The Billionaire’s Valiant Rescue (16 page)

Worry flooded my heart in equal measure as fear. “What happened? Tell me.”

He shook his head, refusing to look at me. “How are you settling in? Your folks must be over the moon to have you home safe and sound, huh?”

“I don’t care about my folks. All I care about is you. Why won’t you talk to me, Jack? What’s wrong?”

He held up his hand in a feeble gesture. “I... talked to my dad, and...”

Panic made my voice sound shrill to my own ears. “What did he tell you? That I’m the daughter of his mortal enemy? I don’t care about that, Jack, and neither should you. It’s got nothing to do with us.”

“I... I don’t know, Gracie. Perhaps we shouldn’t complicate things.”

“Complicate things? What do you mean? Things are perfectly simple. I love you and you love me. Don’t you? Tell me, Jack.”

Morosely, he stared at his feet. “No, I don’t.” Suddenly, he looked up, his face an emotionless mask. “I would like us to remain friends though, Gracie. Great friends. Do you think that’s possible? I would love that very much. Because...” His voice broke, and he blinked. “Oh, Christ. Why is this so fucking hard?”

Tears sprang to my eyes, and the sense of fear and panic had spread throughout my entire body, pinning me to the ground and making my stomach turn cartwheels. It was as if I couldn’t breathe. “Jack,” I cried.

He took my arm. “Look, you better go home, Gracie. You need to rest. The doctor said—”

I yanked myself free from his grasp. “Screw the doctor!” I stabbed at his chest. “And screw you!”

He blinked at the sudden harshness. I was surprised myself. I then punched him as hard as I could, which probably wasn’t hard enough, and stalked off toward the house, angrily swiping at my tears.

Once inside, I slammed the door shut, and stormed through the kitchen en route to the hallway. Drawn by the sound of quarreling voices and slamming doors, Magali stuck her head in.

“What’s going on?”

When she saw my face, she immediately came running over.

“It’s fine,” I muttered, not wanting to draw her into this mess.

“It’s Jack, isn’t it?” she decided, her lips a fierce slash of fury. “That son of a bitch.”

I laughed through my tears. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

She drew me into her arms, and I broke down the moment my head touched her shoulder.

“There, there,” she murmured. “Don’t let that SOB get you down. I’ll poison his food and put itching powder in all of his socks.”

“While you’re at it, could you replace the toilet tissue with sandpaper?”

“Of course I will, honey. The bastard deserves the wrath of a good woman for what he did to you, and wrath is what he’ll get. From now until the end of his life.”

“Better not. I don’t want you to get fired.”

Magali snorted. “Fired! Huh! I’ll fire him. Let’s see him get along without me. He’ll starve a painful death in the gutter once I drop his sorry ass.”

I left the house feeling like an emotional wreck. Though I’d been dumped before, it was the first time my heart had been broken in the process.

I glanced up at the house one last time, knowing I’d never be back here ever again. Two days had been all Jack needed to make me fall in love with him. And five minutes to reduce me to a sobbing wreck.

Before I turned away, I thought I saw a glimpse of Jack through the living room window. The curtain moved a fraction of an inch. Was he watching me?

Then the curtain was drawn aside, and Magali’s cheerful round face appeared. She blew me a goodbye kiss and pushed out her chest and squared her shoulders, then pointed at me. I understood she wanted me to cheer up, so I mimicked her gesture, and we both laughed.

I then waved my final goodbye, and started walking down the street. I needed to walk this off.

I decided to follow Magali’s advice and forget about Jack. I’d managed to forget my own name for a while, so forgetting Jack’s shouldn’t be that difficult.

Jack thought he’d never survive as the days stretched into weeks. He’d figured he’d soon forget all about Gracie Travers, but he’d been sorely mistaken.

She kept occupying his thoughts and dreams of every minute of every day, and when finally he thought he’d discovered the sure-fire way to drive her out of his system, she’d come crashing back again with all the power of hurricane.

After weeks of mooning, Mike had finally suggested the perfect cure.

“Booze, buddy. That’s what I’m talking about. The only way to get over a woman is to imbibe all the alcohol you can find, and then add some more. Once you’re drunk as a skunk, you won’t know a thing about her.”

