Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (18 page)

Only then did I realize couples were walking inside to
dance. I gulped. “Yes.”

I eased my foot free and felt around for my shoe but
couldn’t find it. I gave him a look that clearly said, “help,” because I felt
his leg move against mine as he slid his shoe about, trying to find the silver
heel. Just as I was about to give up and look under the white tablecloth,
something sparkly caught my attention. My shoe.

I stuck a toe out to drag it back under the table while
Sébastien chuckled at my obvious distress. I wanted to be angry, but it was too
funny.

As he guided me past the Steinway, I slowed my stride so
that I could watch the pianist’s fingers lovingly dance across the keys. The
pianist winked when I smiled in admiration at his skills.

I happily sighed as I stepped into Sébastien’s arms. “You
are an entertaining dinner companion, Kathleen.”

I burrowed in closer, saying nothing, just letting my body
speak for me. He pulled me closer, so I molded up against him. “The music is
beautiful, no?” He bussed my cheek after he spoke.

I nodded as my eyes fluttered shut and swayed to the music.
I desired to feel it move through me and not apply any complicated dance steps.
Within Sébastien’s embrace, one song then another wove their way through me and
somehow bound me to him more.

It was in this place, soft and dreamy, where I was only
aware of the music and the man, that I registered Sébastien’s muscles tense.

I lifted my head to look at him and saw him looking over my
shoulder. I followed his gaze and found Hillary and Aksel.

“Shall we trade partners for one dance?” Aksel asked us
both.

Not knowing what to do, I kissed Sébastien before leaving
his embrace and stepping into Aksel’s arms. I cast a glance at the newly formed
couple and saw them whispering back and forth.

On guard, I let Aksel lead me into an easy pattern of steps,
while I asked him how he was enjoying the evening. He charmed me by speaking
highly of Hillary, so my guard wasn’t up when he added, “Mademoiselle, I would
like to meet with you.”

“What? Why?” I was so surprised, I forgot all about
niceties.

He didn’t appear to be offended by my loss of etiquette. “I
have a professional offer I would like to make. Perhaps lunch tomorrow?”

The girls were leaving in the morning; Sébastien was flying
to Rome for business. I flipped through the millions of reasons to say no, but
instead I found myself saying, "After work? 7:00, downstairs, in the bar?”

He smiled and inclined his head. “I will be there, waiting
for you in the bar.” Then he shuffled us back toward Hillary and Sébastien.

A few notes later, the song finished, and I was back in
Sébastien’s arms.

His arms held me, rigid with tension. “I missed you, chère.”

He didn’t ask me what Aksel and I talked about, but I could
sense he wanted to. Then and there, I decided not to tell him about meeting
Aksel tomorrow.

Whatever he wanted to talk about, I didn’t think it was
worth upsetting Sébastien over. I’d tell him afterwards, if it was worthwhile.
Instead, I tried to get us back onto even ground, so I laid my head against the
lapel of his jacket and snuggled close. I listened to his heartbeat. The usual
steady thud was there, and, as we swayed back and forth, I felt him gradually
relax.

I SAT THERE
with my jaw
dropped, my mouth wide and gaping. “Seriously?” I wanted to add, “Get out of
here” or “For real?” but my unconscious-self had clearly drawn a line
somewhere, trying to maintain some level of professionalism. “You are offering
me a position at your company? Based upon what?”

“I can see you are… surprised. Suffice it to say that my
staff assures me you are a perfect fit for the job. You’re highly regarded
professionally, and people like you, which is a definite bonus. Plus, you have
the soul of an artist. For this position, your skills are the perfect match.
Think of the Bethany Halvorsen show and dinner last night as interviews.”

Aksel Pedersen was offering me a job. At an unknown company,
or at least at one I hadn’t found during my late-night sleuthing.

“What about Jean-Victor Meyers, the owner of my company?
Isn’t it a little unfriendly to try and lure away your friend’s employees?”

He dipped his head. “Not my proudest moment, but he would do
the same thing, if he found himself in my shoes. I’ve been searching for
someone like you for several months.”

I weighed this briefly and knew he was right about
Jean-Victor Meyers. I had no way of knowing if I was a perfect fit. I was more
interested in what the issue was between him and Sébastien. “What about
Sébastien? You can’t deny that there is bad blood between the two of you.”

Before I could say more, he interrupted, “I was led to
believe you hadn’t been dating too long.”

That brought me up short.
He’d been looking into my
personal life, as well? Had Hillary told him?
While Aksel had a point, I
trusted Sébastien’s instincts. If he had a problem with Aksel Pedersen, I
wanted to know why. So I said so.

“Mademoiselle, I’m not trying to be mysterious. I will
simply say what I am allowed to say. We were in business, there was a breach of
contract, we signed a non-disclosure agreement, and nothing more can be said.”

It was a one, two, three punch scenario.

