiselle Sommers. I am quite demanding.”
Was that a flash of cunning in the girl’s eyes before she looked down at her thick, ugly shoes? She was an excellent actress. It had been very clever of her to show up at Tant
e Emmaline’s first. She had him believing she had no idea where her sister had taken off to.
Even her clothes created the perfect costume of neediness with her tattered skirt and frayed sweater. But her frumpy clothes couldn’t hide the voluptuous body underneath. Where her sister had been very much the epitome of French sleekness, this young woman resembled a creampuff with her thick blond hair and generous curves. Watching her bottom slide over the corner of his desk as her skirt inched upward had intrigued him entirely too much.
She studied him from behind black-rimmed glasses, which only emphasized her sexy, big green eyes. A petite, upturned nose centered smooth, rounded cheeks which he imagined would be quite soft under his hands. Her perfume of vanilla and exotic spices still lingered next to his desk.
Gérard stood and moved to the tall windows overlooking the churning waters of the Seine. The wind tossed the bare branches outside Gérard’s window. The year had come and gone and he had missed it all, the tiny buds of promise in the spring, the hot sun baking the path along Quai St-Michel to dust in the summer. A year he could barely remember because of work, social obligations, and Jessica’s nonsense.
He looked over his shoulder, once again caught by Nikki Sommers’ loveliness. The shimmer of gold in her hair, combined with her pale skin, gave her an angelic quality which probably masked the devil underneath. He admired her brashness in standing her ground. And she had certainly passed his test with Mr. Sanborn.
