We walked along the various trails marked out by the Louvre. First we saw the major masterpieces - the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, the Oath of Horatio and other works I'd only seen in coffee table books. Next, we admired the Dutch 18th century masterpieces of still life. Our third trail highlighted masterpieces of the Italian Renaissance, works by Michelangelo, Verrocchio and Leonardo Da Vinci.
We both felt hungry at the same time, and made our way over to Le Café Mollien. The warmly lit café with its ornate ceiling and amazing views of the courtyard provided the perfect break to our visit.
As we nibbled on sandwiches and sipped steaming hot tea, I asked Brad how many times he'd come here before.
"Just a couple," he smiled, "Grandpa brought me to visit when I was around 15, and I was pretty bored that time! I've come a few times since, because I have to come to Paris for work. But I've never had as much fun as I've had today."
He placed his hand on mine, and I smiled. "It's always much nicer to come with someone -" I stopped myself and continued, "Someone who's a friend."
Had I really been about to say, "Someone you love"? Why would I say that? I felt disgusted at myself. We'd barely met each other and he clearly saw me just as a partner in crime.
"Are you ok?" There was concern in his eyes, and I forced myself to smile.
"It's just a bit overwhelming."
He nodded. "I love how enthusiastic and honest you are. This must be so much more exciting for an art buff."
We finished our sandwiches and went back to admire the artworks, following different trails marked out officially, and then finally browsed through the different rooms at our own pace.
It was almost closing time before I knew it. Brad and I returned our headphones and he led me outside and hailed a cab.
I slid in, feeling sad that the day was over. I need to do this again. Brad squeezed my hand, as if reading my thoughts.
We arrived at the airport and sped through security, my mind still dazed at the speed with which the weekend had ended. Our luggage had been packed and arrived before us, and we climbed up the stairs to Brad's waiting jet.
As the plane taxied down the runway and rose up, I stared down at the lights of Paris. "Goodbye for now," I whispered.
"We'll come back again," said Brad, and I wondered if he'd heard me. "Maybe we could honeymoon here?"
I turned and smiled at him, and we both laughed at the possibility. "Maybe," I said, "You're doing a pretty convincing job."
"It's my job to be convincing."
And suddenly I recognized the steel and determination under his gentle voice, and I wondered if his niceness was all just an act.
"Paris is nice," I nodded, "But maybe I should spend some time with you in New York, see how your life really is?"
"Sure," he shrugged, "Call in sick tomorrow. You can spend the day at my house, and I've got an art gala at night. It'll be a tough crowd though."
"I guess I should see for myself." I had no doubt that his crowd would be tough - the brief meeting with Anna, Olga and the Sheikh had removed any misconceptions I might have had. I just needed to know I could survive in Brad's world, even if it was only for one night.
Chapter Four
We arrived in Teterboro a few hours before dawn, the time difference pushing us back a few hours. I'd slept through most of the flight and proceeded to fall asleep in the limo as well, being roused awake by Brad when we arrived at his house. I staggered up the stairs of his brownstone, and let him lead me up to the bedroom, where I kicked off my shoes and stumbled under the soft covers without changing.
When I woke up, the sun was streaming in through a slight parting between the drapes. Brad was nowhere to be seen, and I moved the drapes apart so I could inspect the room I was in.
The bedroom was masculine and grey, immaculately cleaned and organized. The covers were a dark grey, and the drapes were a lighter shade of bluish grey. Even the walls were a shade of very light blue-grey, decorated with bright abstract art. There were crystal and gold wall sconces, and an orchid plant with white flowers on the far table. The furniture was dark mahogany, and I spotted a note on one of the bedside tables.
I walked over and read it -
"Appointment with Sally at the MAC Bloomingdales counter, 2 pm. Dereck will meet you at home, 3.30pm, to do your hair. Please be dressed by 5.30 for the gala."
Well, at least there was a note, I thought, remembering the time I'd brought a man home and he'd slipped out in the night. I'd never seen or heard from him again. Brad must be at work.
