“Try again,” he said. She continued massaging him. He forced himself to lay still and not touch her. He reminded himself that he was angry with her, not turned on, even though her hands felt amazing. And she was naked. Gloriously naked. She sighed heavily and plopped next to him on the bed.
“I'm worried William will think less of me for sleeping with you,” she finally said. “He'll think that I'm being manipulative or backhanded, or an interloper. Or worse, a gold-digger.”
“He's your friend, right? Why would he think those things of you?” He couldn't resist reaching out and stroking the smooth skin of her thigh.
“Christy, don't be so naïve.” She moaned, dropping her head into her hands. “He's my boss! And you're his son. They're going to take one look at you and me, and automatically think the worse of me.” She sighed. “Not to mention the fact that I'm me and you're you, and people are going to talk.”
“Who gives a shit?” he said. None of those things mattered to him. He heard her snort, but the sound was more exasperated than humored.
“Christy, of course you don't care. You don't care about anything, right?” In the blink of an eye, he pushed himself up and tackled her. She squealed as he knocked her on her back on the bed.
“I care about you. That's it.” He dropped his head and brushed his lips across hers. “None of them matter.” She moved her lips against his, kissing him back, softly.
“But—,” she started.
“None of them matter,” he repeated, then kissed her harder. He wanted her to agree with him, that no one else mattered. He loved her, and he didn't want anyone to take that away from him. He wouldn't let anyone take her away from him. But he realized that she needed time. And that was something he was willing to give her. As far as he was concerned, they had nothing but time.
“Okay,” he said, his forehead against hers. “I won't tell him. Yet.”
***
“William!” Annata enveloped her mentor in a hug after navigating her way through the dark dining room of the steak house. William loved old-fashioned restaurants, where the menu hadn't changed in 50 years and black and white photos of celebrities dotted the walls. Today, in light of the holiday season, blinking lights and sprigs of evergreen also decorated the wood-paneled room. The effect was homey and also intimidating, as if the ghosts of patrons past were haunting the premises. William smelled of tobacco and peppermint, like always. She smiled at the familiar scent. He patted her lightly on the back, then pulled away.
“Allow me.” He took the collar of her wool coat as she shrugged out of it. He hung the coat on the hook just outside of their private booth. William held out a chair for Annata, as Miranda eyed them, sipping her red wine.
“Paris agreed with you, Annie.” Miranda drawled. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was lovely,” Annata said, her voice sounding fake to her own ears.
“The snow didn't put a damper on it for you?” William asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, you know me, I love inclement weather.” Annata smiled as the waiter filled her wine glass from the bottle chilling on the table.
“Christy wasn't too much of a bother was he?” Miranda asked, her eyes shining.
“No.” Annata took a sip of her wine. “He proved himself to be very...” Annata searched for the right word. “Capable.”
“Good to hear.” William said.
“When I needed him, he was there and vice-versa. We made a good partnership.” She heard herself saying, even though she wished she could just shut up.
“I'm glad you two got along. I knew you were less than enthused about him accompanying you to Paris. But he does have a personal relationship with Jean Pierre and his family,” William said.
“You don't need to explain yourself to me,” Annata said. She knew perfectly well why William had sent Christophe to Paris. He wasn't fooling anyone.
“I also wanted to see if he was leadership material,” William said bluntly. “What say you on that front?”
“I said he was capable.” Annata studied the intricate stitch on the edge of her napkin.
“Hmmm.” She could feel William's eyes on her, wanting more detail.
“What do you want me to say, William? He's a Van der Kind,” Annata finally said.
“Through and through.” A deep voice said to her left. She felt her heart wedge itself into her throat. Christophe hung his coat on the hook beside their table. He gracefully sat in the seat beside hers. Annata avoided his eye.
“About damn time.” William checked his watch. “I said 7.”
“Traffic.” Christophe shrugged.
“Annie was just telling us about the trip,” Miranda said.
“I was reviewing your performance, actually, before I was so rudely interrupted.” Annata looked at him, finally. He wore all black, his body draped in the chair as if he were sex incarnate.
“Well, by all means, Annata.” He let her name drip from his tongue and she had a flash of all the naughty things that tongue had done to her the night before. “Continue.”
Annata felt the sudden urge to kick him.
“Christophe has definite leadership capabilities.” She took another sip.
“Not quite glowing praise, but not completely without hope.” Christophe smiled at her. Miranda flicked her gaze between the two of them.
“But,” Annata began.
“There's always a but.” Christophe leaned forward in his chair, interested in her critique.
“But the question remains if he is ready and willing to lead, or if he's more comfortable letting others make the hard decisions. He has a habit of running from responsibility.” She finished, looking Christophe in the eye. William nodded.
“My own assessment as well,” William said. “So Paris did nothing to answer the question if he is ready and willing?”
“Yes, did it?” Christophe egged her on, his eyes as dark as his sweater. Annata took her time to answer, taking another drink.
“Perhaps it would be best to ask him,” she finally said. Christophe chuckled.
