by Claire Adams
He chuckled and smiled sympathetically at me. “No man, even the fiercest warrior, is ever ready for the attack love wages on the heart. All you can do is embrace the experience and accept the outcome, whether it is in your favor or not.
“Life is a strange thing, young Sinclair-san. But you cannot afford to become too fixated on one thing. Let her choose—and accept her choice. There is little you can do to influence her in this matter. Show her who you are and what you have to offer her on her terms. Not the terms you have grown accustomed to.”
I nodded slowly. “You're right, I suppose. There is nothing much I can do.”
“Hold on for now. But be prepared to let go if you must. It is a more beautiful thing to see a wild horse run free and come to you of its own will than it is to capture it and break its spirit.”
“I will.”
“Come. Drink your sake, and we shall call it a night. We must resume your training at sunrise. I will help you find your focus again.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
I sipped the last of my sake, stared up at the stars, and wondered what the coming weeks would bring.
***
I returned to the office Tuesday morning with a fresh sense of purpose and a keenly-honed focus. My long weekend in Japan with Colonel Tanaka had proven to be very beneficial.
Lilah was, of course, still on my mind, but I'd realized that, as the Colonel had told me, whatever was going to happen between us was entirely up to her. If that turned out to be nothing, there was little I could do but accept that and move on.
Still, that didn't mean I wasn't going to at least try. I wasn't prepared to simply give up on the idea of us together—not just yet.
I sat down at my desk and went through my emails and lists of tasks that would need to be completed. First and foremost, was the French account. I had a message from Anton about the VIV Perfume campaign. He was hoping that I could meet him in Paris again and bring whichever member of my team was going to be heading the campaign.
Naturally, that team member was Lilah. After all, she had a friend in Paris in the fashion industry whom we had already spoken to. Of course, now that things had become a bit more complicated between us, informing her that we’d be going to Paris might be a little awkward. Still, we had to act like professionals. She was already deep into the French campaign, so there was no way I could suddenly pull her out now and replace her with someone else.
The Sinclair Agency had already come perilously close to losing a good portion of its prestige and respect with the initial failure of the Harry Winston campaign, and there was no way in hell I was going to risk repeating something like that. No, I needed to have an extremely talented person working with me on this particular campaign and that was Lilah.
I put a call through to her office, and a slight shudder of nerves shot through me when I heard her voice as she picked up her phone.
“Hi, Asher, what can I do for you?” her tone was professional and no nonsense.
“Could you come to my office, please? There's something important I need to discuss with you regarding the VIV Perfume campaign.”
“Sure. I'll be right over.”
A tingle of anxiety immediately began building inside me as I waited for her to arrive.
“Come on, Asher, be cool, be calm,” I said to myself. “You've got this. Put your personal feelings aside and be professional.”
I breathed in deeply as I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
She walked through the door, and I let slowly out the breath that I'd been holding in through my teeth. She was wearing a pencil skirt and a form-fitting blouse that revealed her curves in a tantalizing manner. I could hardly keep my eyes off her. Still, I forced myself to remain cool, and put on an air of calm indifference.
“Have a seat,” I said.
She walked over to my desk, her hips swaying subtly without effort, and took a seat.
“You're fully committed to the VIV campaign, aren't you?” I asked.
“Absolutely. That’s why you put me on point. I've been doing a lot of research and have put together a few ideas that I think could work really well.”
“Excellent. Well, there's no better place to do research than on the ground, right?”
“That's true, but we're a few thousand miles away from the ground at the moment.”
“Yes, we are. However, tonight you're going to need to go home and haul out a suitcase or three.”
“Why is that?” she asked, a curious eyebrow raised.
“You and I are going to Paris.”
Chapter Twenty
Lilah
I sat in stunned silence for a while and stared at Asher.
“We're going to Paris?” I eventually said.
“Yes,” he replied, with the slightest and subtlest of smiles curving across his lips.
“I, uh . . . can I think about it?”
“Well, Anton has requested an urgent meeting with myself and the second-in-command of this campaign—which is you. So, unless you're willing to relinquish that position, it'd be best if you came along to Paris.”
I nodded. “All right then. I guess I’m packing for Paris.”
“Don't worry,” he added hastily, looking suddenly uncomfortable, “we'll be in separate hotel rooms.”
“Okay. When do we leave?”