Work! I suddenly remembered Neilson and Sons, and fished out my cell phone. My morning voice was hoarse, but Lisa sounded skeptical when I told her I had a cold.
"We'll see you tomorrow," she said curtly, hanging up on me. I couldn't blame her - I'd only been there for two weeks.
I padded over to the window again, and looked out. There was a small garden below, and judging from the view, I seemed to be on the fourth or fifth floor in the Upper East Side.
There was a door next to the window, and I wandered through it, finding myself out on a large terrace. There was no-one else around, but I felt disheveled and grungy, and walked back inside.
The bathroom was on the opposite side of the room. It was modest but elegant, in shades of white marble and gold. I washed up, and changed into a different blouse, wishing I had more comfy shorts - but the designer jeans would have to do, I thought, grinning and admiring the way it lifted my butt and made me look slimmer.
I meandered through the house, padding around on bare feet.
A winding marble staircase led me to the floor below. There was a library on one side, with wall-to-wall shelves loaded with books. A large bedroom was on the other side, larger than the one I'd slept in. It was decorated in shades of beige and green, and I spied a framed black and white photograph of Brad and an old man. With a shiver, I realized this must've been his Grandpa's room, and went downstairs to the floor below.
A living area with large bay windows and a large dining room made up this floor. A painting of the ocean hung over the dining table, and as I walked over to it, I could make out the tiny brush strokes, the texture emphasizing its authenticity. The signature at the bottom right was unmistakable, and I smiled as I wandered over to a small pantry area.
There were some narrow stairs here, and as I walked down them, I heard someone humming under her breath. I paused, and then called, "Hello?"
A head poked out around the landing and I saw a plump woman with dense, dark curls and a friendly face. "You must be Alexis," she said, "Why don't I bring you some breakfast upstairs?"
Her friendliness was infectious and I smiled back, "No, I'll come down."
"These stairs are meant for servants, Miss. There's a buzzer you can press if you need anything."
But I was already downstairs, admiring the modern kitchen which was clearly her territory. "What's your name?"
"Eva. Are you hungry?"
I nodded, and smiled. Eva walked over to the coffee machine, and made me a cappuccino. "Would you like an omelet?"
She wasn't waiting for my answer, and started beating up some eggs and bringing out veggies and cheese. I pulled a chair up to the counter and chatted with her as she worked.
She'd been employed by Brad's Grandpa for the past fifteen years, and he'd been a simple and honest man. Brad took after him, he wasn't like those flighty rich kids of today, she mused, shaking her head. I pressed her for more details and Eva told me that Brad rarely brought girls home these days. "Since he took over the company, it's just been work, work, work for him," she shook her head.
The omelet was done, and I sank my teeth into it, sighing out loud in delight. "This is amazing!" Eva smiled, and started clearing up the used dishes.
"What about before he took over?" I asked
"Oh, before that - he worked at the company, you know, as hard as any of the other employees. He had some girlfriends, but they never lasted. What do you do, how did you two meet?"
> "I work at a law firm - "
"Oh, I thought you looked smart!"
I laughed, pleased at the compliment, but unable to accept it. "I'm not a lawyer," I admitted, "I just work there as a receptionist."
"Ah," she smiled. "That's a sweet way to meet. But most people will look at you and believe you're a lawyer. I can tell you're intelligent."
I smiled, flattered and pleased at her compliment, but I was bored talking about myself and asked her about her life. She had two children, she said, both in their early teens and "quite a handful".
We chatted for some time, and I excused myself to explore the house a bit more. I found myself in the library, flipping through the books. I remembered my MAC appointment just in time, and rushed outside to hail a cab.
Sally was a petite blonde, and she was sweet and funny. I told her that I rarely wore makeup, but I needed to dress up a bit for a gala. She nodded, and started making up my face, showing me how she applied the foundation to make my complexion look flawless, and then blended bronzer and blush to give me stunning cheekbones.
