Mistress for Hire (10 page)

“Of course. I just can’t afford them.”

“You can, now. Get your coat.”

Nikki glanced at her watch. “The shops aren’t open yet.”

“I’ve already called. They’ll be waiting.”

Marco whisked them off to an optometrist’s shop and it was clear Gérard had pulled strings as they were the only customers in the store.

After her order of contacts and glasses was complete, Gérard said goodbye at the curb as he glanced at his watch. He gave her a double take. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“Thank you,” she stammered. A blush heated her cheeks under his perusal. How easily he threw her off kilter.

With no more compliments, he announced, “We have two important dinners coming up. Didier will meet you at the store for dress fittings.”

“Didier could pick them out for me.” One of the things she’d found so wonderful about her new clothes was that she didn’t have to shop for them. Unless it was food, Nikki found shopping tedious.

Gérard raised an eyebrow. “You made it very clear last night you wanted more of a say in the decisions that affect you.”

“The decisions that matter,” she said crisply.

“This does matter,” he replied just as tartly. “The President of France and several dignitaries will be there. Choose wisely.”

“And if I don’t?” Nikki thrust up her chin in defiance. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps to get a reaction from him. Anything was better than this cold efficiency that had replaced the intimate warmth between them.

A corner of his mouth curved up. “I have utmost faith in your abilities.” He spun on his heel and walked away.

Chapter 12

For several days, Nikki eased into the rhythm of the office. Louisa reduced her own workload as she got ready for a vacation and Nikki scrambled to pick up the burden. Phone calls, document creation, keeping Gérard’s calendar, and a multitude of other duties kept her busy. The most enjoyable and challenging task was the translation work for Gérard’s expanding empire. Several times a day, Nikki would talk to Mr. Sanford until finally he asked her to call him Bubba and gave her his home number.

“Because of the time difference, sugar pie. Sometimes you’re gonna have ta call me at home.”

Nikki was charmed by the endearments and thought of Bubba as a voice from home.

“Aren’t you two getting friendly,” Gérard remarked after one long and entertaining call. His eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“I like him. He sounds like a grandpa.” Which she’d never had, but could certainly imagine. If only Mimi were alive to meet Bubba. She was sure they would get along famously. “When we, I mean you, go visit, he wants to have a big family barbeque. Sounds like fun.”

“I never mix business and pleasure.” His gaze didn’t meet hers as he shuffled through the files on her desk.

Ha! What a lie
. And maybe the reason He’d been so grumpy of late. She sighed and chewed her lip. How easily she could forget the problem hanging over them like the blade of a guillotine.

“I won’t be home tonight. Please tell Jean-Luc a meeting has come up.”

“You’ve been out every night.”

“Miss me?” The frown disappeared, replaced by a slight teasing smile.

“No.” This time she told her own lie. “This way, there’s more of Jean-Luc’s food for me.” She now understood the benefits of a personal chef. And surprisingly, had felt no compunction to cook for herself.

Gérard winked. “I do have an excellent instinct for staff.”

The phone rang and she mulled over his comment as she answered. He’d avoided her since the morning at the optometrist. Clearly, she’d been reduced from mistress to staff.

He’d spent most of the time over the weekend at the office or in his greenhouse, making it perfectly clear he wanted to be left alone. She’d walked the streets of Paris, marveling at the many bridges over the Seine. She went up the Eiffel Tower, her stomach lurching as the elevator quickly ascended. All nationalities of tourists milled about and she’d found herself inordinately pleased when an American group mistook her for French.

On Sunday,
Madame
Guiscard invited her to the bakery and put her to work mixing large batches of dough and filling éclairs. By mid-afternoon, Nikki’s back and wrists ached from the monotonous duties. After all that, Gérard wasn’t home to enjoy the product of her labor. Even Jean-Luc and Didier had disappeared. Nikki let Joan Jett lick pastry crumbs off her fingers as she watched TV and ate the entire box of pastries.

A French cooking show came on the screen. Clearly, a repeat from the spring, the chef contestants stood outside, sweating in the brilliant sunshine under flags of France and other nations. Bicycles and picnic baskets were scattered at their feet. They were to create a portable, gourmet picnic. The host introduced the judges and there stood Gérard, his presence dwarfing the other two judges. She gasped and leaned forward, intently following the show. Gérard was fair, but picky. His nostrils flared over a chef’s argumentative manner and he looked like a boxer ready to take down his opponent. She bounced back and forth across the room, anxious for him to arrive home so she could grill him on the experience. A text message came as the clock ticked toward midnight. “Flying to New York. Be back end of the week.” If Nikki didn’t know better, she’d think the man was avoiding her.