“And what if I do?”

“Just drink some more. Until you forget who you are, what you are and where you are. I’m telling you. It’s the only way.”

“And once my mind is clear again and the alcohol purged from my system? What if she returns to haunt me?”

Mike—big, blond and loud as always—grimaced. “That would mean the treatment didn’t take and we have to start all over again. Tough, I know.”

“You mean—”

“Booze, bubba! More booze! Keep the liquor flowing until you don’t know your ass from your collarbone.”

It seemed like a reasonable idea to Jack, so he’d gone along with the scheme. Night had fallen, and the two friends had gone on a bender to end all benders, swaying from pub to pub and discotheque to discotheque until they were so far gone, even a passing dog had given them a wide berth.

They were sitting on the pavement on the
Avenue Louise
now, where their wanderings had finally landed them, and had resorted to chanting a medley of popular hit songs.

Jack, though now filled to the brim with the good stuff, discovered to his chagrin that even in this state of mind, he couldn’t get past the simple fact that he still loved Gracie.

“I love her, Mike!” he slurred. “I’m drunk and I love her!”

“Who?” inquired Mike, eyes drooping closed.

“My sister. I’m in love with my baby sister, buddy.”

Mike took the appropriate time to reflect on this, then said, “Who’s your sister?”

“Gracie. I love her and she’s my sister.”

“That’s fine. She’s my sister too.”

This greatly surprised Jack. “She is? How’s that?”

Mike swung out a hand to encompass the sky, now dotted with stars. “We’re all sisters and brothers, bubby. And I love them all.” He prodded Jack’s arm. “You’re my brother and I love you.”

“Aww. That’s so sweet of you. I love you too, brother.”

“See? It’s not so bad. You love me and I love you and...” He frowned, the complications of this line of reasoning threatening to overpower his pickled brain. “Anyway. It’s all good,” he finally concluded a little lamely.

“Not so good, Mike. I love Gracie and I hurt her. I told her to buzz off.”

Mike drew himself up to his full height, eyes still shut closed. “Why did you do a silly thing like that for?”

“I told you. Because she’s my sister!”

This gave Mike pause. “Oh.” After a few minutes of silent reflection, he prodded his friend in the ribs again. “Jack?”

“What.”

“Did I tell you I love you?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Well, just in case I didn’t: I love you, bubby.”

“I love you too, Mike.”

Things went downhill from there, and before long, the two inebriates were whisked up by a patrol car, responding to neighborly noise complaints, and locked up in a comfortable cell in Ixelles police station to sleep off their stupor.

When Jack finally awoke from his sleep of the dead, he was rewarded with both a splitting headache and the sobering realization he’d made a royal fool of himself.

Worse, his love for Gracie hadn’t diminished one liter. On the contrary. If possible, he pined for her even more.

And his mood got an even bigger jolt when the police returned his cell phone and he discovered that in the course of the evening, he’d sent Gracie no less than twenty text messages, indicating he loved her more than life itself, and would she please forgive an old skunk like himself.

Sensibly, the girl of his dreams had ignored them all except the last. With extreme economy and efficiency, she had decided to make matters perfectly clear by advising him to ‘Rot in hell.’

The message had apparently amused Bill Rattner a great deal. His old frenemy had decided to check in on Jack while he slept off his bender and had had a good laugh at his expense by flipping through his phone messages. He’d even attached a Post-it to Jack’s phone thanking him for “Not burning down the station house this time around. Asshole.”

After staring at Gracie’s message for five minutes, Jack crumpled up Rattner’s note and decided that enough was enough. From now on, Gracie Travers was dead to him, no matter how much willpower it took.

And please, for the life of him, no more alcohol or drunken texting.

His dignity having taken a serious wallop, he woke up Mike, and the two men staggered from jail wiser, better men, Jack with but a single purpose in life: forget all about Gracie, and spend the rest of his life far away from her.

In order to accomplish that simple goal, he decided on the spot to vacate his house in Paris, and to permanently move to Brussels.

If only he never saw her again, he might finally be able to flush her from his system.

With a new sense of purpose, he called Kate, his personal secretary, and told her to put his Paris house up for rent, and find him a decent flat in Brussels. No more Carlton for him. It was time to put down some roots in the EU capital.

