The Playboy and the Single Mum (Vintage Love Book 2) (2 page)

“Sir, we’re here.” The driver’s voice penetrated the light doze into which he’d fallen.

Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing he’d taken the time to shave as well as brush his teeth. He took a deep breath and stepped from the vehicle.

Showtime.

The receptionist’s eyes ate him up like he was a chocolate éclair at a dieting convention. He flashed his trademark smile and leaned casually against her desk. “
Bonjour
. I am Daniel; Mr. Petersen is expecting me.” He could speak English with very little accent, but most women seemed to prefer it when he laid on the French charm.

A flush crept up the woman’s neck as she nodded then dialed a number on her desk phone, announcing his arrival. He didn’t miss the small sigh that escaped her lips as he left the room with Mr. Petersen.

The boardroom where he was taken had glass walls on three sides, like being in a fish bowl. The two men already at the table, however, were more like snarling dogs.

Become the face of Destin Designs, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. All you have to do is get your photo taken with gorgeous women dripping off you, wear their clothes, which he had to admit were rather nice, and rake in the money. Not that he needed the money. He made plenty as a driver, and his brother had invested it wisely so Daniel could live off the interest. But the proceeds from this contract were earmarked for something special. And he wanted it kept entirely secret.

“Daniel, so good of you to come when we called,” Mr. Petersen said as he took the seat offered.

Like I had a choice
.

“Gentlemen,” Daniel began, “this whole thing with Jacqueline Lefebre is just a misunderstanding. There was no wrongdoing. You can ask her husband if you don’t believe me.” He shot his famed charming smile around the table, but for once it fell flat.

“Your contract with our client specifically states that you cannot be caught in an indiscretion with a married woman. It’s one thing to be a playboy, another entirely to be a marriage-wrecker,” one of the other men said, the one with the nose hairs almost touching his upper lip.

If they’d shot a rocket up his ass they couldn’t have riled him more. He had no desire to get married, but he had great respect for those who chose to do so. He’d just as soon never drive again as destroy someone’s relationship. But getting angry now wasn’t going to help the situation. He forced the ire down and put ice in his words.

“Jacqueline is a friend. We’ve known each other for many years, even before her marriage.” His jaw ached, trying to keep the smile on his face.

Mr. Petersen spread his arms wide. He was obviously trying to act as the reconciler in this meeting. “If there was nothing wrong, then issue a statement to the press explaining why you were carrying her out of your room in the middle of the night in a state of undress.”

“No.” Daniel sat back in his chair, waiting for the explosion. He wasn’t disappointed.

“No?” Nose-hair guy slammed his fist on the table.

“It’s not my story to tell. And the press has no right to know what goes on in my life once I’m off track.”

“The contract—”

He stood, ready to leave. “Screw your contract. Rip it up. Fire me. Go on.” He didn’t need to take this crap from men whose idea of risk was to use a sand wedge to tee off in their weekly golf game.

“Now, now, Daniel, no need to make any hasty decisions,” Mr. Petersen said. “We’ve come up with a solution to our little situation.” How quickly it had gone from indiscretion to situation.

Daniel narrowed his eyes and tried to read Mr. Petersen’s body language as he fiddled with his pen and avoided Daniel’s gaze. Didn’t take a genius to work out that Daniel wasn’t going to like their
solution
. “What is it?”

“Well, we thought if you had someone to guide you a little more, remind you of our client’s expectations, help you manage the media, that sort of thing, we could avoid any additional instances like the one that just occurred. Only until the race season is over, of course.”

“You’re getting me a … what do you British call them—a nanny? Someone to slap my wrist when I’m naughty, and give me an extra biscuit when I’m good?” Daniel was pretty sure steam was about to come out of his ears. They had to be kidding.

“She’ll be discrete, just hanging around in the background, guiding you when need be. She won’t interfere in your life. Unless you’re about to make another error in judgment.”

She? Probably some near-pensioner they wanted to give a little holiday to before retirement.

“And who is this woman who is to be my shadow conscience?”

Mr. Petersen swiveled in his chair and reached for the phone on the credenza behind him. “Alexandra, please come in now,” he said.

Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face and closed his eyes. This was so freaking unbelievable. He needed to get some rest, then join his team and go over the modifications for the race in Russia.

