His To Shatter (12 page)

“Try and act like a decent man for once in
your life, Antoine,” the voice said. “If you insist on acting like
a petulant little boy, I might have to ship you off to boarding
school and off my payroll.”

I whipped around to face the intervener, and
nearly passed out on the spot. I blinked toward the entrance of the
booth, and felt like I was hallucinating. There, standing against
the backdrop of the throbbing club, was Girard. My jaw hung open,
my eyes must have been bulging halfway out of my head. Could it
really be him, standing before me like it was the most everyday
thing in the world? His eyes fell upon me, and I watched
recognition spring into his gaze. His firm, shapely lips curved
into a small smile as he looked down at me.

“Well, hello,” he said amiably, his tone
shifting drastically from chiding to friendly.

“Hi...” I managed feebly. I was utterly taken
back, and couldn’t quite convince myself that he was actually here.
I’d built Girard up like a demigod in my imagination after what had
happened on the train. I half expected him to disappear in a cloud
of smoke if I wasn’t careful.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Ashlee giggled across the
table. “What’s the story?”

Girard raised his eyebrow at her. “The
story?” he asked.

“What’s your name?” Dara pressed, stirring
her martini.

“I’m Girard Remi,” he said. “The keeper of
these louts. I’m sorry if they’ve been giving you trouble.”

“Not at all,” Ashlee said, sidling up to her
man.

“Good,” Girard said, looking darkly at
Antoine. “Except for you.”

“What did I—?” Antoine started.

“Don’t,” Girard cut in. “I know well enough
what your treatment of women is like. You brag about your exploits
well within ear shot of the entire office. Accidentally, I’m
sure.”

“Girard?” piped a voice behind him. I watched
as Monica appeared at Girard’s elbow. Her eyes swept the booth and
landed squarely on me. Her spotless brow furrowed ever-so-slightly,
and I could tell that her contempt for me had only gotten finer
with age. I smiled back at her, not one to be cowed by a pretty
face or a bad attitude.

“Look who it is!” Girard said warmly,
gesturing my way.

“Indeed,” Monica answered.

“Wait,” Ashlee said, “Is this who you know
from home?”

“I...Um...” I stuttered, realizing that all
eyes were suddenly on me. “I’m going to step outside for some fresh
air.”

“I’ll come with you,” Girard said as I
staggered to my feet. “This club is full of touchy young men.”

“I know,” Dara said. “Isn’t it great?”

“Girard,” Monica said sternly. “We came here
to celebrate as a company.”

“So keep celebrating,” Girard said, “It looks
like Antoine is lonely.”

“Very,” Antoine said, pulling Monica down
next to him in the booth. She shot a look of ice cold hatred my way
before shoving her elbow into Antoine’s side.

“Come on,” Girard said, “Let’s get that
breath of air, shall we?”

* * * * *

Chapter Ten

* * * * *

He cupped my elbow in his hand, sending
tendrils of warmth shooting up my arm. I felt my body respond to
this simplest of touches in a way that it never had to anyone
before. I looked quickly at Ashlee and Dara, who smiled
supportively, if a bit confused. Girard guided me quickly away from
the booth and down the stairs. He cut through the crowd as though
it were nothing, his authoritative presence making it easy for him
to navigate his way through. In no time at all, we had cleared the
crowded dance hall and stepped out into the night. I breathed in
deeply as the fresh air filled my lungs. I hadn’t realized just how
oppressive the club had been until I was clear of it. Girard smiled
down at me, and crossed his arms in front of his finely honed
chest.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, “I know, right?” I could have
kicked myself for sounding like some North American teenager.

“How did you end up in Paris?” he asked.

“Oh. That interview I was heading to when
you...You know. I got it!” I said.

“That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Excellent
news. Where did you said it was?”

“Corelli. The Paris office, of course,” I
responded proudly.

A look of genuine admiration passed across
Girard’s features, and I could have jumped for joy. The fact that
something I had accomplished was impressive enough to win this
man’s esteem was almost too much to be believed. His entire
presence was almost too much. Our chance encounter still felt more
like a fever dream than anything else. How could this possibly be
happening to me?

