The Billionaire’s Desires Vol.12-13 (16 page)

Not quite that simple...

Strategy number one: ignore his inappropriate comment.

"Hello, Joseph. Did you get the September schedule for distribution? I checked with Clarence Miller, and everything should be ready on time."

"Great, I'll take a look later. In the meantime, allow me to admire this gorgeous dress that accentuates your eyes so well..."

Strategy number two: make up a life for myself.

"It was a gift from my partner. Thank you for noticing. I'll let him know you liked it."

"Are you married?"

"Not yet, but we probably won't wait too much longer," I say, reassuring myself that some lies are necessary.

"Oh good, I'm still in the running, then! And as you know, I'm in the habit of winning," he says, with an idiotic look that makes me want to vomit.

Strategy number three: retreat before I do something I'll regret.

"Sophie Adam is waiting for me in my office. Have a good day, Joseph."

For three days, I've been tiptoeing around the office at King Productions. But trying to avoid Wilson's desperate advances is not what exhausts me most. Or what keeps me up at night. Clooney is just a minor annoyance. The problem is of a whole other caliber. It's called Vadim King and it's tormenting me more than I'm willing to admit. Our last conversation – by email – was over seventy-two hours ago and it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. And that's nothing compared to the obsessive images being projected on a loop in my mind. Our eyes meeting during that meeting – cold, then hot, his hand on Grace Montgomery's cheek, his victorious smile when he caught me in my jealousy. Thinking back on it makes me want to slap him. Or push him against a wall and touch him, feel him, kiss him. Conclusion: I'm screwed. And this is only the beginning.

The only gleam of (platonic) joy and excitement at the moment is that my new office is finished! I can finally unpack my boxes and take over my sundrenched haven, radiating positive vibes. I feel safe and in harmony here. Maybe because Vadim King and Joseph Wilson haven't set foot in here yet. The huge white walls with gray baseboards make me feel peaceful. The classic, but contemporary furniture with Zen influences brings my blood pressure down and helps give me a new outlook. Things are going to be okay. Working with Vadim is not going to be as difficult as I thought. I've been worrying for nothing, I'm sure.

The line between positive thinking and lying to oneself is a thin one...

Okay, fine, it'll be a long road, but nothing is impossible. My father's condescending voice chooses this opportune moment to pop into my head...

"Dear daughter, don't make excuses, don't lament. Where there's a will, there's a way!"

Edward Lancaster, world champion know-it-all.

I haven't spoken to my moody CEO for three days. I'm not sure where I stand with him. He distracts and disturbs me. I don't recognize myself. We've crossed paths a few times, but haven't looked at or talked to each other. He's in the elevator? I'll take the stairs. At the end of the hall? I suddenly realize I need to go back the other way. He's in the cafeteria, the fast food place or the restaurant around the corner? I'm not really hungry, anyway. In a meeting? I've decided my presence is optional. But hiding from him is getting me nowhere. I have to face the facts: this little game of cat and mouse cannot go on any longer. Not if I want to keep my job.

Not if I want to win back the only man who ever made me want to give up everything for him...

Your job, Alma, think of your job!

This job sort of fell out of the sky, but in just a few weeks I had no trouble exceeding their expectations. And I was proud to have a job that was also my passion. It was exactly that gut feeling that made me explore a career in cinema. I was never really tempted by a career in front of the camera. Or rather, I didn't have the talent required to be an actress. But a life behind the camera, that's my calling. Alma Lancaster, film director. I could see it already. But after a year of university in the United States, my sudden return to France pushed me away from the path I had set out to take. A good business school, a major in photography, cinema and sound, and I got my degree. I was in search of a job, preferably in a major production company. At thirty, after various experiences – some more memorable than others – I've made it. Assistant Director at King France. At the top of the bill. Or almost...

"Nice dodges, Alma. But a bit too predictable for my taste," Vadim says after he opens my office door without knocking.

"Please come in!" I say in a high voice, annoyed by the intrusion."What are you talking about?"

