Courtney stopped and pulled on Amara’s hand to face her. “Hey,” she whispered, tucking strands of hair behind Amara’s ear. “Tell me what happened.”
Amara met Courtney’s warm, sky-colored gaze and shook her head. “I saw them together... then he saw me and kissed me and he went to my hotel and we...” She took a breath. “It doesn’t matter. He walked out on me, I made him, and it’s over. For real this time. Completely over.”
Courtney’s hand clasped the back of Amara’s neck and she pulled her toward her, hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“It's just not fair,” she said, her words a muted sob against Courtney’s shoulder.
“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”
Amara took a minute to regroup and began to walk again. They fell into an easy step alongside the other, each lost in their own turmoil as they allowed themselves to be soothed in the quiet peace of the water beside them.
“Did you deliver the package you brought back?” Courtney asked suddenly.
“Yeah, with Philip. It was just one bag.”
Courtney nodded as she fished out a cigarette from her purse and lit it. “Usually is, from the South.”
Amara frowned. “What does that mean?”
“When he sends people North: New York, Chicago, Boston, they normally come back on a boat with big boxes, or a private plane with luggage as their companion,” Courtney replied as she took a drag.
“Oh,” Amara whispered. She hoped her trip to New Orleans was the last she would be sent on. She’d rather screw faceless men than risk getting caught in an airport with any of the things Philip had her pick up. It seemed safer, at least in theory.
She’d been so heartbroken since her return that when she’d finished the work she was doing for Tryst Lingerie, she’d been asked to hand it over to a publicist higher on the food chain. Even though Amara had proven she could handle her workload, apparently Philip wasn’t willing to trust her with the bigger clients.
Amara and Courtney cut their walk short and went back to the house. They each had meetings with Philip at Méchant that night and couldn’t waste too much more time.
Once back to the house, Courtney flew up the stairs to her bedroom, and Amara walked to Philip’s office. As usual, she knocked and waited for him to signal her in. When she heard him call out for her, she entered. Surprised to see a young man sitting with him, Amara stopped at the door. Philip acknowledged her and looked at the man.
“Very well, I’ll see that it gets done.”
They shook hands, and the man stood. Amara tried not to look at him, but he was too handsome to ignore. He had straight, dark blonde hair that tucked behind his ears and bright blue eyes. The man smiled widely as he brushed past her, and she returned it with a wide smile of her own.
“You may come in,” Philip said.
It wasn’t until he spoke that Amara stopped staring at the man, who was almost down the hall already. She shook her head and closed the door behind her before sitting down. Philip shook his head in amusement.
“He definitely has a way with women,” Philip said.
Amara swallowed, but didn’t comment.
“Maybe I’ll have you fuck him so I can watch,” Philip said, cupping his chin with his hand as if in thought. “That would arouse me.”
Amara’s breath hitched and she looked away from him, focusing on the stacks of papers on his desk. Philip loved to remind her that he watched everything going on whenever he wanted. He loved to let it be known that his eyes were always on her, even when she didn’t want them. “You said you needed to speak to me.” She cleared her throat.
“Why have you not responded to Nolan’s last email?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “He didn’t write anything worth responding to.”
Philip cocked an eyebrow. “Now you are in charge of deeming things worth responding to? Your job is to respond. To everything. Send him an email apologizing. Send him a picture of your breasts. Send him a picture of your pussy, whatever it takes to keep him satisfied.”
Amara gaped at him. “He doesn’t want any of that. He wants to talk about life, he wants to vent about how much he misses his dead wife. He doesn’t want photos of me naked, he wants to experience that for himself, and obviously he hasn’t made a move to come.”
“He will.”
“I know.”
“He’s already asked for all the room information, so he must be planning a trip to come soon.”
Her heart accelerated.
Philip chuckled. “You like this one, don’t you?”
Amara shook her head sharply. “There’s nothing to like. I don’t even know him.”
“Yet you like him.” His words didn’t leave from for question.
She looked down at her lap. “I don’t.”
“You like that he makes you forget.”
She tried to ignore him, biting the inside of her cheek, busying herself with the torn denim of her jeans.
He laughed again. “Just a friendly word of advice, Ms. Maloof. Don’t get too close to the clients. They always leave. They use you as a distraction when they need you, but once they busy themselves with real life again, they forget about you. Your heart has no place in a river full of piranhas.”
Amara glared at him. “You don’t know anything about my heart.” She stood up abruptly, her chair squeaking against the hardwood floors, and stared at him. “Is that all?”
“For now,” Philip said with a sharp nod.
She left, not bothering to pass by her room to see if there was anything there for her. She didn’t wait for Courtney, as she normally would have. Instead, she snuck out through the side door. Waving at a couple of the women that worked at Méchant who were smoking their cigarettes, she brushed past them, not giving the pair time to start a lengthy conversation. They asked her where she was going and she waved her hand in explanation. Out. She just needed to go out and get away from all of that madness.