I was curious. Given my job, I inferred from Aksel’s
phrasing that the agreement was in regards to valuable information. Perhaps
patents? Perhaps a trade secret was being protected. If so, this meant the
agreement was in perpetuity—forever, so long as the owner continued to take
reasonable efforts to maintain the information’s secrecy. I assumed that Aksel
was the owner.

I was speechless. My brain was working hard to assimilate
all this and what it meant to Sébastien and me. He couldn’t say, and,
therefore, he wouldn’t bring it up. So how could I? How could I go to work for someone
with whom he had this conflict?

I was intrigued though. I wanted to know more. The name of
the company quietly sang from the recesses of my mind and thundered its way to
the forefront of my thoughts. “Where is Flytning Værktøj located? I’ve never
considered leaving Paris.”

“Yes, well, I am hoping you will want the position enough
that you would be willing to relocate. We’d pay for the move, of course. Our
facilities are located in Aarhus, Denmark.”

Christ, I thought I was going to faint. Spots floated in
front of my eyes. I set my drink down on the bar and grabbed on for dear life.
My brain shouted, “It’s not possible,” but I’d heard him say it. It was
possible.

“Mademoiselle Ehlers, are you all right? Can I do something
for you?”

I felt drugged as I lifted my eyes to his. He was blurry. He
looked really concerned. I took the napkin he handed me.
What do I need this
for?
I pressed it to my face, thinking perhaps it would cool me down. It
was only when I held it to my cheeks that I felt tears puddle against my
fingers.
Shit! I’m crying
.

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Take it slow.
I made my way to the bathroom and
splashed cold water on my face several times. I focused on breathing calmly,
taking long breaths in and blowing longer breaths out. When I felt like I was
under control, I patted my face dry and repaired my makeup. “What am I going to
say?” I asked my reflection in the mirror. “Fuck if I know,” it responded.

When I approached the bar, he stood up, looking nervous. Or
worried. Probably both. I had decided to give him a very simple explanation and
buy myself some time. “I’m sorry about that. I lost someone very important to
me, years ago, who was from Aarhus. It’s not something that comes up ever, and
it’s not a city you meet someone from ever. So, a surprise. I’m fine. Now, back
to the job—”

He cut me off. “Kathleen, let’s talk about the job another
time. I’m sorry you’re upset, and you need time to… Honestly, I don’t know what,
but now is clearly not the time for this. Take the packet, think about it, and
when you are ready, call me.”

He was a kind man. Whatever his conflict with Sébastien, I
could see in Aksel’s eyes that he was kind. I looked down at the elegantly
packaged offer he had presented me and tapped my long, tapered fingers on the
stack. “Thank you.” I had to ask, “Can you please say the name of the company
once again, slowly?”

Concern bracketed his blue eyes. “Of course.” He said it
again, but slower.

I repeated it back, “
Flit-knee Vairk-toy
.” Just
saying the word aloud brought memories rushing to the surface. “Thank you,” I
repeated. “I will get back to you soon.” It was a rote response, but I knew I
needed to take this slow.

AFTER A SLEEPLESS
night and a
restless morning, I finally felt ready to engage the outside world. At
precisely one o’clock, I picked up the phone and punched in a long string of
numbers.

“Faith Clarkson, International. Charlotte Young’s office.
How may I help you?”

“Kathleen Ehlers, L’Oréal Paris, for Ms. Young.”

“Just a moment.”

Charlotte quickly picked up. “Kathleen, how are you?”

“Let’s start with how you are. You made it home all right?
What did the doctor say?” She’d had an appointment that morning.

“Let’s see, where to start? Everything is normal, according
to him. The fact that I’m huge, can barely walk, have boobs that can
out-compete Tiziana’s, and the Braxton Hicks coming and going—all completely
normal. I’ve already spoken with Faith Clarkson twice today, which means I am
likely to develop hemorrhoids and acid reflux.” She chuckled and then resumed.
“I’m thinking of sending her the placenta just for fun.”

“Excellent!” I replied sarcastically. “Charlotte, I only
have a minute. A meeting beckons. But I was hoping to come visit this weekend.”

“So soon? I mean, sure. I just thought for sure you’d need
time to recuperate and have Sébastien all to yourself.”

“I’m fine. I just want to have some quiet time, before the
baby comes, which sounds sooner than later.”

“Sounds fabulous. Let me check in with Liam and make sure
there isn’t something going on that I don’t know about.”

There was a time when Charlotte was the most madcap of us
all—other than Tiziana, of course, who functioned in a universe all by herself—but
the least judgmental, and very sensible, when necessary. She was the perfect
person to talk to about all “this.”

“No problem. Call me when you know, so I can book a ticket.”

When I hung up the phone, I pulled a folder and laptop
toward me and made my way to the conference room at the end of the hallway. To
draw attention away from the shadows under my eyes and the strain on my face, I
had put on a gorgeous, navy-blue, knee-length Stella McCartney dress with a
lacey overlay of delicate white leaves. I had pulled my hair into a chignon to
showcase the delicate fabric. A small, black, patent-leather belt cinched my
waist. The pièce de résistance were my favorite dark-blue Fendi heels. I
smoothed a hand over my armor and made my way down the hall to a conference
room.

