“Oh, of course you do. I do apologise.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a credit card, handing it to Melanie.
“If you’ll follow me to the main office and we’ll get this processed.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Philippe said. “I look forward to doing more business with you in the future, Peter.”
The men shook hands, and they all turned to leave the conference room. Philippe put his hand to her back, and a thrill went down her spine. Until then, she’d been able to keep it all business. If she wasn’t careful, she might start having feelings for this man with his sexy French accent.
All Melanie wanted to do right now was get far away from him. Her heart was being sorely tested, and she wanted it to stop.
Chapter Seven
Another busy day.
Melanie had come to realize that’s how this job was always going to be.
She wasn’t complaining.
She said a silent prayer of thanks to Sierra and Braxton for offering her this unique opportunity.
“Good morning, Melanie.” She looked up to see Philippe with his lopsided smile standing over her. As always, he held out a coffee to her.
“You spoil me, Philippe.” She reached out to take the offered beverage. “Oh, there’s a little cookie too. Thank you,” she said grinning. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He shrugged. “I got bored in the kitchen and started playing. I thought why not?”
There was that lopsided grin again – it got her every time.
“Our guests,” he said, “will get a pleasant surprise today. Between we two, I made these especially for you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “For me?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. What had he been thinking?
As though he could read her thoughts he frowned. “I don’t think you understand how special you are, Melanie.” His hands flourished across in front of him, the he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You are extraordinaire.”
Her jaw dropped, but he was gone before she could respond. Quiet as a panther stalking its prey, and twice as dangerous.
She took a sip of the perfect cappuccino that had been delivered by the inn’s head chef. And a thought popped into her head. Why didn’t he send one of the kitchen hands if all he wanted was to give her coffee?
But she already knew the answer. They had a connection and he had to see her. She understood because as much as she fought it, she felt exactly the same way about him.
It was like an itch that needed to be scratched – it was hell and heaven all at the same time.
She shut her eyes and squeezed them tight, rolling her shoulders. She was a problem solver from way back, but she couldn’t see a solution to this one.
She opened her eyes and stared down into her coffee, breathing in the aroma, then took another sip. She eyed the tiny cookie sitting on the side of the small plate – she’d resisted for too long.
Popping it in her mouth, Melanie relished the exquisite taste of it. She wondered if Philippe had been toying with her when he said he’d made them just for her.
She shook her head. Surely he hadn’t done that.
But she wanted to know.
Reaching for the phone to find out, she shook her head again and dropped the receiver. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by asking.
She looked up when she heard a quiet knock on her open door.
Melanie gazed at the man. She’d seen him before but didn’t really know him. He was in a kitchen uniform, so he obviously worked for Philippe.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” he said, his arms outstretched. “This is a gift from Chef.”
She looked at his name badge. Adam. “Thank you, Adam.” Checking over the gift, she discovered a small plate of tiny cookies, just like the one Philippe had given her. She smiled.
He turned to leave.
“Please thank Philippe for me,” she said to his retreating back.
He turned back to her and nodded, a huge grin on his face. Did he know something she didn’t? She shrugged it off, not wanting to go there.
Once Adam was out of sight, Melanie checked her watch. Another half hour and their movie celebrity and his entourage would be arriving. A call to housekeeping ensured their rooms were ready.
Philippe would be on the ball and would have their welcome trolley ready, apart from the beverages. The inn ran like a well-oiled piece of machinery, and it made her smile.
Unlike the bank where nothing could be predicted or expected. Some days it was utter chaos.
She drank down the last of her coffee and finalized the rosters for the event on Saturday. She then emailed a copy to each relevant staff member.
She ticked rosters off her long list of things to do before Saturday.
Her phone rang again. After announcing herself she listened carefully. “I’ll just check the diary for you.” She flicked the pages and found the appropriate date. “That date is available,” she said, picking up her pencil.
She heard the bride-to-be squeal and smiled.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a garden where you can be married.” She heard the disappointment on the other end. “Your wedding is not for some months. Let me make some enquiries and I’ll get back to you. No promises.” Another squeal.
She hoped she wasn’t going to disappoint the excited bride-to-be. “It might take a week or two.” She listened careful. “Yes, I have you penciled in, and no, no one else will get your date once your deposit is paid.”
She picked up the phone and called Cassie, the inn manager. She explained the dilemma, and Cassie told her she was welcome to explore the possibility. Since she was Guest Services Manager, the task fell to her.
Cassie also suggested she discuss it with Philippe since it would also affect him, especially if he was expected to serve hors d'oeuvres in the garden.
Melanie stiffened her shoulders at this news, but at the same time a thrill went through her.
“Shall we meet for lunch and discuss it?” he asked after they’d welcomed their celebrity guest. “I shall supply the food.”
After the lunch rush, Philippe collected her from her office, then led her through the front entrance.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I thought we’d walk to the park and eat there. I’ve made some sandwiches, petit quiches, and also have un sachet de petits cadeaux.”
