by Letty James
“Correct.” He had the audacity to wink at her as if they shared some secret. “We have a contract.”
He let the curl trail from his fingers as if he would say more, but didn’t. His gaze lingered on her lips and Nikki’s whole body tingled. Yes. She willed Gérard to step closer. He turned away just as she stepped forward. What was she thinking? They both banged into the coffee table, making the tea service rattle and the cat run from the room. Gérard’s hand went to the back of his neck as he shook his head.
“Do you always cause such a commotion, Mademoiselle Sommers?”
Nikki tried to cover her embarrassment with a flirty remark. “Only when I need to, Monsieur Beauvais.”
She got a real grin in response. “Fair warning next time, okay?”
Nikki nodded.
Gérard motioned toward the bed. “I took the liberty of obtaining you some new clothes as yours seemed sadly over worn. As my assistant, it’s your responsibility to look the part. Perhaps you will now think of me as a, what do you call it, drag queen?” His smile turned wicked and entirely too self-satisfied.
“Look, about last night—”
“I must go,” he interrupted her. “I’m late already. Marco will drive you to work. I normally walk to the office. Alone.” He gave her a quick nod and stepped toward the door. Nikki blocked his way and Gérard’s eyebrow raised in question.
“Let me make dinner tonight. For the whole staff.”
“It will not be necessary. That is Jean-Luc’s job.” He moved past her.
“Perhaps a dessert?”
“You will be much too busy, Mademoiselle.” Then he was gone.
Nikki stomped over to the bed. Infuriating man. So why did she want to hyperventilate when he was near? And why did he keep touching her? Augh. Even now, as she remembered the headiness of his kiss, heat rippled through her, making her long to touch his mouth again. To feel his fingers exploring her bare knees. She flung her arms wide, trying to physically push the images away, and stopped short when she saw what lay on the bed.
Surely, this man wanted something besides her presence in the office. On the bed was arranged a white linen blouse with a brocade vest done in black, burgundy, and gold. A short black wool skirt paired with black tights, which would look wonderful with her new boots. And next to this outfit lay undergarments the likes of which Nikki had never owned. Cream silk with lace inserts, hand embroidered with delicate traces of pink and gold. And in her size. She slipped them on—of course, they fit perfectly. Everything the man did was perfect. Unlike herself. She shook her head trying to shake her own insecurities.
Nikki showered, dressed, and headed downstairs, looking forward to checking out Gérard’s kitchen. Had she sold her soul for money? Living on the wrong side of the tracks had certainly made her long for an easier life. And the salary Beauvais had quoted the day before was substantial enough for her to put a good chunk away each week to finance her Le Cordon Bleu dream. She reminded herself she was merely postponing her dream, not abandoning it altogether.
Nikki found the kitchen beyond the swinging doors at the end of the hall and stopped short in the presence of magnificence. Like the man, Beauvais’s kitchen was perfect—glass-fronted cabinets, a professional-grade stove, two banks of ovens, granite countertops, and not one, but two, stainless steel islands. No, it wouldn’t be clothes that put her over the edge, it would be appliances.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”
Nikki jumped. A short man, exactly her height, with tufted orange hair, stood before her, wearing a chef’s white coat and black and white checkered pants. He held a knife the size of Texas.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. I just came to see the kitchen.”
“Now you’ve seen it.” He shrugged in dismissal and continued butchering the meat in front of him. The man from last night appeared from behind a set of double doors.
“Nikki Sommers. Monsieur Beauvais’s assistant.” Nikki stuck out her hand.
The man shook it with a firm grip and a slight smile. “Didiér Horan. Also Monsieur Beauvais’s assistant.”
The chef snorted and Monsieur Horan said, “You have met Chef Guiscard?”
Nikki started. “Guiscard? Are you related to Gérard and Madame Emmaline Guiscard?”
The chef merely raised his eyebrow, apparently a family trait, while Horan said, “Jean-Luc is a distant cousin.” Then before Nikki could continue, he said “Did you require something else to eat, Mademoiselle?”