"The fact that you've been very obviously avoiding me for several days. Is something wrong?" he asks, a huge grin on his face.

That stupid smile...

That gorgeous smile...

"I'm very busy, that's all."

"Too busy to participate in management meetings?"

"I've had some last minute details to take care of."

"What kind of details?"

"The projected budgets."

"For?"

"Vadim, what is it you want exactly?"

"The truth."

Are you playing dumb on purpose?!

I'm avoiding you because you drive me crazy! Because I never should have left you! Because imagining you with someone else is absolutely unbearable!

"The truth about what?"

"Why you are avoiding me."

I didn't expect him to be so direct. I'm shaking from head to toe. I try to formulate a sentence, get out a few words, but nothing comes. I'm afraid of saying too much, or not saying enough. I might just spill out all my deep and sincere feelings, swear I've forgotten nothing, ask him for a second chance. I'm terrified by the thought of what he might say. Terrified that he might reject me. King looks me over, his face tense, but with no trace of animosity. I see the same compassion and goodness in him that had overwhelmed me all those years ago. But I say nothing, praying for something to happen so this one-on-one will be over as quickly as possible. I'm not asking for a miracle. Just a phone call would do. Or a fire alarm. Joseph Wilson to walk in.

This is certainly the first time I've ever wished for him to show up!

My wishes are not granted. The seconds tick by slowly and Vadim is still standing there. I still can't get a word out. Finally, he speaks again, his gray eyes scanning the room.

"Very nice office, Miss Assistant Director," he says softly, as if trying to save me from this uncomfortable situation.

"Oh, I've seen better, but I'll take what I can get," I say, half-smiling.

"Never satisfied. That hasn't changed, I see," he says, running his hand through his hair.

"Still seeking confrontation. That hasn't changed either, apparently."

"How about we stop this little game for two minutes, Alma? What if we said exactly what we were thinking for once?"

His voice changes tone. It becomes husky, cutting. His eyes darken, his features harden. His last sentence was full of reproach. Of pain. Faced with this request, which I take to be an attack, my stupid ego gets the best of me.

"I'm listening," I say, feigning indifference.

"You didn't seem too happy to meet Grace."

"I wasn't prepared."

"To meet the woman in my life?"

"To meet an internationally acclaimed actress."

"It's your job, Alma. Don't try and tell me it's the first time you've met a celebrity."

"That's how I am. I don't like surprises. I'd rather stay on the sideline when I'm... uncomfortable."

"You didn't stay on the sideline when you met me... and yet it seems to me that I scared you."

"That was twelve years ago, it was different. And you and me, it was different."

"So different that you threw it all away to make mommy and daddy happy?" he jeers.

"Fine, what else?" I continue, even colder.

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted to lay your cards on the table, so go ahead. What else?"

"Maximilian Finn told me you ran after me."

Now!

It's now or never, Alma. Swallow your pride and admit you were overwhelmed by seeing him again, that you miss him and that you dream of kissing him, holding him. But the words don't come. Faced with my lack of reaction, he continues, and clarifies...

"After our first meeting. It seems you were looking for me..."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Arcadi," I retort curtly.

"It's King, now."

"Believe me, I haven't forgotten."

"What are you insinuating, Alma? Get some guts and go the whole way, for God's sake!" he yells, walking toward me.

If only he would throw himself at me and kiss me passionately, ferociously. To shut me up, to keep me from saying horrible things. But he stares at me, immobile, and I hear myself rattle off yet another hurtful sentence.

"The man I see in front of me is nothing like the man I loved. Are you happy? Is that clear and direct enough for you?"

"Bravo, you came to that conclusion all by yourself! No need for your entourage to help you make up your mind this time," he says in a hateful voice.

Our scowling faces are almost touching, his breath burns my skin, his eyes pierce into me, his scent attacks me. I want to lunge at him, bite his fleshy lips, run my hands through his hair and pull it to make him scream. I want to prove to him that I'm not what he thinks. I want him more than I ever did before. But I'm not ready to admit that to him. After what I've just heard, I'm not going to give him that satisfaction.