She stared at him.
“Apologies, Madame. A little bag of goodies. Sweet goodies.”
Melanie wished she could remember some of the French language she’d learned at school. At the time she thought it would be totally useless in the real world. Little did she know.
The Oakdale Public Park wasn’t far. It was a pleasant ten-minute walk, and they began chatting about Melanie’s idea.
Philippe put a hand to his chin, which he often did when he was contemplating something. He nodded his head tentatively. “Perhaps,” he said. “It might be possible.”
She adored when he dropped in a French word. Especially when she understood it. And possible was the same in both languages, just with a different accent. She almost laughed out loud. She could be ridiculous sometimes.
“Ah, we are here.” He put his hand to her back and led her to a park bench. A thrill went down her spine. She mentally slapped herself. Hadn’t she decided to make herself immune from the sexy French chef?
She glanced around the park she never really looked at. It had been years since Melanie had been here. She’d cut through it when she was running late, but hadn’t really seen it. She’d always been in too much of a rush.
There was a small pond with a fence around it. The large children’s playground beyond it explained the necessity for the fence. Beyond that was a garden. It was far from botanical gardens, but even from this distance she could see how pretty and appealing it would be to walk through on a sunny day.
She’d have to make the time to come here again soon.
As they snacked on the
ir casual lunch, they talked about the wedding garden possibility. Philippe nodded when appropriate and gave his opinion on whether or not various elements would be feasible.
“I really like your idea, Melanie,” he said, rolling her name off his tongue in that magical way only Philippe could do. “I also think it could be very profitable for the inn.”
He took a deep breath. “But…”
“Papa!!”
A little voice squealed from the children’s playground. When she glanced up, a child of around four was running toward them.
Melanie couldn’t see anyone else this child would be running toward.
Philippe was beaming. “Amelie! What a wonderful surprise.” He embraced the little girl, pulling her up into his lap. He looked across the park and waved to a woman who was walking toward them.
“Melanie,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “This is my daughter, Amelie.”
Philippe had a daughter? Did that mean he was married? All kinds of thoughts were running through her mind, not all of them nice.
But that wasn’t the child’s fault.
“Hello, Amelie,” she said sweetly. “How old are you? I’ll bet you’re two,” she said teasingly.
Amelie laughed. “No silly, I’m four. I’m a big girl!” She pointed at her chest as she emphasized the word big.
Melanie laughed at the child’s antics. Amelie reached up and put her arms around Philippe’s neck. Her father’s neck.
“I missed you, Papa,” she said with a French accent.
He squeezed his eyes closed as he hugged his daughter tight. “I missed you too, mon amour,” he whispered.
Melanie studied his face; his pain was apparent. If he had the choice, she knew he’d choose to spend his time with this sweet little girl.
Amelie pulled back and stared into his face, her little hands holding each of his cheeks. “Papa,” she said excitedly. “Papa…” She was so animated, and Melanie couldn’t understand a word she said. It was quite bewildering.
“Amelie,” he said gently. “English please. It is very rude to talk in French when Melanie cannot understand.”
She watched with horror as the child’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Madame,” she said, tears streaming down her little face. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
She tucked her little head on her father’s shoulder and sobbed. He patted her back gently. “It is alright. No need for tears.”
Melanie was mesmerized by Philippe with a child on his knee. This was a whole knew side to the man she thought she knew. This scenario reinforced her belief you could never truly know a person.
Amelie brushed her tears away with the back of her hand, then turned to her father again, glancing across at Melanie too, not sure who to direct her words at. “We saw ducks,” she said, flapping her arms like wings, and wriggling to get down. “They walk like this, Papa!”
She waddled about in front of them, going around and around in circles.
“Are you a duck, Amelie? I wonder if ducks like cookies?” He glanced across to Melanie and winked.
She stopped in her tracks and came running for a cookie. She was such a cutie.
Melanie loved kids, provided they weren’t her own and she could hand them back. Like Sierra and Braxton’s baby, Cody. She didn’t mind babysitting, because at the end of the night, she could walk away, back to her own peaceful unit.
She didn’t see herself as a nurturing kind of person. Besides, she was a career woman, and wasn’t even slightly interested in having children.
She shivered. She couldn’t think of anything worse.
“Duckie wants another cookie, please.” Amelie began to quack like a duck until given a cookie. She was way too cute.
“Melanie,” Philippe said, as the woman finally reached them. “This is my sister, Danielle. She is Amelie’s live-in nanny.”
Her eyes opened wide. A live-in nanny? She was more confused than ever.
She watched as Danielle’s eyebrows rose, silently questioning her brother.
Melanie tried to ignore the gesture, wondering what it meant, then extended her hand.
“Melanie and I work together,” he told his sister blandly, and the women exchanged pleasantries.
Philippe checked his watch.