Gérard rubbed his eyes, itchy with fatigue. He was seriously contemplating a fit of French temper. He’d never walked out on a taping before, but this felt like a colossal waste of time. Thankfully, the show in Paris had wrapped up at the end of the summer and he’d only agreed to this guest spot as a favor to a friend. He’d never noticed how much time he spent simply waiting on set. How much time he now thought about Nikki—and how many times he’d stopped himself from calling her.

“Do it over,” he said to the show hostess.

“What?” He suspected she had more than coffee in her cup.

“Do. It. Over. If I’m going to judge a contest, then I have to have something to judge. Every single one of these dishes is awful.
Insipid
. You want me on tape, then everyone has to do it over.”

The show hostess scowled, but he could see all the contestants sighing in relief. They knew they’d all botched it and didn’t want to be criticized on television. The director stepped in and agreed with him, making some changes to the challenge to make it realistic. He shook his head and turned away as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

A text from Nikki about new business. He leaves town for a week and she finds investors literally on the streets of Paris. Translating for American tourists while out shopping. He smiled and quickly texted back. One of the best hires he’d ever made. His smile faded as he thought of how much more she’d become than merely an assistant. He missed her smile. The way her eyes lit up over a new idea. He fingered a box of peridot earrings in his pocket. He would owe her a lot more than earrings if she was pregnant. Would she know by now?

“Gérard, let’s go wait in the green room.” The hostess took his arm, her perfume a cloying offense. He thought of Nikki’s subtle perfume, one he couldn’t smell until he was close enough to kiss her.

Gérard turned to the director. “I’ll do one more take and that’s it. I have better things to do with my time.”

Nikki’s cell phone buzzed in the dark of the morning. She leapt out of bed, stumbling over the couch.

“I need you at the office. Now.”

He’s back! He needs me!

Her stomach fluttered.
The illuminated time read 6:05 AM. She hurried to get dressed and rushed downstairs to a grinning Marco.

“It is good to have the boss back,
oui
?”

“Yes, Marco!
Oui!
”

Her mind raced as the car passed the grand illuminated buildings of the Louvre. All week, their phone calls, texts, and emails had been very professional, putting Nikki on pins and needles anticipating his homecoming. She opened the office door with trembling hands, her nervous stomach now in knots.

Gérard closed the purple file folder she’d put on his desk the previous day. He pushed his reading glasses up on his forehead and gave her a tired smile. Her heart lurched to see the dark circles under his eyes. She wanted to soothe the lines from between his brows.

He nodded toward the file. “You’ve been busy.”

He woke her at the crack of dawn to talk about new investors?
She sat down, deflated. “I thought you might find their proposal interesting.”

Tossing his glasses on the desk, he stretched, his muscles flexing and bunching under a casual gray sweater. He stood, revealing well-worn jeans.
Gérard never dressed down for the office.
Nikki toyed with her suit jacket button as he sat on the corner of the desk. His jeans contoured handsomely to his large thighs. Her mouth went dry.

“I find a lot of your work . . .” He paused for a heartbeat. “. . . stimulating.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. She shifted against the leather chair, her brain shutting down in his presence. He leaned over and pulled her from her seat, his hands curving around her waist to hold her close.

“You smell wonderful.” He kissed the corner of her jaw, breathing deeply.

Nikki wrapped her arms around his shoulders, melting against him. He smelled pretty nice himself, a citrus-woodsy aftershave. “Welcome home.”

His arms tightened around her. “It feels good to be here.”

They held each other, a companionable calm settling over them. “We need to talk,” he announced.

Her stomach sank.

He gave her a quick kiss, pulled away, then tightened his arms around her once more, his mouth meeting hers again. “Why do I ever think I can stop with one?” he murmured against her lips before the kiss deepened. Like champagne bubbles rising, Nikki’s mood lifted. To be in his arms again was heaven. His kisses were tender, gentle and she kissed him back eagerly, her body welcoming him home as surely as her words had. Something between them felt so right, as if her life had been suspended in time until they’d met. Now, it raced forward and she wanted to spend every moment with him. She pulled away at the realization. Surely, it was the kisses talking.

He gave her a puzzled look, his thumbs splaying over her cheekbones. “I want you to be happy.”

Nikki started. “With those kinds of kisses, I’m very happy.” She smiled and placed her hands on his.

Gérard moved away, putting the desk between them. She stood, feeling lost, her stomach sinking again to settle into a hard knot.

“You wanted to work in a bakery when you first came to Paris. I can make that happen.”

