Icy Pretty Love (22 page)

"Despite what many have described as a sharp tongue, I've always known him to be brilliant, daring, and creative in his business proposals. As a man getting older, I can't help but look to the future of my company, one born in a different age and therefore, some may say, maladapted to this one. But I believe the right person, with the right ideas, could bring it to the helm again."

The old man's eyes are shining. I glance past Cohen and spot Claude, fuming in the corner with his tie disarranged. As I watch, he knocks back a full glass of wine, the first time I've seen a Parisian do anything of the sort. The French drink, but they don't get drunk.

"Cohen Ashworth," LeCrue says, switching fully to English. "Please step forward."

The crowd parts, and Cohen walks forward to stand next to LeCrue, his face betraying no sign of anxiety or excitement. There's only the proud angle of his shoulders and cool calculation in his eyes. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with my own sense of pride, and I don't know why. He's not mine. He never will be.

LeCrue turns to face him, his voice growing quieter. In order to hear, I have to sneak forward and wedge myself between a tall woman in electric green and a short man in fuchsia.

"I have always thought of you as a son to me," says LeCrue. "I know you have faced challenges. I have worried at times, Cohen. But you have proven to me that you've become a man I can truly be proud of. A man who will make an excellent husband, and - one can hope - father, someday."

He gestures toward me again, and I smile weakly. I try to picture Cohen in a tuxedo in a church, or on a living room floor, surrounded by baby toys. I expect it to be impossible, but I'm unnerved at how easily the images come to me.

People are smiling at me now, and I attempt to summon the proper loving blush. But it's hard. It's hard because all of these people are believing in a fairy tale that never existed.

"So," LeCrue says, his voice growing louder again, "I have decided to put you at the helm of my company, Cohen Ashworth, as a sign of my deep trust in you."

There's a smattering of applause that drowns out the delicate tinking in the back of the room. I look over my shoulder. Claude has broken the glass in his hand, and a waiter is fussing over him, but he's too busy staring at Cohen with pure hatred to pay the man any attention.

Cohen steps forward and shakes LeCrue's hand.

There's a moment of silence. I find myself biting my lip. Please don't let him say anything mean or smug, please please please...

He glances up. His eyes find mine briefly. I nod at him, smiling a little. He smiles back, tentatively, before turning back to LeCrue.

"Thank you," he says. "But I refuse."

Refuse?! After everything he's gone through to gain control of that company? Apparently I'm not the only one knowledgeable of Cohen's long-standing desire, because a gasp ripples around the room. I guess everyone here understands English after all.

LeCrue's smile fades. "Refuse? What do you mean?"

"I appreciate the trust you've placed in me." Cohen's gaze dips again toward the crowd behind them. He's not the type of person to enjoy speaking when there are this many pairs of ears listening. "But I can't accept your offer. Not because of anything you've done, but because of my own actions. I've lied to you."

No. No way. There is absolutely no way in hell he'd pull this now. Cohen Ashworth could never be so...so noble.

"Georgette Montgomery is not my fiancé," he says. "In fact, there is no Georgette Montgomery."

I can feel myself going pink up to my ears. People swivel to look at me again, though this time their expressions are considerably less affectionate. I waggle my fingers in a feeble wave.

"Her name is Rae," he says, slowly but determinedly. "She's a woman from the U.S. who was hired to act as my fiancé, in the hopes that you would see me as stable enough to buy your company. It was a ruse from the beginning. I'm sorry."

I let out a tiny breath. I don't think I could have handled it if Cohen had added the little tidbit about where his father found me in the first place. Let them think I'm some fancy con artist. Hey, actually, that's not too bad of a thought. Rae Grove, the super-cool secret agent—

Wait, what am I thinking? I look desperately toward the front of the room. Cohen, what are you doing?

"So to all of you who enjoyed the thought that I was finally the kind of person whom a woman could love, I'm sorry to disappoint," he says. A few feet over, Jean's eyes are wide with shock. "Her time was purchased, not given. And I doubt any price could have been high enough to endure that time with me."