“Well, by all means, let me answer. I'm moving back to New York. For good,” he announced. A slow satisfied smile settled on William's face. Annata felt her heart sink. “I'm not asking for a job. But I'm willing to work. And I'm ready to take my place in my family's company.”
“Christy, that's wonderful!” Miranda exclaimed. She gestured for the waiter, who returned. “Champagne, please. Four glasses!” The waiter hurried off. William looked over the moon. Annata felt suddenly like she was intruding on a family moment. She knew he had missed his son while Christophe was away.
“You've had a spot in the company since you finished school. I was just waiting for you to reach out and take it,” William said. William caught Annie's eye and nodded. She smiled back. She was happy for William, finally seeing the dream of his son stepping up coming true. But she couldn't help feeling that big changes were coming, and she wasn't going to be at all happy with what that meant for her.
***
Christophe watched Annata as she expertly handled her steak knife, slicing into the rare cut on her plate. She raised the fork and wrapped her lips around the prone piece of meat. He watched her eyes close in ecstasy as she chewed. He felt himself letting go of the air he had been holding in his lungs since the start of the dinner. He hated the way he acted around his father. He felt like a perpetual teenager in the old man's presence. He wondered if the day would ever come when he could have an on-the-level conversation with his father.
In Brazil, after Christophe had secured the purchase of the manufacturing company, he'd felt a surge of power and confidence in his abilities. Then it had all gone to shit as soon as he had returned for the Christmas party. He wondered if Paris had really done anything to change things, other than bring him closer to Annie. He knew that when working with her, he had allowed her to do most of the work. She wanted it more than him. And he wanted her to have it. But what about him? What did he want?
Christophe realized Annie was staring back at him and he dropped his eyes. He thought about what she said at the Christmas party. He knew she wouldn't have said it unless she believed it. A pang shot through him. He realized it hurt. It hurt that Annie didn't believe in him. He watched Annie and his father talking shop across the table as if he and Miranda weren't even there. Christophe suddenly itched to get up out of his seat and head for the door. Head for the nearest bar and have a good time. But there was a problem. The only person he wanted to have a good time with was Annie, and she wasn't going anywhere.
“So. Julie Bissett,” Miranda said, and it took him a minute to realize she was talking to him.
“What about her?” he asked, frustration threatening to boil over into his voice.
“You went out with her in Paris.” Miranda was on the edge of drunk, he realized. She wouldn't give up on this topic until he had satisfied her curiosity. “A little birdie told me.”
“We had a friendly dinner.” He leaned over to Annie. “Annata was there, it wasn't just the two of us.” Annie turned her head, her attention drawn away from William.
“Since when did you ever need a chaperone?” Miranda asked.
“Excuse me, what?” Annie said, her brow furrowed.
“Julie Bissett. Tell me, is she still in love with our Christy?” Miranda gushed to Annie.
“Absolutely,” Annie said. “But he was very rude to her, and she left dinner early.”
“I simply wanted to let Julie know I was not interested.”
“And why the hell not?” The Old Man asked, his interest apparently piqued.
“Because she's a passive-aggressive, anorexic drug addict, if you must know.” Christophe answered, matter-of-factly. Miranda tsked.
“You're one to talk.” Miranda drained her glass. “It's not like you've got angels coming out of your...rear end.” Annie laughed into her glass. “Besides, she's so beautiful.”
“She'll find some other asshole to marry her then,” Christophe scoffed, eyeing the door. His father laughed.
“My poor friend, Jean Pierre.” He shook his head. “My daughter may be a lesbian, but at least she's not crazy.” Miranda shook her head profusely.
“Katherine is not a lesbian. She's confused.” Miranda held up the empty bottle, alerting the waiter that they needed another. “Can we please change the subject?”
“Certainly,” The Old Man said, cutting into his steak. “Jean Pierre is retiring.”
Annie looked up from her meal, shocked.
“He gave me no indication several days ago when we spoke on the phone,” she said.
“He called this morning.” His father took a sip of his scotch. “I can't say I didn't see it coming. We old men may still feel like we have the world ahead of us, but the reality is very much different.”
“The company can run in his absence,” Annie said, taking out her phone and beginning to type. “I'll start putting the feelers out for candidates.”
“Good, good.” The Old Man nodded. “You'll have to go back, Annie, before it's all said and done, I'm sure.”
“Absolutely, William,” she said, still taking notes on her phone. Christophe watched her, wondering what The Old Man was thinking. Did he want someone French at the helm of Paris branch? He wondered how this new development would play out. He was sure Annie was just as curious.
“Just a reminder, I'm leaving in a day for the holidays, but I'll be back on the 31st,” she said, not looking up from her phone.
“If you insist,” his father said, making a note on his own phone.
“I do,” she said with a smile. Christophe squirmed in his seat and checked his watch. He was ready for this dinner to be over. Besides, if Annie was leaving in a day, he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. Alone.
***
Annata stepped through the door held open by Christophe and out into the cold night air. She pulled her coat around her and tied the sash. The Van der Kinds followed, Miranda bundled up in her calf-length chinchilla coat. Christoph glided past her to the street and held up his hand, hailing a cab.