The conference room door clicked open, and he lifted his protesting eyelids. Hot damn. He’d obviously fallen asleep and was dreaming. Because there was no way these three past-their-prime men could think that the minx before him was going to keep him in line. Either that or they’d discovered his kryptonite. The woman standing hesitantly in the doorway had ‘sexy librarian’ written all over her. Her hair was pulled back severely and huge horn-rimmed glasses framed her molten chocolate eyes. And not even a wine barrel could hide that figure. She had curves that would require shifting into second gear to negotiate successfully.

When his eyes eventually returned to her face, the adoration he normally saw from women was decidedly absent. He walked around the table and held his hand out to her. Up close she was even more beautiful.

Reluctantly she put her hand in his. But rather than shake it, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back. “
Enchanté
, Alexandra.”

He expected a little sigh, maybe a feminine giggle. Instead he got, “Oh, for God’s sake,” as she snatched her hand back.

He leveled his most charming smile at her. And crashed. What, were his lips broken today? He was seriously off his game. If this form carried over to his career, he could wave the championship goodbye. Her eyes spat fire at him. She clearly wasn’t happy with her new assignment.

He, on the other hand, was intrigued by this enigma. The next two months were going to be very interesting indeed.

It was so very wrong for one man to be that incredibly gorgeous and sexy. She’d expected that up close she’d be able to see some flaw, at least a pimple or two that got airbrushed out of the final photographs. But nothing. The man was perfection. It wasn’t fair.

And when his lips touched the back of her hand… No wonder he had women falling at his feet. Imagine if those lips were anyplace more sensitive, say, working their way from her collarbone to her ear before venturing to her own lips.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

From the startled looks on the faces of the four men, she’d said the words out loud. Shit. She didn’t know whether to be angrier with herself for her reaction to what must be his normal way to greet a woman, or him for putting her in this awkward position.

The phone clutched in her left hand began to play the Winnie the Pooh theme song. She didn’t need to look at her screen to know it was Sonia. Her friend hadn’t answered earlier when Lexy called, and for a panicked moment she’d worried that Max was sicker than she’d thought and they were on their way to the hospital. Except she knew Sonia would have contacted her if that had happened. “Excuse me; this call is urgent. I have to take it,” she said before fleeing the room.

It might be bad behavior to run out just after being introduced to someone, but what were they going to do? Fire her? At the moment that would be a safer option than sequestering her with Daniel Michaud for eight weeks.

“Hey, Sonia, just give me a sec to find someplace private.”

Lexy scurried into an empty office and shut the door behind her. Sonia was her last hope to get out of this crazy scheme. If her friend couldn’t look after Max, there was no one else to do it, and therefore no way Lexy could leave.

“Max is fine, Lexy; no need to worry,” Sonia was quick to say. “We took the dog for a walk and the boys got muddy splashing in the puddles, so I threw them in the bath when we got home. That’s why I didn’t answer your call. Sorry if I worried you.”

“It’s not that. I, uh, I have to ask you something. Something huge.”

“What’s up? You know I’d do anything for you, hon.”

“My boss wants me to go on a business trip … for eight weeks, although I’ll probably be able to come back for a few days now and then. I completely understand if you can’t look after Max that long, especially with your baby due soon. But I could pay you twenty grand.”

Sonia burst into tears on the other end of the line. It was too much to look after another rambunctious three-year-old when in the third trimester. How could Lexy even have asked?

“I’m sorry, Sonia. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll tell my boss I can’t go.” Relief and fear washed through her. She had an out, the perfect excuse not to spend two months in Daniel’s intoxicating presence. But now she also had to find a new job.

“No, you’ve got it wrong,” Sonia interjected. “Damn pregnancy hormones. I cry at toilet paper advertisements these days. You don’t know how much you’ve just saved us. Of course we’ll look after Max. You know we love him like our own. And when he’s here Andrew behaves so much better, sometimes I think I should pay you.” There was a muted sound at the other end as Sonia blew her nose. “Mark just called. He’s been made redundant. We’re already behind on the rent. I thought we’d have to move, and so close to the new baby coming. I was frantic. But the 20,000 will keep us going for months. Plus, if you’re away, do you think my mum could stay in your flat? She’s coming for the last month of my pregnancy to look after Andrew. If you’re not going to be upstairs…”

“Of course your mum can stay at my place. But are you sure? I remember how exhausted I was when carrying Max.” Exhausted, terrified, alone.