His ironic smile is back, but nobody's joining in. My heart shreds itself a little. Okay, yeah, I've been paid to be here, but it's not like...it's not like I didn't enjoy any of it.

"I'm clearly not the right man to steer your company in a new direction," Cohen tells LeCrue. "Your son, though, I've heard have some interesting ideas recently. You ought to talk to him about it."

And then he turns. The crowd parts in front of him in a wave of silent shock. Except for one person. Annabelle stands in his way, hair a bit wilder than normal, a spot of shrimp sauce above her upper lip.

"But that's impossible," she says in such a low voice that I can barely hear her. "Everything you said is impossible. I...I researched Georgette. She has a paper trail—"

"You don't think I would have undertaken such a lie without assurances our tracks would be covered?" Cohen snorts, but then he blinks and shakes his head. "Sorry. What I mean to say is, it's not surprising you were fooled."

Annabelle's head swings over to my direction. Her face is so wide open with surprise that I almost want to laugh. She'd never in a million years imagined she could be tricked like that.

"Three cheers for honesty," a voice blusters in. It's Claude, holding up a new and unbroken champagne flute and looking utterly delighted. "I, for one, commend Cohen's forthrightness. I propose a toast!"

No one joins in. Mr. LeCrue is standing still, his face growing gradually redder. Cohen walks forward, takes me by the arm, and leads me toward the door.

"Do you know what you're doing?" I whisper. The silence is so overwhelming that I have to do it very quietly.

"I hope so," he whispers back.

And then we're outside on the lawn, a dark swathe of emerald in the moonlight. Cohen types something on his phone, and I know he's telling Geoff to come early. Which means he didn't plan this in advance.

"Cohen—" I start, but before I can finish my sentence, he's kissing me.

Kissing me hard, ferociously, as if his last reservations have finally been stripped away. All the tension he must have been holding back bleeds out of him in one passionate embrace. I immediately forget everything I was going to say. My world contracts and zooms in on the sensation of his lips on mine, warm and delicious.

Finally he breaks away. I wobble a little.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I needed that."

So did I, though I hadn't known it. I clear my throat and I try to act like I'm at least somewhat in command of my faculties. "Cohen, are you sure you want to do this? You're throwing away everything."

A little smile curves his lips. "Well, it's a bit too late to change my mind, don't you think?"

He's got a point.

He tilts his head back and gazes at the sky. "Purchasing LeCrue's company was always my father's idea for me. It was the step he wanted me to take, to prove to him...a lot of things. I never really stopped to consider why I wanted it myself. And when I finally did stop to think about it, I realized...I didn't want it after all."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he says. "I'm actually surprised at how easy it was. You spend years planning your life around one thing, and when you don't end up getting it, it's amazing how little it matters."

He laughs. That fantastic sound. I want to make it my ringtone.

I shake my head to clear it. "But you told them about me. Won't they be mad at you? Like, really mad?"

"Probably," says Cohen. "But it's better than..."

He trails off.

"Better than what?"

He gives a crooked smile. "Better than them all admiring me for being able to win the love of someone like you, when in reality I'm not the type of person capable of that at all."

I swallow. "Okay, so maybe Georgette Montgomery might not want to hang out with you. But Rae Grove does."

He brushes my cheek gently with the back of his hand, and then takes it away. "Rae Grove is getting paid for every minute she spends with me."

That makes me so sad that the easiest thing to do is get angry. "What do you expect me to do, Cohen? Say, nah, forget the money, your company's been more than enough? Well, yeah, I've loved getting to know you, Cohen, and I've loved being with you, way more than I expected to, but I still need money to start my new life, so—"

"Wait," he interrupts. "Say that again."

"I still need money to start my new life, so...?"

"No. The other thing." His eyes are wide. "You've loved this?"

I throw up my hands. "Of course I have! It's been really fun! Going to the Eiffel tower with you, and riding the Ferris wheel, and getting scared in the catacombs, and getting to eat good French food with you...of course I loved it!"

"But you've been with me."

"Yeah, that was the best part!"