“When will we be seeing you again?” Miranda asked Christophe, her voice slurred.
“Christmas.” Christophe dropped his hand as a cab pulled over.
“Wonderful, my boy,” William said. Then he turned to Annata. “If I don't see you before you go, my dear, have a Merry Christmas.”
“You, too, William,” Annata said, giving him a quick hug goodbye. Then Miranda offered up one cheek after the other for Annata to kiss. “Merry Christmas.”
Christophe opened the car door for his parents and they climbed in. As he was about to close the door, Miranda leaned out.
“Don't forget the New Years Party! Annata, you received your invitation?”
“Yes, I did.” Annata nodded, standing as far away from Christophe as she could. She felt like she had a scarlet letter on her coat. Miranda's hawk eyes very rarely missed a thing.
“You haven't RSVP'd.” Miranda wagged her perfectly manicured finger.
“I will.”
“Well I'm not coming, you can forget about it.” Christophe said to Miranda.
“Christy, you're terrible—!” Miranda was cut off as Christophe shut the door, none too forcefully. The cab peeled away, and Annata watched the taillights fade into the night. Annata was suddenly very aware that she and Christophe were alone again. She felt awkward, she realized, like she had just been gossiping about him behind his back. She had been so cold to him during dinner, afraid that any warmth would give her away to William and Miranda. And he had been very quiet. She cleared her throat.
“Walk with me,” she said.
“Walk where?”
“Just a few blocks.” Annata held out her hand. Christophe stepped forward and took it. They walked in silence for a bit, the city quiet in the cold. “You're not going to the New Year's Party?” she finally said.
“I have other plans,” he replied.
“What other plans?”
“Wouldn't you like to know,” he murmured in her ear. Annata felt herself leaning into him, his body heat attracting hers like a magnet.
“It's not exactly my idea of a rollicking good time, either,” Annata said, as they turned the corner.
“But you'll still go,” Christophe said. “You wouldn't miss an opportunity to schmooze and be seen. And rub everyone's noses in how wonderful you are.” Annata narrowed her eyes. So, he was angry.
“It wouldn't hurt you to do the same,” she replied, keeping her tone neutral.
“But then I would have to care. And I don't. Right?”
“Absolutely correct.” Annata felt his hand tighten on hers. She was riling him up. The thought sent a thrill through her.
“Maybe I'll just take off tonight. Go back to Brazil. I could be on the next flight out and not think twice.”
“Fine. Run away, like always,” Annata said. “Be a coward and a disappointment, if it's easier for you.” A second later, he yanked her into an alley and pressed her against the cold brick of the adjacent building.
“Must you always think the worst of me?” He bit out through gritted teeth.
“Are you trying to give the bums a show?” she said, glancing down the dark of the alley. He sighed and released her, running his hand through his hair.
“Annie, tell me what I have to do.”
“For the past week, you've given the best of yourself to me,” she said, reaching out to caress his cheek with her gloved hand. “When it gets hard, promise me, you'll keep being good?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Don't run away. Stay and fight. Stay and be better.” She leaned into him, brushing her lips against his. “Stay and be the man that I know you are.”
“I am staying.” He kissed her back, dipping his tongue into her mouth. “I'm staying here with you.” He kissed her again, the force of him nearly taking her breath away. “I want to be that man.” Annata felt a moan deep in her thro
at as he pressed his body against hers, thrusting his knee between hers. “I want to be that man for you.”
The cold city seemed to fade away at his words and she slipped her hands inside his coat and held him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. For a long while, Annata forgot all about business and stressful things. She would worry about William and International in the new year. For now, Christmas had come early that year, and she wasn't about to let the gift go to waste.
Chapter 16
“Don't laugh.” Annata warned over her shoulder as she unlocked her apartment door. Christophe did his best impersonation of an innocent person, raising his eyebrows and looking shocked.
“Me? I never laugh,” he said.
“It's small, and it's kind of...you know,” she said, trying not to be embarrassed, but failing miserably. Her home of the last ten years was nothing special, to say the least. A small one-bedroom in a walkup, with an ancient bathroom and a non-existent kitchen. But the rent was cheap, and she didn't spend a lot of time home anyway. The apartment had some interesting architectural details, and she had spent a bit of money on furnishing it. Especially the bedroom. She had spared no expense on a bed and linens. After all, most of the time she spent in the apartment was in bed.
Her hand closed around the doorknob and she sighed inwardly. She was about to let Christophe Van der Kind into her personal, private life. The thought gave her pause. She was opening a big-ass can of worms. But she pushed past her doubts and opened the door. She stood aside as he walked in and looked around.
“Wow,” he said.
“I told you no laughing.” She closed the door behind him, noting how out of his element he looked in her small, barely furnished living room. He was dressed to the nines, in an expensive wool coat and designer jeans and boots that probably cost more than several months of her rent.
“It's homey,” he said, walking into the kitchen.
“I'm saving up to buy a townhouse. A down payment isn't cheap you know. Oh wait. You don't,” she said, leaning against the unfortunate pink formica countertop.
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