Once again, I was impressed at how beautiful money could make an ordinary girl look. Sally defined my eyes with natural shades of eye shadow, and attached fake lashes which felt funny at first.
When she was done, she offered to give me the foundation, blush and bronzer she'd used. "You can get some things free with a paid makeover," she said, and I agreed happily, hoping I could recreate the flawless complexion and cheekbones that she'd created.
When I got home, Dereck was already waiting for me. He brushed aside my protests, and got to work immediately.
"You must make an appointment to see me," he said disapprovingly. "You have virgin hair, you must dye it."
"Oh no," I said shocked, "I'm happy being a brunette. I don't intend to go all fake and blonde!"
He tut-tutted like I was a baby. "Did I saw anything about blonde? Ugh, you would look terrible as a blonde, it would not suit your complexion at all. No, you must refresh your hair, make it shine, let me add highlights and lowlights. That will bring out your lovely complexion, make you fashionable and beautiful."
I laughed, thinking of myself as "fashionable and beautiful". Before today, I'd never used expensive makeup or had a professional makeover. I'd contended myself with slapping on some eyeliner and lipstick; dying my hair had never seemed practical to me.
But when Dereck was done and showed me his work, I admitted I was impressed. He'd teased my hair and now it lay in loose, romantic curls. My makeup looked natural and pretty and I felt like this business of looking "fashionable and beautiful" might be fun.
Once he left, I changed into my pink dress again. The black dress seemed too stuffy, and the blue-green one was too casual. Looking in the mirror, I twirled, feeling both silly and excited.
Chapter Five
Brad was home a few minutes before 5.30, and he rushed me into the limo, teasing me for wearing the pink dress again. I laughed happily, ignoring him and wondering if I needed more of these pretty dresses.
"It's good you're in high spirits," said Brad, "Try not to drink too much tonight."
I bristled, "I'm not a child, you don't have to tell me. And I'm not an alcoholic, either!"
"That's not what I meant," he smiled. It seemed impossible to ruffle his feathers. "They can be mean sometimes, but they've all got inferiority complexes. That's what happens when the only things you've got in the world are inherited money or good looks."
"I guess I was lucky then," I said drily.
He smiled. "In a way, you are."
I decided to follow his lead and stay in a good mood, so I smiled back.
When the limo pulled up, I let him get out first and help me step out. As we walked up the red carpet I saw light bulbs flash, and photographers yelled for us to look their way. I smiled nervously, and hoped I wouldn't trip. Thankfully, we were inside soon and I breathed again, glad I hadn't embarrassed myself.
"Come on, let's start off with some fun," Brad murmured, nodding to some people as we walked towards the centre of the room. A waiter passed by with a drinks tray, and as we swiped two glasses off him, I remembered Brad's warning not to drink. There were waitresses circulating with delicious-looking hors d'oeuvres but I noticed that nobody was eating.
"Edna," Brad let go of my hand and hugged a grey-haired lady in a maroon dress. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
I saw her smile as they exchanged pleasantries, and Brad finally introduced me, "Edna, this is my friend Alexis."
She embraced me in a warm hug, and I felt the empathy in her voice as she asked me whether this was my first time at a gala. I nodded shyly, and admitted, "I'm just trying not to make a fool of myself."
She laughed, and said, "Oh as long as you don't rise to the bait, the sharks won't get you."
I wondered what she meant, but it didn't seem appropriate to ask. Instead, I asked her what she did, and she told me she owned an art gallery.
"But don't ask anyone else what they do, my dear," she winked, "You might not like the answer. Most of these women are just successful gold-diggers. Oh, not you, of course!" She laughed as she saw the shock on my face, and I wondered how she didn't see it. "You don't have that thin, hungry look they do."
Brad smiled, and I joined in Edna's laughter, as I said, "You mean I'm not tall and thin enough."
Edna turned to Brad and smiled, "You don't want to let her get away, Brad. Her bluntness will keep you sane."
"I don't want to let her get away," Brad smiled, "But I have to go and say hello to some folks."