“No, thank you. Breakfast was lovely.”
“We’re glad you enjoyed it. Would you like the car brought around, Mademoiselle?”
“Yes, Monsieur Horan. And please, call me Nikki. I’ve forgotten my coat. I’ll be right back.” Nikki said her goodbyes with a little bow, feeling more intimidated by these two than she did by Gérard. Didiér gave a little bow back and Jean-Luc rolled his eyes at both of them.
She let the door swing shut behind her, then stopped when she overheard Didiér comment.
“I hear she wants to learn pastry.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Tante Emmaline. Mademoiselle Sommers showed up at the shop yesterday looking for a job. She sent her to Gérard.”
Silence. Nikki leaned back toward the door, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but doing it anyway.
“Why? To learn pastry, she has to be at the shop.”
“Tante thinks it’s time Gérard got married.”
A bark of laughter sounded. “Just like she thought about Jessica.”
A snort of laughter erupted from the chef. “This should be interesting.”
Nikki dashed off upstairs, mortification pushing her every step of the way. Something had been going on between Gérard and Jessica. Was Gérard so desperate to talk to Jessica that he was using Nikki as bait to lure her sister back to Paris? How easily Nikki had fallen for Gérard’s flirting and teasing—and lies. Tears threatened as she searched for her cape. Foolish girl. Obviously, she was desperate for affection after Tim’s abrupt betrayal. Childish fantasies had spun in her brain like cotton candy ever since her first glimpse of Gérard. It was time to grow up and get beyond the fairytales.
Nikki took a deep breath. Oh, heavens, this could be a mess. She took off her glasses and dabbed at her eyes. One thing at a time.
She found a coat rack in the corner, but instead of her travel-stained maroon cape, there hung a woman’s coat in cream wool in her size. Searching the armoire and finding no real closet, she deduced the coat also came from the clothing fairy. She stroked the luxurious fabric. It would be way too easy to get used to this. From the top of her head scented with Gérard’s shampoo down to the toes of her gift boots, she was a bought woman.
Nikki chewed on her lip trying to decide what to do next. Perhaps she was being hasty. After all, she’d heard nothing specific. Perhaps she’d misunderstood. Gérard didn’t act like a man with a broken heart, surely it involved more angst. He seemed amused or annoyed by her. And he had flirted and teased, and oh, that kiss. Nikki collapsed on the couch at the sudden recollection of her nuzzling his neck as he carried her upstairs. The coat slipped to the floor as she pressed her flaming cheeks.
Oh, God. How could she have forgotten that singular detail? She had certainly egged him on, hadn’t she?
Nikki snatched up her cell phone to call Jessica and found the phone dead. Of course, her charger had been in the suitcase Tim had stolen. She tossed the phone on the armchair and sighed. This trip was becoming a crash course in human psychology. Nikki’s shoulders slumped as she headed back down the stairs. She would have a frank talk with Monsieur Formidable when she got to the office.
Nikki settled onto the back seat of the chauffeured car and tried not to feel like an imposter, posing as an executive assistant. Three blocks away, Nikki spotted Madame Guiscard�
�s bakery.
“Stop!”
Marco slammed on the brakes and the seatbelt jerked Nikki back in her seat. She scrambled out and hurried toward the pâtisserie until she remembered she ought to be walking like a lady. She slowed down and opened the door with Parisian nonchalance. The smell of bread assailed her senses like the finest perfume.
What bliss!
“Nikki! Back so soon?” The small woman gave Nikki a hug and kissed both cheeks in greeting. “Gérard, he gave you a job, non?”
“Oui, Madame. I am here to thank you and take you up on your generous offer to work in the shop in my spare time.”
The older woman smoothed her hand along her meticulous upswept hair. “How will you have time? Gérard, he keeps his assistants very busy. You want pastries, you come see me.”
“But, Madame. I want more than an office job. Just like Jessica does.” Somehow, she had to get Madame to admit she knew more than she had said the previous day.