Amara jerked to a stop at the end of the street and looked to her right, not knowing what direction to take. Off to the distance, she could see hot air balloons descending from the sky. It was a picturesque evening, the sky bleeding shades of pink and orange as the sun set, and the balloons filled the airspace between the changing shades of the sky and the green grass. Her feet began to move as she continued to be drawn to display in a state of wonder. She stopped walking at another crossway, closing her eyes as the light wind hit her and made her hair sway around her face. She breathed in deeply and when she exhaled, she purposefully let go of the bitter remembrance of the love she’d left back in America. She felt lighter with each step she took toward the balloons.
A stranger touched her arm as she walked. Her eyes shot up, expecting to be met by an apologetic person, when the man smiled at her, a crocodile smile full of crooked teeth and conniving potential. Amara’s eyes widened, and she angled herself to slide past him, but he caught her arm.
She tried to jerk it away, but he wouldn’t let go. Amara pulled the strap of the brown leather, cross-body purse she wore, up and over her head, intending to use it to whack him. Turning around, she tried to pull free again as she took a better look at the man.
“Please,” Amara said, in English, not able to think fast enough in French. Damn her. She should have at least Googled words she could use to defend herself with during an attack! She’d been warned that some of the people who mugged tourists held them at gunpoint, and the last thing she wanted was a barrel on her face.
The man shook his head, still smiling in a way that made Amara cringe. He said something in French a couple of times and finally said in heavily accented English, “You’re coming with me.”
Amara’s eyes widened in a panic, and she looked around searching for someone, anyone, to help her. The street was desolate. Why had she taken that street? Why hadn’t she walked a couple of more blocks down to a more populated area?
“Please. Take my purse. Take everything,” she said, pulling the purse f
ree with her other arm and handing it to him as she tried to yank her hand away.
“It’s not your money I want,” he said, his voice was gruff.
Amara began to fear for the worst as she tried to push him away. “Help!” she yelled. “Aider!” “S’il vous plaît!”
“Stop screaming!” the man shouted. “I am going to ask you a question. If you answer, I will let you go!”
Amara nodded her head frantically, her chest heaving, her throat tight with panic. She began to whimper when he dug his fingers into her forearm, and tears formed in her eyes.
“Where are you from?”
“The States!” she said, her voice desperate, her eyes filled with tears.
“Where!” he pressed.
“New York!”
“Where in New York?”
“Westchester!”
She was in full panic mode. Spying a group of people walking toward them, she reacted, kicking him in the shins with all the power she had. He wasn’t expecting her attack and let go of her long enough for her to turn and run as fast as she could to the end of the street. She had never been happier to be around people. From her peripheral vision, she could see the man approaching her before he lunged to catch the strap of her purse.
“HELP!” Amara yelled as she pulled on her purse.
The woman beside her started to scream bloody murder as she held on to her own purse. A young woman with her clutched tightly onto her baby. Men escorting the women jumped the man holding onto Amara and pushed him off of her, shouting in rapid French.
“Maloof!” the man said, as he was being pushed out of the way.
Amara’s ears perked up through her adrenaline, and she watched, mouth agape, unable to speak.
“Amir Maloof!” he said.
Her heart was in her throat, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “What?” she was surprised she was able to get the words out.
“Do you know him?” the man yelled, as he tried to pull himself out of the arms that kept him away from her.
“No.” Amara said, shaking her head. Her eyes were still wide as saucers.
She began to walk, getting lost in the crowd of people as she left him behind. She heard him scream what sounded like, “They’re coming for you,” but she couldn’t be sure and was too scared to turn around.
AMARA WAS RUNNING through the park as fast as her feet could carry her. She stumbled a couple of times on scattered rocks, but picked herself up quickly and continued on. Amara didn’t know what she was looking for or where she was going, she just knew she had to get away from the strange man.
“They’re coming for you! They’re looking for you!” he shouted.
Amara kept running. She couldn’t seem to run fast enough and was afraid she wasn’t going to get away, but adrenaline fueled her energy. Finally, when she felt like she was far enough, she stopped for a breather.
Wide-eyed and looking over her shoulder, she frantically dialed Joshua to pick her up.
For the second night in a row, Amara woke up in a pool of sweat. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about what happened, but every time she closed her eyes, the man with the ugly teeth replaced the image of a handsome Colin. And every time she saw him, she shuttered in disgust. Courtney had been out of the house, and the most Amara had seen her was to brush by her in greeting. Philip was out of town on business with Vivienne, so the only ones left were the people at Méchant—which Amara stayed away from when she didn’t need to be there—and the drivers, who were too busy with their own lives to worry about Amara’s.
She had another email from Nolan that she hadn’t replied to. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy interacting with him, but after her night with Colin, she felt that emailing Nolan constituted as cheating. How ridiculous was that notion? She wasn’t the one with a fiancée. She plopped down in her bed, exhaling sharply when her phone rang. Amara frowned as she looked at the screen. She recognized the number, but couldn’t quite place it. She answered the call regardless.
“Hello?” she said cautiously.
“Amara...”
Her heart stumbled.
“Why are you calling?” Her father never called her, so her mind automatically thought up the worst case scenarios.