“Absolutely, and Mark and my mum will be here as well to help. Max will be fine. And it will give you a chance to be a woman for a change and not just a working mum. Maybe even have some fun.”

Fun? She wouldn’t recognize it if it slapped her in the face—or kissed her hand in greeting. She took a deep breath. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I guess I’ll tell my boss I can go.”

At Sonia’s end of the call she could hear two excited boys yell out, “Daddy, you’re home!” Max’s voice was as clear as Sonia’s own son Andrew’s. Lexy had tried several times to stop Max from calling Mark “Daddy.” But Mark had said he didn’t mind, and Andrew was happy to share his dad because Max didn’t have one.

Max did have a dad. But he’d abandoned Lexy before she even knew she was pregnant, so she hadn’t bothered to track him down and tell him he was a father. If he found out, would her ex-husband try to take her son from her? He was rich; he could provide Max with a life she could only dream about. But love was more important than money. Would the courts see it that way? She didn’t want to test that assumption.

And with one of the remaining F1 races in Austin, Texas, she’d be right in Wesley’s back yard. At least she wouldn’t have Max with her. Even if she should run into her ex-husband, he needn’t discover they had a son.

A shiver coursed down her spine and the coffee in her stomach churned.

Have fun? Not bloody likely.

Daniel stood again as she returned to the boardroom. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore his presence.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “You ran out of here like your house was on fire.” There was genuine concern in his eyes. This would be so much easier if he stayed the arrogant international playboy. If he became a supportive man, one who stood at her side and encouraged her, she was in trouble.

“It’s fine. I was just making some arrangements for this business trip.”
Good. Keep it professional, Lexy.

Daniel’s gaze roved over her body again, an appreciative look in his eyes. No one had looked at her like that in a very long time. “Your husband or boyfriend doesn’t object to you coming with me for eight weeks?”

“I have neither,” she answered immediately. “I’ve sorted out what I needed to, so I’m good to go. When do you want me to join you? Russia’s race is in two weeks. I guess you have to be there what, five days before?”

He blinked twice, and his mouth fell open at her comment. “Are you a fan?”

“Alexandra knows everything there is to know about Formula 1,” Mr. Petersen interrupted. Her attention had been so absorbed by Daniel she’d forgotten her boss was still in the room. At least the two other men had left. “Her father is Gian-Franco Camparelli.”

Daniel whistled, obviously impressed. Her father had been team principal at Ferrari during its most successful seasons. But it was probably his reputation as a Lothario that Daniel admired.

“My father and I haven’t spoken in ten years,” she said, crossing her arms. If he was thinking she had an in with the Ferrari team, she wanted to quash that dream right now.

Even Mr. Petersen looked uncomfortable at her vehemence. “Well, I’ll let you two sort out the details. Alexandra, stop by my office before you go. And you’ll need to speak with accounting, too, about where to deposit the 20,000.”

The older man shook hands with Daniel and gave her a wide berth before exiting the room.

“They’re paying you twenty grand to spend two months with me?”

“Hardly seems enough, does it?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off the glass walls. Several people in cubicles outside peered in. She couldn’t repress her smile. At least he had a sense of humor.

Her smile disappeared, however, at his next words. “We need to get to know each other before we go to Russia. Once race week starts, I’m focused on the track. I won’t have time to give you the attention you deserve.”

“Let’s get one thing clear,
Monsieur
Michaud. I don’t want your attention. I’m to do a job—keep you out of trouble—nothing more.”

“Call me Daniel. Can we at least try to be friends? I’m not the ogre you imagine. Most people actually seem to like me.”

The danger was in liking him a little too much. But they were about to spend eight weeks together. It would be too exhausting to keep up this animosity. However, she’d keep her guard up. She’d been fooled by the “nice guy” routine once before. “All right. How soon do you want to get started? And where?”

His gaze caught hers and she lasted two seconds before she had to look away. She’d better stock up on heat-resistant underwear. This guy was hot enough to melt the cotton ones right off her.