“But I thought you needed an assistant?” She was finally getting the hang of the job, and finding she liked it, very much. But then, perhaps Gérard didn’t want her around every day. Perhaps she was merely a mistress he could toss aside at any time. A possibly pregnant mistress who would muck everything up as the gossip in the office reached a crescendo. Nikki sat down, her hand instinctively covering her belly. Gérard frowned and Nikki’s hand fisted. She tried not to show her confusion.

“I do need an assistant. And I do ask that you accompany me to the fundraiser tonight.” He gave her a slight smile. “Perhaps you’ll even make some contacts to further your pastry career. There’ll be several top chefs attending.”

“Any of the ones from your show?”

“So you did see it? There may be a few. We’re looking to bring them on as investors.”

“Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

“Not now. Except for occasional guest appearances, my television career is over. It takes too much time. Are you disappointed?” His eyes narrowed.

“Of course not. But won’t you miss the excitement?”

“I have other ways to entertain myself.” The words were flip, but his face was grim, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He sat down, twirled a pencil in his fingers. “It’s selfish of me to delay your dreams.” He tossed the pencil down, the furrow between his brows deepening. “I have talked to
Tante
Emmaline, and she is willing to take you on as an apprentice. You will continue to receive the same salary and remain in my house. I will be leaving for the States tomorrow for a month so you will start then.”

Nikki sat stunned. Gérard had handed her a dream on a silver platter, except now she didn’t know if she wanted it. Was he kicking her to the curb? Her hands trembled as she wiped her damp palms on her trousers. “What about our contract?”

His eyebrows rose. “Do you want this in writing?”

Her chin went up. “Yes. I do.” If a life grew within her, she needed to protect her child. He had mentioned marriage in the heat of their argument a week ago. Thankfully, he was not harping on that this morning because the entire notion of it scared her.

Gérard sat back, the chair creaking under him. Looking Nikki in the eye, he announced, “I will take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of!” Nikki stood up, her legs feeling as if they would collapse under her. She had to get out of his office before she started crying. She’d gotten what she wanted—she ought to be jumping for joy.

Suddenly he stood before her, his hands on her shoulders. The phone rang and Nikki jumped.

“Leave it.”

She hesitated. “It could be important.”

“This is more important.” He tilted her chin up so her eyes met his. “I take care of my responsibilities, Nikki. No child of mine will lack for anything.”

His cell phone buzzed, dancing across his desk.

“I understand.” Her heart sank. They’d made a mistake, she was a responsibility, and it was all over between them. “You better get your call.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” His tone brooked no argument as he reached for his phone.

She watched Gérard’s whole body stiffen as he talked on the phone. “We have no comment at this time,” he barked and threw the phone on his desk. “Get the rest of the staff down here. Now. There’s a problem at Sanford’s farm.”

“Was that him?” Nikki glanced at the international time zone clocks on the wall. “It’s one o’clock in the morning there.”

“No. A reporter. Apparently an outbreak of salmonella was discovered yesterday and your friend,
Monsieur
Sanford, forgot to tell us.”

Gérard charged back into business-mode as if it were a battleground. Messages from the United States began piling up and by noon, six o’clock in the morning in the U.S., all the phone lines started ringing. Lawyers, investors, and people from the packaging plant all had to be talked to. The first batch of Sanford’s packaged spinach was found to be tainted with salmonella. Inspectors had found it before it rolled out to the public, but time and money had been lost because Sanford hadn’t told them right away. To make matters worse, a reporter had been on-site, researching organic food start-up companies. Sanford made an off-hand remark about the compost from the worms spoiling the crop. The reporter called again and asked pointed questions. The public-relations liaison tried to run interference and mangled the spin on it. Sanford’s lawyers accused Beauvais Investments of sabotage. Nikki’s head spun at the rumors, innuendo, and downright lies popping up. As the frenzy escalated, Gérard barked orders on the phone to some, and held long, involved discussions with others.

Nikki laid a stack of faxed documents on Gérard’s desk to sign. He motioned her to stay as he continued his phone conversation. She watched how his hands held his pen, writing in bold, strong, decisive strokes, remembering how assuredly those same hands had held her. He tossed down the pen and signaled her to take the papers. As she picked them up, his hand grazed her arm, the heat coursing through her faster than the pop of a gas flame on a stove. She bit her lip, not looking at him, as she exited his office, her fingers automatically going to the bridge of her nose to push up her non-existent glasses. The papers spilled over her desk as she sank onto her chair, her fingers pressed tightly over her mouth. This would not do at all. How could she get any work done if her whole body responded to one accidental touch? He was right. She needed to leave.