“Amara, it’s about your mom—” he started, and that was when she paid close attention to his grief-stricken voice. Her heart perched into her throat and stayed there until he continued. “She’s back in the hospital. She’s being watched, but she’s in a coma. She’s... you should come home.”
She gasped as disbelief and confusion threatened to overwhelm her. “She’s... how long has she been in the hospital? What happened? I spoke to her yesterday.”
“Last night. Please come home, Amara. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to speak to me, but I had to call you.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She hung up the phone before he could say anything else. Amara scrambled out of bed and flipped open her computer, sending an email to her uncle Vlady and aunt Genevieve with her number, just in case. If there was any more news she wanted to hear it from them, not her father. She didn’t want to lean on him—not now. Not ever. She also left Philip a voice message pleading for him to call her back. Once she had showered and packed her bag, she headed to Méchant. She would need to keep Thelma informed of things, if Philip and Vivienne weren’t there. Amara dashed out of the apartment and down the stairs, practically running into a waiting Joshua as he stood against the lobby door reading the newspaper.
“Shit. You in a rush?” Joshua said, straightening himself up.
“I need to get to Méchant.”
She ducked into the car, not waiting for him to open the door for her and took her phone out to text Courtney.
“I have orders to take you to Samuel’s later,” Joshua said.
Amara frowned. “No you don’t.”
Joshua nodded, giving her an obvious look. “Yes. I do. Says so right here.” He signaled at his cell phone.
“Whose orders?”
“Philip’s.”
Amara shook her head slowly, still frowning. “That can’t be right.”
Joshua sighed and started driving. After ping-pong texting with Courtney, she looked up and realized that they had passed Méchant. Amara hadn’t been driving in Paris, but she had been there long enough to know how to get from the house to Méchant and from the house to PB Industries.
“Where are we going?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Joshua shot her a look through the rearview. He didn’t look pleased or apologetic. It was just a look, just an acknowledgement that he’d heard her words. Still, he didn’t respond.
“Josh? Where are we going? Do we need to pick something up?” Amara’s voice was steady, but she was beginning to feel jittery inside.
“Just doing my job, Jasmine.”
Amara looked at the phone on her lap. Should she call Philip? Courtney? Vivienne? Fuck.
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Josh’s eyes met hers. “To see Samuel.”
“You said that was tonight.”
“I know what I said! Something came up, and he needs you there now.”
“Did Philip ask you to take me?”
Joshua exhaled. “Amara, I follow the orders of those who pay me.”
She frowned. “Doesn’t Philip pay you? Méchant?”
He shrugged, turning his eyes back to the road ahead. “Méchant has a lot of branches. Sam’s happens to be wealthier than Philip’s right now.”
Amara bit down on her lip and looked outside, silently panicking. Her leg began to bounce on its own accord as she tried to work out what Samuel could possibly want with her. And Philip set up the meeting? After he was so adamant about keeping Samuel out of the loop and out of Méchant? Amara clutched her phone. She really wanted to call Courtney, but even knowing that she was in love with Sam didn’t ease her thoughts enough to do that. Those three lay in a huge pile of bullshit, and Amara d
idn’t know how to clear the mess enough to get real answers.
Joshua drove for an hour, well into the French countryside. The car swerved around cows and maneuvered through what looked like a painting of beautiful hills filled with green and purple lilacs. They made a left turn onto an unpaved road, the tires crunching on pebbles and bouncing slightly as the car wound its way up to an oversized cottage.
He parked the car and opened the door for Amara, ushering her ahead of him. They didn’t even knock, just went right in. Amara barely had a chance to scope out the simplistic beauty of the house before Samuel greeted them.
“I didn’t think you’d be here so fast. Good job, Joshua,” Samuel said. He held a glass of red wine in his hand that he gestured with as he spoke. “Jasmine, great to see you again. Follow me.”
Amara blinked quickly a couple of times and swallowed. She looked around the house, trying to see if she could spot any other guests. Suddenly she didn’t feel safe. Discomfort began to settle in as she realized that she was alone in that house with two men. Her eyes bounced between them as she tried to measure how she could protect herself if it came to that.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Samuel said. His voice was reassuring, but it didn’t have much of a calming effect on Amara. She was still on high alert.
“That’s what everybody says. The killer isn’t going to straight out tell the girl he’s going to maul and kill her. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to lure her into his lair,” Amara retorted as she shuffled from foot to foot, nervously.
Samuel grinned before taking a sip of wine. “But you’ve already been lured. I already have you in my lair. If I was going to kill you, I could have had somebody do it in the city. I’m not in the habit of bringing dirty jobs to my vacation homes.”
Amara made a face and looked at the dark hardwood floor below her. Hers was a dirty job, for sure.
“I am not going to rape or kill you, Jasmine. I only need to speak with you. You have my word,” Samuel said as Joshua excused himself and walked out of the house.
Amara brought her gaze back to his. “Your word doesn’t mean much, unfortunately. Nobody’s does anymore.”
The Devil's Contract Page 19