My exasperated exclamation fades into silence. Suddenly I'm embarrassed. "Well, maybe not the best part. Getting to look out over all of Paris from the top of the Eiffel tower was awesome. And I've had some really good cheese."

"Fair enough," he says, nodding. "I could never expect to measure up to some of the cheese here."

"It's goddamn delicious cheese."

"Yeah."

The sleek black car pulls around the corner. We get in, one after the other, and the door closes. The car pulls away from the curb.

After a while, Cohen clears his throat. "Your obligation is fulfilled, anyway. LeCrue offered to sell. You don't have anything left to do here."

"What are you saying?" I frown.      

"You're free to leave, is what I'm saying." He props his elbow against the window and doesn't look at me. "You'll be paid the full amount, of course. But I won't hold it against you if you decide to go and start your new life a week early. Your work here is done, after all."

"Don't be an idiot!"

His elbow slips. My outburst surprised him.

"I mean," I amend hastily, "I still haven't been to the Louvre. Only a true loser would leave Paris without going to the Louvre. That would just be embarrassing. And...I'd say your niceness lessons aren't done yet. I saw the way you snapped at Annabelle today. You clearly need a couple refreshers."

A smile begins on his face. "Naturally."

I stretch, yawning. "Basically, I don't see that my work is done yet. So I guess I better stay for the last week. There's no way around it, to be honest."

"Ah." He nods with mock-seriousness. "Perhaps I should include a bonus in your payment to make up for the extra lessons. They weren't included in the original agreement."

His hand falls, almost incidentally, to rest on my thigh. A familiar electricity begins to crackle within me.

"Oh? And what would that be?" I ask with an attempt at casualness.

When we get home, he shows me.

~13~

Later, when we're lying in bed by ourselves, minus clothes, I roll over and tuck myself into the nook between his shoulder and his arm. "You know what I've noticed?" I murmur into his skin.

"Hmmm?" The sound is low and comforting.

"You haven't tried to go out once since I caught you at it. I thought I'd be waking up constantly to your sneaky ass trying to leave the apartment at four in the morning, but my sleep hasn't been disturbed once. You haven't just been extra careful about it, have you?"

"As if I could get past you." He plants a kiss on the top of my head. "No, I haven't gone. I can't pretend I haven't felt the desire to, now and then, but it's more of a silent twinge than the roaring need it used to be. In fact, it's been fading for a while. That night you caught me was more my attempt to see if it was really something I still wanted in my life after all. The need's been fading, ever since..."

"Ever since what?" I prompt.

He kisses a burning line from my neck to my collarbone. "Ever since I found a new kind of high."

"So you're addicted to me?" I laugh.

"Completely."

"Good thing you're getting some practice in going cold turkey, then, because in a week you'll—" I stop. What was meant to be a joke falls flat on its face.

The quiet grows and grows until Cohen says, "Let's not talk about that right now."

I want to ask, how can you be addicted to me when you're the one who insisted a relationship was out of the question? But I don't. "You're right. Let's talk about something else. Like what you're going to do now that you don't have LeCrue's company to work on."

"Ah. Right," he says. "Who knows? Maybe I'll take some time off. Take a painting class. Discover my passion, like you said."

I expect him to laugh sardonically, but he's not being sarcastic. My heart swells. I'm so stupidly proud of him.

"If I'm going to spend my life building something, it has to be something I made myself," he says under his breath. "Something with my own mark on it. Not someone else's company shoved into my arms by my father."

"Amen to that." I run my hand over his chest, admiring the slight grooves and lifts of his skin. "You could start a teddy bear company."

"They could be teddy bears with really scary expressions that nobody wants to hug," he agrees.

"And when you squeeze their paws, they insult you."

"Parents will buy them for their kids as a punishment when they've been bad."

"Hey, who knows? This could be the next Build-a-Bear."

We both laugh.

I let myself settle into the quiet rhythm of his breath. It's so dark and peaceful, yet I don't want to sleep. I want to savor every moment I get to spend here. As dumb as it sounds.