“You look a little concerned,” Girard said.
“I hope that Antoine didn’t say anything too offensive.”

“Oh, no,” I said, smoothing down my dress
nervously. “It’s just that I’m surprised to see it. It’s such a
crazy coincidence.”

“I don’t really believe in coincidence,”
Girard smiled. “I prefer to think that everything happens for some
kind of reason.”

“Oh,” I said softly.

“This is wild,” he said, “But I realized that
I never even learned your name.”

“It’s Madison,” I said, sticking out my hand.
“Madison Cleary.”

Girard took my hand in his and, instead of
shaking it, brought it formally to his lips. His mouth brushed
against my skin in the softest of kisses, and I could swear that my
hand was a second away from bursting into flame.

He smiled at me warmly and said, “It’s
wonderful to see you again.”

“You too,” I said. Miraculously, I no longer
felt as though I was going to trip over my feet in this man’s
presence. Every moment we spent in each other’s company, I felt
more and more comfortable with him. It was as though we’d known
each other for years, forever. There was a connection between us
that I’d never experienced before, some link that made me feel more
comfortable with him than I had ever been with anyone else. Even
more so. I had no idea how to account for it, but I wasn’t ready to
let it slip away unexplored.

“Did you want to go back inside?” Girard
asked.

“Actually,” I said, “It was a bit too much
for me. I might just walk home.”

“Are you hungry at all?” he asked. “There’s a
wonderful little cafe not far from here.”

“That sounds lovely,” I said. He smiled and
held out his arm to me. Feeling as though I stumbled into a fairy
tale, I took it. We set off arm in arm down the boulevard, the
street lamps casting long shadows all around us. Girard led me
through the city, and it was clear that he knew these streets like
the back of his hand. I stole glances at him, almost afraid to look
him full in the face too often. He was so gorgeous that my eyes
needed time to adjust to the sight of him. I was happy to have had
a drink before running into him in this clandestine way. I don’t
think I would have been able to put one word in front of the other,
had I been sober. It didn’t hurt that Paris after dark can’t help
but look like the most romantic place on earth.

We rounded a bend and stopped in front of a
tiny cafe that looked to have been plucked from centuries ago.
Girard held the door open for me and ushered me in out of the
night. There was one other couple in the cafe, huddled over a table
in the back with their hands clasped firmly between them. The
exposed brick walls were adorned with candle scones, and the air
smelled sweet and savory all at the same time. We picked a table
against the front window and sat down together. Girard looked even
more handsome in the candlelight—the shadows of the room brought
out the sharp, strong features of his face. I wondered what a
passerby might think, spotting us. Would they think that Girard was
slumming it with an average looking girl like me?

I pushed the self deprecating thought of out
my mind as the waiter appeared. Girard ordered us cappuccinos and
croissants, then turned his attention squarely back to me.

“Will you stay in Paris, now that you’re
here?” he asked. “I do hope you say yes.”

“I’m actually headed back to New York in a
couple of weeks,” I said. “I’m studying at NYU.”

“Ah,” he said, “I see. Well, we’ll just have
to make this time count.”

“I suppose we will,” I said. “Your, uh,
employee said that you were celebrating some big acquisition?”

“Oh, yes,” Girard said. “Those kids get so
excited about making money. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even
expecting the company to take off. I started it with the money I
made serving in the Foreign Legion, wages and bonuses, nothing
much.”

“You were in the military?” I asked.

“Yes, I was,” Girard said. “That’s why I
reacted the way I did when you were being harassed on the train. I
can’t stand by if someone is in danger. Especially not an innocent
civilian as beautiful as yourself.”

It made perfect sense. He’d handled that
situation professionally, with a cool head. I was even more
impressed upon hearing where that training had come from. “So
you’re an accidental millionaire?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say accidental,” Girard smiled.
“I’ve done very well for myself, it’s true. But money has never
been the most important thing in my life.”

“Well, that’s because you have it,” I said
jokingly.

“I didn’t always,” Girard said. “I grew up
very poor, actually.”