Madame Guiscard patted Nikki’s arm. “Every woman wants more. And you should have it. Work and a family. It’s possible. You simply have to have the right man. Now let me get you some of Gérard’s favorite macarons.”
Nikki stubbornly persisted. “Did Jessica leave town because of Gérard?”
Concentrating on assembling the bakery box, Madame didn’t look up. “What do I know of these things?” Her dark gaze met Nikki’s. “Your sister, she loves the world more than one man.” She thrust the box into Nikki’s hand. “Go. You’ll be late for work.”
Nikki peeked in to find Gérard’s office empty. She left the pastry box on his desk and debated leaving a note. Finally, she picked up a piece of his monogrammed note paper and sat down to search for a pen. The leather of his chair still felt warm from his body heat, tempting her to curl up in his chair to await his return. She ran her hand over the scuffed arms.
The slight creak of the springs made her smile as she wondered if the imperfection irritated Gérard. A potted white orchid bloomed on the windowsill, its purple throat a beautiful spot of bright color in the muted tones of the office. In the distance, she could see the magnificent spires of Notre Dame. What a glorious city. She had to pinch herself that she was truly, finally, here.
“Planning on taking over the company, Mademoiselle Sommers?”
Nikki jumped. Gérard loomed across the desk from her seeming to be ten feet tall. She leaped up and shoved the pastry box toward him. “I was going to write you a note, but here you are.” She tried to give him a charming smile, which faltered under his frown. “Madame Guiscard sent you macarons as a thank you. For hiring me.” She tore open the box and thrust it at him. “Here.”
“I limit myself to one a month.”
“But you enjoy them so much.” She didn’t remind him she had been standing in the bakery yesterday and witnessed his ecstasy.
“I enjoy them because I don’t overindulge.”
She couldn’t let it go—wanted to hear him again. And perhaps it would soften him up a bit for answering her questions. She shook the box. “That’s no way to live.”
“You told me yesterday that I did know how to live. I believe it was after a few glasses of wine.”
“Don’t believe everything I say. Nothing compares to a good pastry.” She pulled out a lemon cream filled macaron. “Open up.”
“Oh, I’m sure some things do.” But he obligingly opened his mouth, letting her feed him. His lips closed on her fingers in a wet kiss as his storm-blue eyes met hers. Images of thundering rain washing over their intertwined bodies flickered through her imagination like streaks of lightening.
Her heart banged in her chest. She slowly pulled her fingers from his mouth as his gaze tormented her. Surely, her glasses would fog soon from the heat rising from her face. Gérard closed his eyes. A low, guttural groan made Nikki’s insides quiver as she watched his savoring passion. He swallowed, blinked, and returned to his dour self.
“Have another.” She tipped the box toward him.
“One is enough,” he said, although he picked up the pink-tinted raspberry macaron. He held it to her mouth, grazing her lips with the stiff meringue. She opened and he gently placed it on her tongue, his thumb lingering on her bottom lip. He let her know what he wanted without a single word. She closed her eyes, blocking out his look of desire. The meringue crunched against the roof of her mouth while the tart sweetness of the raspberry crème melted against her tongue. A deep sigh of satisfaction escaped her. She opened her eyes to find Gérard still watching. Pushing up her glasses, she stepped away on shaking legs.
“I better get back to work.” Her voice came out breathy and soft like some love-sick girl.
She left him staring out the window, keeping his broad back to her. As she closed the door, she realized she’d asked him nothing about Jessica.
Chapter 8
Work kept her busy all morning. Louisa, having discovered Nikki was bi-lingual, gave her some documents to translate for Mr. Sanford. After sharing lunch at a sidewalk café, Louisa gave Nikki several packages to deliver. “You can walk to all of these. It will help you learn the neighborhood. Take your time.”