“I’m sorry little one, but Papa and Melanie have to go back to work.”
The little girl pouted, and Melanie was sure those little brown eyes were going to fill with tears again.
“We could walk with you?” Danielle whispered, but little ears heard every word.
Father and daughter both grinned. “Excellent!” Philippe lifted his daughter up onto his shoulders and they headed back to the inn. Melanie had a lot of questions, but now was not the time.
Besides, was it really any of her business? Philippe would have told her if he’d wanted her to know.
When they arrived, he lifted her down again and gave her a huge heartfelt hug. “Don’t go, Papa. Please,” she pleaded.
But he had to go, and Melanie could see regret written all over his face.
“Papa must go,” he told Amelie. “Otherwise lots of people will be hungry.”
She nodded her little head, and walked sadly away with her aunt.
When they were alone again, Philippe took her by the shoulders. “I have much to explain,” he said in a similar tone he’d used on his daughter – soft and gentle.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said, shrugging out of his grip and turning toward her office. “It has absolutely nothing to do with me.”
She was hurt that he’d kept something so important from her, but at least now she knew they could never be together. He was married with a child.
But still one thing niggled at her – if he was married, why did he have a live-in nanny?
She shook the thought away and vowed to keep Philippe and his amazingly sexy voice to the deep dungeons of her mind.
Later that afternoon Philippe ducked his head around her office door. “I come bearing gifts.”
He normally arrived with a huge grin on his face. Not this time.
“Sure,” she said coldly. It came out more abruptly than she intended. She was determined to keep her distance from him. They had become too personal; had gotten way too close in the short time they’d known each other.
He carried a tray with two coffees and an assortment of pastries. She cleared a space on her desk for him to set them down. What was she doing? She should be discouraging him, not making him feel welcome.
“This is a peace offering,” he said, passing one of the coffees to Melanie.
She took a sip. “I love peace offerings,” she said. “Especially when they involve chocolate eclairs.” She grinned at him, then remembered she was supposed to be distancing herself.
He snatched up a serviette from the tray, then reached out and gently wiped her top lip.
The gesture sent a zap of electricity right through her. He stared into her eyes. She couldn’t pull her gaze away.
They sat there like that for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a matter of seconds. She finally lifted her hand and wiped her fingers across her lip. It still tingled.
Trying to take the focus off the atmosphere between them, Melanie grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite.
It was delicious. Just as she knew Philippe’s kiss would be.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Why did he come here? His presence only proved to torment her, and what a blissful torment it was.
“Perfection, no?”
He was so arrogant, so full of himself. But yes, it was perfection.
She nodded. Her mouth was full, and she wanted to savor the moment. Get every second out of this incredible pastry.
The man was an artiste. This wasn’t mere cooking, this was artistry at its best.
She swallowed and her tongue ducked out to wipe away any excess.
Philippe’s eyes opened wide. They followed her tongue – he was staring…at her mouth.
Melanie quickly grabbed up her coffee, almost spilling it on herself. “I, I…they’re amazing, Philippe,” she said, stumbling to get the words out.
“Made by my own hands,” he said proudly. “The sous-chef, he is good, but…”
Melanie finished for him. “But he is not Philippe.”
They both laughed and lightened the mood.
She looked down at the remaining pastries sitting on the plate between them. “Have more,” he said. “There are plenty. If we run out, I take some more from the kitchen, no?” He grinned his lopsided grin.
Her heart beat increased and she knew, despite her resolve, she had a real fight on her hands. Philippe was not the demon she was making him out to be. She just had to hear him out and let him explain.
“Melanie,” he said quietly. “We need to talk, I have to explain…”
Cassie Somerton ducked her head around the door. “Oh, sorry,” she said, handing Melanie a printed sheet. “This week’s bookings. I’ve highlighted the special interest bookings.”
“Thanks.” Melanie stared after Cassie as she walked away.
“Where was I? Oh yes,” Philippe said. He reached out and held her hand in his.
The phone began to trill. “Sorry,” she said, genuinely meaning it. “This is pretty much my day.”
He dropped her hand and indicated for her to take the call. “Melanie Chalmers,” she said confidently. “Can you please repeat the date?” She glanced across at Philippe. She listened carefully; his presence was distracting. “Let me just check.”
She put the call on hold.
“I’m sorry, Philippe. I have to deal with this call.” She was sorry too. Melanie wanted to sort this out as much as Philippe did. But now wasn’t the time or the place.
“Of course,” he said as he stood. “I will leave these des pâtisseries, er, pastries here for you.” He winked then left, leaving Melanie to deal with her booking.
She sat for a moment, letting her heart rate get back to normal. Philippe did to her what she vowed no man would ever do again.
Chapter Eight
Dinner. My place, tonight – 6pm?
Philippe hoped the smiley icon at the end of the email would win her over.
A Husband for Melanie Page 4