“Friday morning before sunrise, so make it an early night on Thursday. I’ll have a car pick you up from your place and take you to my private jet. There won't be any airport lines or any of that stuff to worry about.”
I couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of excitement. Not only at going to Paris unexpectedly, but also at the thought of being flown there on a private jet, even if it was with a man I was trying to force myself to keep my distance from. Of course, there was the simmering attraction I still felt toward him, and the tantalizingly pleasurable memories that still popped into my head—uninvited—of the night we'd spent together, and of the memories I was currently trying to push back.
“Lilah?”
I snapped out of the sudden trance I'd fallen into. “Oh, sorry, I just drifted off for a second. I, umm . . . was thinking about everything I need to get done before Friday,” I stammered, hoping he didn’t see through my lie.
“No worries. Needless to say, you'll probably have to shift up a gear today and tomorrow. I expect all your tasks for the week to be complete before we leave for Paris. If you need to delegate some of the less significant ones to Jason, I think he’s up to the task.”
“Got it. Is there anything else?”
“That's all. We'll talk closer to the time but, obviously, make sure you bring your notebook, hard drive, and any relevant files with you.”
“Of course, I have everything backed up to the cloud, anyway.”
“Great. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He turned away from me and started typing, staring coolly at his computer, and I walked out of the room feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling around my head.
***
“I think we're a lot clearer on Anton's aims for this campaign now,” said Asher to me as we sat in the back of the limo he'd hired for the weekend to transport us around Paris.
“Yes, I'm glad we came. Being on the ground here and taking everything in—and, of course, speaking to the executives at VIV—has definitely helped reshape a number of ideas I've had about the campaign.”
“Likewise. Well, we're done with work for the day. If you'd like, I can drop you off to meet Alicia and have the driver on call to pick you up and take you back to the hotel whenever you're done.”
It was strange, watching him act so cool and distant. I suppose it was exactly what I'd asked for, though. Even if deep down it wasn't really what I wanted. Still, I had no right to complain about it. I'd said that we had to put business and professionalism first, and he was honoring my wishes.
Regardless of what I’d said, I still felt an unyielding attraction to him. And beneath
his calm exterior, I could tell he still felt the same for me. It was there in the fire in his eyes every time our gazes locked, even though it was always brief. However, it seemed that we had both silently agreed to maintain our strictly professional relationship. As much as I hated to admit even to myself, I couldn't help but feel a twinge wounded, a little rejected even, given that we were in the city of love and his demeanor hadn’t even broken once.
“Well, what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Me? After I drop you off I'm going to head over to the hotel gym, get a good two-hour workout in, and hit the hay early. We've got more meetings tomorrow. I don't think that I need to remind you that we need to be prepared for them.”
I nodded.
“Yeah, that's true. Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Bright and early,” he agreed with a smile. “Ah, and here we are—this is the restaurant where you're meeting your friend, right?”
I looked out the window and saw her waiting outside the restaurant for me.
“That's the one.”
“You've got the driver's number, don’t you? Just give him a call when you're done and he'll come and get you.”
“Thanks, Ash. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I climbed out of the backseat.
“See you then,” he called just as the driver closed the door and returned to his position behind the steering wheel.
***
After a lovely dinner with Alicia, I’d headed back to the hotel and crashed. The jetlag had hit me more than I’d anticipated. But, I slept nine hours straight and thankfully so. My wakeup call came in precisely at 6:00 in the morning and the day was non-stop from there.
In addition to the meetings and presentations, Anton had managed to squeeze in visits to two museums, in what he said was an effort to help us understand the essence of Paris. But when the day was over, we were back in the limo and Asher was starting to seem more like his old self—less rigid and businesslike. I had to admit, I was finding it harder and harder to maintain the cold, distant, and disinterested façade I'd had up over the past couple of weeks to maintain that distance I was trying so hard to keep.
“Wow. It's been a long day,” I remarked.
“That it has. How are you feeling?”
I could sense that he was asking for reasons beyond merely small talk. That meant there could be more than just a boring night in my room or sightseeing alone. It was up to me to decide whether I would shut things down immediately and return to my hotel room or take a chance and see what happened. I thought about it for a moment, and then replied.
“Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Energized. After all, we're in Paris! It would be a sin to simply go back to the hotel and sleep now.”
His face lit up with that heart-stopping smile that sent my stomach into flips. A smile that not only reached his lips, but also sparkled in his eyes.