Nikki’s mind rolled over her half-formed plans as she walked the pristine streets near Gérard’s office. Dressed in her new clothes, she noticed admiring looks from other pedestrians and couldn’t help comparing them to the previous day. How quickly pastry changed her life, but not in the way she had planned. The air in the office between her and Gérard simmered like a stock pot, but it would be foolish to act on the attraction. She blamed the Parisian air—the attitude of romance, which influenced everything from metro advertisements to the flirty headwaiter at lunchtime. Nikki looked up as she stopped at an intersection. The Eiffel Tower stood proud in the distance, reminding her to stand her ground for why she’d come to Paris—to learn pastry, not to indulge in romance unless it pertained to flour and butter. Except Madame Guiscard hadn’t taken her seriously this morning. Nikki needed to push. And she needed to keep her libido under control. Mon Dieu, Monsieur Formidable made her quiver like unmolded aspic.
When she got back to the office, a note from Gérard lay on her desk. “Marco will take you home when you’re done. G.” The pen strokes slashed boldly across the monogrammed paper. The tension in her shoulders eased, knowing she wouldn’t be running into him for the rest of the day, but she had to admit to a twinge of disappointment. Get a grip—you need to concentrate on other things.
“Did you have a good walk?” Louisa stood by her desk, a pile of papers in her hands, a sly smile on her face.
“Yes. Thank you for the extra time. It’s a beautiful city.”
“We’re very fond of it. I’m glad you enjoyed it, because Gérard left these for you.” She dropped a stack of papers on Nikki’s desk. Each page bled with red-inked notations made by the increasingly anxious Mr. Sanford. At the bottom, scrawled in Gérard’s handwriting, were the words “finalize and prepare for signature.” It would take hours. Louisa smirked and Nikki was beginning to think her new friend had ulterior motives.
“I can’t complain. I did ask for the job, after all.”
“Umm.” The other woman tapped one impeccably manicured nail against the wooden desk. “Did you bring him these?” She showed Nikki the empty pastry box.
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Louisa shook the box, the wax paper rattling inside. “He ate them. All of them. He never eats them.”
Nikki faked ignorance. Louisa didn’t need to know the intimate details. And what had Gérard done with the other two? Interesting.
“I believe he’s very fond of those particular cookies.”
“But he never eats more than one. He’s a very disciplined man.” Louisa stuffed the box in the trash.
The memory of Gérard’s enjoyment over the simple almond cookie made Nikki tu
rn away so Louisa would not see her blush. “Madame Guiscard makes an amazing macaron. Maybe he shared them with someone.”
Louisa’s earrings jangled as her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. Nikki ducked her head again, pretending to be engrossed in her paperwork, but the words on the page were a blur. How could she have made such a leading remark?
Louisa didn’t move. “He’s never had a female assistant.”
“So you said. What did Jessica Nichols do?” If Gérard wouldn’t tell her anything, maybe Louisa would.
“Jessica? She ran the foundation. Big troubles over that. Why?” Louisa’s tone was nonchalant, but Nikki had to tread lightly. If Jessica was in trouble, which wouldn’t be the first time, Nikki needed to be careful. And mentioning she was Jessica’s sister would only stir up more curiosity.
Nikki shrugged. “No reason. Monsieur Beauvais had mentioned her.”
Louisa waved her hand in dismissal. “Whatever she did, don’t do it. Here for a month, then poof, gone. Ran off with some man she was living with. But you, you’re living with Gérard.” The woman’s concentration returned to Nikki.
Nikki looked up into Louisa’s expectant face. Clearly gossip moved as swiftly in this elite Paris business office as it did on the factory floor of Gorman’s Fine Foods. It was time to put a stop to this fishing expedition. “As is expected of Monsieur Beauvais’ assistant. It’s a big house. I imagine we could go days without seeing each other.” She shifted her attention back to her stack of papers. Who had Jessica been living with?
“Days or hours?” Louisa slid a folded newspaper in front of Nikki.
All thoughts of Jessica fled Nikki’s mind as she saw the picture in the paper. It showed Nikki gazing up adoringly at Gérard as she hung on his arm. “Food TV’s toughest critic steps out to Bistro Citron with Nikki Sommers from the United States. It is rumored Beauvais is creating a reality show based on his foray into the American organic food market. Will Beauvais reveal his secrets to the whole world or just the lovely Nikki?”