He excused himself and walked off, as a few more people joined Edna and I. They said hello to her, and Edna introduced me to them, but their names and faces were a blur. They were all dressed formally and made up nicely, the women had shiny hair and they were all much taller than me.
In Paris, the pink dress had magically made me feel confident and beautiful, and I'd hoped that I'd get the same effect tonight. But despite the dress and my professional hair and makeup, I couldn't help feeling like I was shrinking. Beside these tall, slim women and muscular men, I felt like I was three feet tall and my conversation skills were flat and dull.
Edna had slipped away somehow, and I looked around but couldn't see her.
"So, Alexis," purred one of the women with coiffed golden hair, "How did you and Brad meet?"
"Oh, he met me when he came to see my boss. I work at a law firm."
I felt their gazes appraising me. "Really?" asked another woman, arching her eyebrow. "You don't look like a lawyer to me. Aren't most of them fat women who wear glasses? You don't wear glasses."
There was laughter all around, but I ignored the jibe and smiled, wondering how I could escape the crowd. The drink in my hand was empty, and I tried to excuse myself to get another glass. But a waiter chose to pass by us right at that moment, and someone handed me another glass of champagne.
"You know," said a young blonde in a grey dress, "Once you've been with Brad, you'll have a hard time dating other men. Like, they'll all feel inferior, and you'll be like Madonna - nobody wants to follow Guy Ritchie."
"That's ok," I said, "I wouldn't mind being single and travelling the world."
"Yes," sighed a tall brunette, "But can you really be happy when you're alone."
"I'm sure I wouldn't mind," said a stocky man in a pinstriped suit, and the group laughed as I realized he was the brunette's husband.
"Come on," murmured someone at my right, placing my drink on a passing waiter's tray and taking my arm, "I think you need to dance."
I didn't protest as he led me to the dance floor. It was nice to get away from that fickle group, and I wondered how they could stand each other, with their veiled insults and meaningless jabber.
"You know," he murmured, turning me around to face him as he clasped my hand and placed his other arm on my waist, "Fiona is completely wrong."
I presumed Fiona was one of the catty Amazonians, but I had no idea what she was wrong about. I loo
ked into his face curiously, taking in his thick salt 'n' pepper hair and stylish suit. His eyes were a dark green, and they twinkled with amusement. I felt a spark fly through me, and I had to remind myself I was at the gala with Brad, not Green Eyes.
"You have no idea who Fiona is, do you?" he asked, and I shook my head while he twirled me around. "She was the one who said that you'd be alone for the rest of your life."
"I don't really care either way," I shrugged, "And I'm sure things that are meant to be, will be. If I meet someone else, I'll meet someone else."
He smiled, "That's my point exactly. You'll find someone else, Brad isn't all that great. Maybe you should get out of this meaningless thing with Brad already, there are heaps of nicer guys around." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Guys with green eyes and nicer hair."
I laughed at his flirtatiousness, and he continued, "I've never seen you at one of these events before."
I tilted my head, trying to act as sophisticated as everyone else there, and flirted back, "Yes, and clearly everyone near me can smell the fresh blood."
I saw something glint in his eyes, as he let go of my waist and spun me around.
When I was back in his arms, he said, "Everyone likes fresh blood. It's just a question of who the fresh blood prefers to be with."
The hand on my waist jerked me closer, till I was squashed against him. I didn't even know his name, I thought in a panic, as I tried to move back and heard him chuckle. There were too many people around, and I didn't want to cause a scene, as he pressed me closer, sliding his hand up my back, pushing my breasts against him.
"Let me go," I whispered, but he pretended not to hear.
"You're so soft," he murmured, "You need to be with someone who'll really take good care of you."
His hand travelled down, and I tried to lean backwards. He smiled as his hand found my butt, and he squeezed me gently, leaning forward and kissing me, his teeth grazing my lower lip. I felt the shivers along my spine even as I considered whether I should slap him or kick him in the groin, when I heard Brad's voice.
"I think I'll take it from here."
The Billionaire's Contract 2: Considerations Page 3