Jack was feeling miserable again. He’d stayed away from Paris for a couple of weeks, leaving Rufus in Magali’s care, but now business had required him to return to the City of Light, as had his father’s grumbled complaint he never saw his youngest anymore and inquiring whether Jack was going to live under a rock from now on?

Jack had explained that Brussels wasn’t a rock but a major city, but Carter Sr wouldn't’ be appeased. “Brussels is a foul provincial town. Ugly as fuck and probably the filthiest place you can find in that godforsaken part of the world. Why you want to live there frankly beats me.”

“Well, I like it.”

“Better you than me. How a true Parisian can voluntarily go into exile in that vile town is beyond me.”

Now he was sitting in a bar sipping from some horrid green drink, staring at a woman probably more gorgeous than any he’d ever gone out with, and still he couldn’t help feeling sorry for himself.

“Tell me about yourself, Jack. What do you do for a living?” Natasha asked.

“Banker.”

She laughed, though he failed to see what was so funny about his chosen profession.

“I’m a model myself,” she declared. “Mostly nudes.”

If this was intended as a preamble for the more intimate part of the evening, its intention was lost on Jack.

“Oh?”

She licked her lips, and Jack remembered an article he’d once read about women eating almost four pounds of lipstick in their lifetime. He stared at the scarlet lipstick Natasha had smeared on her lips. It went well with her flaming red hair and her remarkable emerald eyes.

“Where do you model? At the academy?”

“Used to. Nowadays I work for a selected group of artists. ”She grinned. “Better pay. And I’ve started to do some shows as well. And shoots, of course. Things,” she concluded with infectious optimism, “are going great.”

He smiled economically. “That’s fine.”

“And how’s business in the banking world?”

He shrugged. He didn’t care one iota about the banking world. “Not too shabby. More money coming in than going out, so I guess that makes us bankers happy.”

She had to laugh again, throwing her head back and eliciting a whoop of mirth. It truly was infectious, and he found his spirits lifting. He took another sip from his cocktail. Perhaps this was the ticket to restoring his equanimity. Having drinks with a funny, pretty girl. Not as pretty as Gracie, of course, but then nobody was.

“I like you, Jack,” she stated with sparkling eyes. “You’re funny.”

“First time anyone has ever called me that. Usually the first thing that comes to mind when describing a banker is stuffy.”

She cocked her head, scrutinizing him. “No, that is not the adjective I’d choose. Hot, perhaps. Smoking, maybe. But stuffy? I’ve seen stuffy shirts, Jack, and you’re not it.” She nodded curtly, her scrutiny completed. “Definitely not.”

“Thanks, I guess. You’re pretty pretty yourself.” He shook his head, the alcohol starting to affect his mental faculties.

She grinned broadly. “Thanks, Jack. No one has ever called me pretty pretty before.”

“I’m sorry, I meant to say—”

She waved a deprecating, perfectly manicured, hand. “It’s fine. Wanna get out of here? I know a great place where we could have some fun.”

Fun was something he desperately craved, so he quickly agreed.

Once they were out on the street, she slung her arm in his and they started walking down the boulevard.

“Where are we going?”

“My place. Where else?”

He felt he should protest. He didn’t really want to get involved with this pretty pretty lady, and he started muttering an excuse, but she yanked him along. “Come on. I just want to show you where I live. You’ll love it, I swear.”

He was too far gone to resist her endearing invitation, so he decided to play along. After all, he had to start dating sooner or later, so why not tonight?

He glanced over at Natasha, and decided she was a nice person, not the cold-blooded vixens he used to date back when he was still Jack the killer bachelor. He didn’t know what kind of Jack he was now, since Gracie had pretty much spoiled him for the dating scene, but he intended to find out.

“All right,” he finally agreed. “Let’s go to your place and have some fun.”

She patted his arm. “Now you’re talking, Jack. Not so stuffy after all, huh?”

He grinned. “I guess not.”

A short taxi ride later, they stepped out into a part of town he hadn’t visited in ages.
Faubourg Saint-Antoine
was where the artistic set lived and worked, and since he hadn’t an artistic bone in his body, he’d rarely hung out here.