I sat down in a chair at one end of the long conference
table.
Today’s meeting was with representatives of Agn
è
s b., Comence, Thierry Mugler, Michel Klein, and Pr. Christine
Poehlman. Really, a research and development meeting that I was attending, on
Monsieur Detriche’s behalf, as a formality. Once everyone got down to brass
tacks, I quietly withdrew from the conversation and began to tap away on my
keyboard, updating my boss on the status of the meeting. When I snuck out and
was almost at my office door, my path crossed with Monsieur Huse.

“Relieved or disappointed that life has
returned to normal after last week’s fashion madness?” he asked. Then,
observing my outfit, he added, “Still the height of fashion, though.”

Ignoring the last comment, I answered, “A
little of both, of course. You will be pleased to know that the meeting with
3Suisses went well.”

Monsieur Detriche approached us and thanked
me for attending the meeting.

“Anything I can do to help.”

Monsieur Huse pointedly glanced at Monsieur
Detriche before handing me a folder. “Mademoiselle Ehlers, as you know, L’Oréal
is considering acquiring Urban Decay. If you could take a look at this initial
data and work your magic, I’d be grateful.”

It was a public vote of confidence. I hid
my guilt (Flit-knee Vairk-toy) and surprise (Monsieur Huse had never bypassed
Monsieur Detriche before). “Absolutely. I will set up a meeting when I have
taken a look.”

Five minutes after returning to my desk,
Denise entered with a box lunch. Carefully opening the box, I pulled out a
plate with a generous slice of vegetable terrine, a demi-baguette, and a wedge
of Brie. I would have preferred Roquefort, but the residual smell in the office
would have been hellacious. Using a chunk of bread to push the bite of
asparagus, roasted red pepper mousse, and tomato onto my fork, I savoured it
while searching the Internet for something light and easy to read. I came
across some articles about Tiziana and Ted at a restaurant in London last
night. Then I
opened my email and was surprised to see one from Liam.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subj:
Visit this weekend

Kathleen,

Charlotte
mentioned you’d like to come to London. We’d love to have you, and, to be
honest, I’m hoping to beg a favor. Charlotte will not appreciate finding out
that I’m asking you for help, but since you’re the decorator in the group, I am
hoping you will take pity on me and help pick out a decent color for the baby’s
room. She’s gone all pastel on me. Barking-mad shades of yellow until the eyes
bleed and the stomach heaves. If you can take pity on me (and the baby), send
me your flight information.

As
you know, no nights out at the disco, I’m afraid.

Thanks
a million,

Liam

“Poor Liam.” Impending fathers had such a
treacherous path to walk. His comment about the disco made me laugh out loud,
remembering a year or so ago, when Hillary had hosted a weekend party at her
place in London. We’d stumbled upon a tranny bar in Covent Gardens.
Fortunately, the regulars had taken a shine to us. What had really cemented the
connection was Tiziana va-va-vooming around the club. She’d spent all her time
giving out makeup tips, and we had been the recipients of many a free drink.

Putting down my fork, I took a wad of bread
and wiped it across the surface of the plate, picking up the last pieces of
terrine. Stuffing the tasty bite in my mouth, I chewed as I clicked away on the
keyboard. Twenty minutes later, when everything was sorted, I emailed Liam.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subj:
Re: Visit this weekend

Hi
there,

More
than happy to help out, though I warn you, I have no experience decorating
nurseries.

I
am really looking forward to time with just you two and seeing the new house. I
promise, Charlotte and I will do nothing more exciting than a pedicure and
sparkling water!

My
flight leaves Paris at 4:00 pm (3:00 pm your time). I’ll be landing 5:20 pm
(your time). I can take the Tube from Heathrow.

See
you soon,

Kathleen

***

With
Sébastien gone
, I threw
myself into demolishing most of the kitchen after work, exhausting my body and
giving my brain time to process. Gradually, I assimilated the fact that I was
genuinely and deeply excited about Aksel Pedersen’s job offer, though terrified
about moving to Aarhus and all the other upheaval (which was putting it
mildly).

The idea of working for an engineering company whose
products allowed artists to realize their visions was so compelling that I
found myself surfing the Internet, learning all I could about kinetic art. I followed
its origins in French Impressionism and was surprised that a couple hours
passed as I traced its evolution to the installation of Kinetic Rain in the Changi
Airport. As I watched golden tear-shaped orbs waltz in the air, I found myself
wondering why Aksel Pedersen had poked around and found me.

Though Sébastien and I traded email and texts, I didn’t
bring up the job offer. The fact that I missed him, yearned for him, was both
exciting and terrifying. Always on my mind was my sense that a new job working
for Aksel Pedersen would kill our fledgling relationship, so I kept everything
to myself, not wanting to give up the exhilaration of feeling so alive.