“So did I,” I said softly. “Well, technically
I’m still poor. I managed to get away without paying student loans,
thank god, but once I’m out of school it’s going to be an
interesting ride.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Girard said, “You
managed to get a job at Corelli. That’s not nothing.”

The waiter returned with our order, placed
the little foaming cups and flaky pastries down before us. Girard
broke off a piece of croissant and held it out toward me. It took
me a moment to realize that he was offering it to me. I suffered a
little moment of indecision. Should I pluck it out of his fingers
and take it with my teeth? Would he think me incredibly forward if
I went with the latter? Maybe I’d been misreading all his signals
and he was just being nice to me as a friend.

But then I remembered that I was in Paris in
the summer of my twenty-third year, and that an unbelievably
handsome good samaritan was sitting across from me with a charming
smile on his face. Perhaps I was also emboldened by the Martinis I
had been polishing off back at the club.

Fuck it,
I thought, and leaned
forward. I ate the pastry from his hand, looking into his eyes and
I closed my teeth down on it. I lingered there for just a moment
before leaning back. The croissant melted in my mouth, the buttery
flakes were absolutely delicious. But the bite was not nearly as
delicious as the man that had offered it. I smiled across the table
at him, and he returned my gaze. It felt as though we’d come to an
understanding, and perhaps we had.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he prompted,
taking a sip of his cappuccino.

“Well,” I said, “I’m from Pennsylvania,
originally. I share an apartment on the Lower East Side with my
friends Ashlee and Dara. They were with me at the club—the ones
flirting shamelessly with you. I’m studying international marketing
at NYU. I love to run, especially in the morning. I love the
arts—theatre, film, museums. I wish I could play the violin.”

“Maybe your boyfriend could buy you some
lessons?” Girard suggested. We grinned at the inelegant segue.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I clarified, my
heart pounding.

“That’s good,” Girard said.

“Will your wife mind your taking me out so
late at night?” I replied.

“She might if she existed,” Girard
answered.

“How about your girlfriend?”

“Haven’t got one.”

“How about Monica,” I said pointedly.

“She’ll have more fun busting balls at the
club than she would chaperoning us, I’m sure,” Girard said. I was
glad that her hold on him didn’t seem to be as strong as I’d
feared. Still, the look in her eye as we’d walked away at the
club...there was something I didn’t trust about her.

We finished up our treats, chatting about
anything and everything that came to mind. I found myself talking
to Girard like an old friend, rather than as a supplicant to a god.
Even though I’d spent all those months building him up into a
towering figure in my imagination, he was turning out to be an even
better companion in real life. He was utterly unpretentious,
confident but not cocky, and seemed to be genuinely interested in
the things I had to say. In short, he seemed far too good to be
true. We picked ourselves up to leave, thanked the waiter, and
headed back out into the night.

“I suppose I’ll be turning in,” I said.

“Let me walk you,” Girard replied.

“Sure,” I said, and took his arm once more.
As we tripped along the darkened streets, I looked up at his
perfect profile in wonder. As I gazed at him, a sudden thought
bombarded my mind. When we arrived at my loft, would I ask him up?
Was that even something that I knew how to do? I had certainly
never done it before. Was there some kind of protocol that I was
supposed to follow for situations like this?

I worried all the way back to my front door,
my mind reeling with what in the world I was supposed to do next.
We stopped on the sidewalk in front of my apartment and fell
silent. In a crisis of indecision, I looked up into Girard’s eyes.
He was returning my gaze with those deep, intelligent eyes. As
inexperienced as I was, I could see the desire welling in them. A
throbbing need began to pulse through my body—it was a sensation I
had never felt before. As I opened my mouth to stutter something or
other, Girard brought his lips down hard upon mine.

The kiss was intense, searching, and
masterful. Girard’s strong mouth pushed mine open, and I happily
matched my movements to his. His sure tongue stroked mine, and I
felt as though I could drown in that single moment. We stood
together on the darkened street, losing ourselves in this
miraculous contact, this clandestine kiss. I grabbed hold of his
lapels, surprised by my gumption, and flicked my tongue against
his. A tiny little shudder ran through his body, and I felt like I
would have let him take me right there on the sidewalk.