“Can you be ready to leave in two days? I have to go up to Oxfordshire and rendezvous with my team. I’ll be in meetings the whole time, and I promise to stay out of the press. We can meet at City Airport on Thursday afternoon and take my brother’s plane to the Loire Valley. He has a house there we can stay in until we travel to Russia next week. I’ve just heard that my apartment in Paris is surrounded by paparazzi.”

“I’ll see you Thursday at two.” She spun on her heel and left the room.

Forty-eight hours. Would that be long enough to etch into her brain that Daniel’s smooth smile hid a womanizing heart?

***

Daniel scrolled through the messages on his phone while he waited for Alexandra in the private lounge at City Airport. He double checked, but no message from Jacques, his brother. If something had happened, surely he’d have heard about it.

Instead, his inbox was filled with questions about his relationship with Jacqueline and speculation about his love life. An ironic snort escaped. If the media knew he hadn’t had a woman since before the season started … but that didn’t go with his carefully-crafted playboy persona, the very thing that had landed him in this predicament. His pretend womanizing had become so entrenched, even his brother believed it.

“Can I get you a drink, Mr. Michaud?” the lounge attendant asked.

He glanced up, forcing his trademark smile. “No, thanks. As soon as my travelling companion arrives, we’ll be off.”

If she arrived. Alexandra clearly hadn’t wanted the assignment to chaperone him.
C’est des conneries.
He didn’t need a minder. He needed to focus on his driving. Women had the power to destroy a racing career. And he was about to have one glued to his side for the next eight weeks.

“Well, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, please let me know.” With a disappointed smile, the attendant returned to her desk.

His finger hovered over the phone icon, tempted to call Alexandra. He could offer thirty grand for her to stay home and out of his life, pay back the advance, and walk away from the contract. Getting another sponsor wouldn’t be a problem.

Except Grand-Papa hadn’t raised a quitter or a coward. He’d meet his obligations, avoid getting too close to Alexandra, win the championship, and… And what? Spend the off-season in his apartment in Paris or his brother’s empty chateau in the Loire? He scrubbed his hands over his face again. The restlessness that had kept him awake the past two nights was end-of-season nerves. Had to be.

His phone vibrated with an incoming message. Maybe Alexandra was canceling on him? Coming up with some lame excuse like she had to wash her hair? No, she was in advertising—it was bound to be way more inventive than that. He’d have to remember she was used to selling a product as well. Two phonies in a world of deception.

The message wasn’t from her. It was from his alleged half brother, asking him to meet their father before the old man died of cancer. Daniel had decided long ago that his father was a loser who didn’t live up to his responsibilities and he was better off without him. Then out of the blue earlier this year, he’d received a message from a Santiago Alvarez, claiming to be his relation. Evidently his father had just discovered Daniel existed and wanted to meet the son he’d never known about. Sounded like a con. The messages had become more frequent in the past six months, as his supposed father’s cancer progressed and there was no hope of recovery.

As a celebrity, Daniel was no stranger to requests to meet, which usually included a desperate need for money at some point. So he hadn’t bothered responding. Even if it were true, he’d managed without a father for twenty-eight years; he didn’t need one now.

He was still staring at his phone when a delicate floral scent invaded his senses. He glanced up to see Alexandra less than a meter away, standing next to a large roller suitcase that had seen better days. She looked undeniably sad.
Merde.
He did not need to get involved in yet another woman’s problems. Hadn’t Jacqueline’s landed him in enough trouble?

Alexandra was dressed in a severe black trouser suit, the buttons of her white shirt done up to her neck. All business, all the time. What would it take to melt the ice princess?

“Ready?” he asked as he stood. He reached for her suitcase, and after a brief hesitation she let go of the handle.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, a hint of a wobble in her voice. “Yes.”

When finally they were seated in the leather chairs of the private jet, she looked around appreciatively. “Will we be traveling like this the whole time?”

At last a smile. He should be irritated that the trappings of luxury were what pleased her, but he was too relieved that she’d relaxed a bit. Which was stupid. It wasn’t his job to make her happy.

“It’s my brother’s plane. So as long as he doesn’t need it, I’m free to use it.” He shrugged, hoping she didn’t pursue the topic.