"The exit is that way. Next time you have something to say to me, send your assistant, it will keep us from wasting our time," I say, going toward the door.

"You already wasted my time twelve years ago. It won't happen again, he says," as he walks out.

His words are effective. He wanted to hurt me and he succeeded. As he steps out the door, I feel the tears rising to my eyes. That bastard hit me where it hurts. He managed to knock me out with just a few words.

Hypnotized by what I've just heard, I'm having trouble coming back down to earth. Suddenly Wilson's voice is blaring in my face.

"Mr. King, there you are! I've confirmed our reservation at Fouquet's for lunch. Alma, will you be joining us?"

"Uh, no thank you, Joseph, I have other plans," I say, as naturally as possible, being careful not to look at Vadim.

"Oh, that's really too bad," Wilson simpers."Nothing could make you change your mind?"

"Miss Lancaster has a very busy life. She's not the type to be easily influenced," Vadim adds, full of sarcasm.

"Too busy, if you ask me. I hope you'll eventually accept one of my invitations," Clooney continues, giving me a pathetic wink.

"You are determined, Joseph, no one can argue with that," I say, calmly, watching Vadim's reaction.

A man is hitting on me under his nose, an influential man. Even if he is reprehensible, he is a potential rival and... nothing. Well, not exactly. The billionaire's jaw seems to clench slightly. He looks at his subordinate with an evil eye, but I can't tell if it's out of jealousy or just because he's angry with me. After our conversation, he has his reasons.

"You'll see, Alma, I'll get my candlelit dinner!" Wilson goes on, half joking.

"Until then, it looks like Mr. King is your date. Bon appétit," I say, making it clear the conversation is over.

Vadim walks away without looking back, followed by his graying lap dog.

Niels ditched us at the last minute. For a cute guy, most likely. I meet Clémentine at the end of the day at a tapas bar near Opéra. This time, she's the one who's declared a state of emergency. All I can tell from her message is that my best friend is on the verge of a nervous breakdown...

"Monsters, I'm telling you, I've created monsters!" she proclaims, a glass of white sangria in her hand.

"The apple doesn't fall far..." I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"I couldn't even hold a candle to them, believe me! They aim high, my girls. Oh, yes, very ambitious and determined! And full of imagination! You have to be to empty an entire spray can of gold glitter on the brand new polished concrete countertop. Or to try and dye your hair with pureed carrots. Better yet: they dumped my Givenchy anti-aging cream into the toilet, flushing three hundred euros along with it!"

"Ouch! They've had a busy week..."

"Yes they have. I wasn't particularly difficult at their age. At least, not to the same degree. Anyway, no one would have noticed, my parents were never around."

"Clem, at least you can be proud of that: you haven't repeated the same pattern. You're a good mom."

"Yeah, well those two little hellions better watch out! All that could change..."

I don't believe her for a second, and neither does she. Clémentine might have her weekly crisis, but Madeleine and Séraphine are her whole world.

"I envy you sometimes. For your job, at least."

"Thanks for specifying..."

"Stay-at-home mom – come on, admit it, it’s not very glamorous."

"It's not forever. You'll go back to work someday."

"Yeah, you're right. And then I'll have it all: husband, kids and career. You know how I am: one hard day and I start doubting my entire life," she says, a bit embarrassed to have made such a big deal out of nothing.

"Come on, you can say whatever you want. That's what I'm here for... And for free sangria!"

"Oh really? Are they on the house?" she asks gullibly.

"Yep, the D'Aragon house!" I answer, lifting my glass.

After filling up on potato tortilla, chorizo croquetas and Serrano ham, Vadim comes up again.

Oh joy!

"He dared say that?!" exclaims the voluptuous redhead from across the table.

Yep, go ahead, rub it in...

"Yes, but I only half buy it. He said it because he was angry..."

"It doesn't matter what his reasons were!" she interrupts."Alma, you have to forget about him. I only say it because it's what's best for you."

"Easier said than done."

"I know, but you can't fall back into that. You and Vadim, that was the past. You have to move forward."