“Well, let's do something touristy, then? I mean, it's your first time here,” he said. “Right?”
“It is.”
“All right. Wine and cheese at a small café overlooking the Seine?”
I couldn't help but smile. “That sounds fantastic.”
Two hours later, we were still sitting at a cozy outdoor café, taking in the scenery and people watching.
“So, what do you think of Paris?” Asher asked.
“It's everything I'd hoped it would be,” I replied, sipping on my wine. “And this wine is exquisite. I don't think I've ever had better.”
“I come for the cheese, but I stay for the wine,” Asher joked.
I couldn't help but chuckle. The warmth of the wine flowing through my veins, relaxing my muscles as it went.
“The Eiffel Tower makes for a pretty spectacular marker on the horizon, doesn't it?” I said.
“It does. We can go visit tomorrow if you’d like. I know someone who can get us past the crowds. It's quite a view from up top.”
“That sounds lovely,” I smiled at him and suddenly found myself staring deeply into Asher's eyes. I saw in them a profound, crackling passion, like the embers of a fire still glowing orange against the darkness of night. And at the sight of that deep, simmering desire, my own desires stirred.
It was happening again.
I was at a definite crossroads here: I could either end this right now and go back to my hotel room; or I could stay, order another bottle of wine, and prove to myself that I could maintain a working friendship with my boss.
“Let's have a little more wine,” I suggested. “The night is still young.”
“I agree,” replied Asher with a smile.
He called a waiter over and asked him to bring out a selection of the finest wines in the house, which the young man did, after returning with the manager of the establishment. We perused them and picked out a vintage port.
“Are you sure, monsieur?” asked the manager, a portly, red-faced man in his 60s. “It is a very, very fine wine, but it also commands a somewhat, how do I say, extreme price tag. There are only a handful of bottles of this left in all of France.”
“Price is of no concern to me,” Asher assured him with a casual smile. “After all, how can one put a price on a moment such as this?”
The manager smiled. “Very well, monsieur. Please though, if you would not mind, could I pose with you and your lovely companion for a photograph at the moment of the uncorking of the bottle? I am a wine connoisseur myself, and a bottle like this only gets uncorked once every few years. I wish to have a memento, if you will.”
Asher smiled. “Of course. And, since wine is your thing, I would like for you to have a glass as well. As can this nice young waiter.”
Both the waiter and the manager gasped.
“Monsieur, we could not possibly!” exclaimed the manager.
“I insist,” Asher said. “Otherwise, we don't uncork the bottle. Deal?”
“Very well,” the manager agreed, still flabbergasted at this proposition.
The wine was then uncorked, we posed with the manager for a photo. Then Asher made good on his word and insisted the manager and waiter each have a taste of the wine. I half expected the manager to pass out from the thrill of it.
“This is . . . It is simply . . . magnifique!” he exclaimed.
After that, he and the waiter left us to enjoy the remainder of the wine in peace. To be honest, while it was really good wine. I wasn't sure that it was the best I'd ever tasted—but then again, I didn't consider myself to be much of a wine snob. More importantly, I was enjoying Asher's company much more than I was the wine.
We sat and talked, joked and laughed late into the night, loosening up and becoming more at ease in each other's company as the night drew on and the wine did its work.
Eventually, the manager came over, wringing his hands apologetically.
“Monsieur and mademoiselle, while we appreciate your patronage, I am sorry to say that we need to close up now.”
“That's all right,” Asher said as he finished off the last of his wine. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. I think a stroll through Paris is in order.”
He handed the manager his credit card to settle the bill. When that was done, we said goodbye and began strolling along the river, taking in the sights and enjoying the atmosphere.
I slipped my hand through his arm almost instinctively and felt his fingers intertwine with mine as he squeezed my hand gently.
When we reached a point along our walk that had a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, I stopped to take it in. My gaze journeyed along the skyline until I found myself looking into his eyes. Once more, the electricity of our connection crackled in my veins. His gaze searched mine, as if seeking permission for something.
“Asher, I . . .” I opened my mouth to admit what I’d been feeling in spite of what I’d said, but I didn’t get the chance to tell him. It was as though he’d already read my heart. Before I could finish, one strong hand enclosed gently around the base of my neck while the other wrapped around
my waist. He pulled me in close and placed his lips passionately against mine. The sensation of his hands moving across my back gently, yet with power tingling in those strong arms and hands of his, sent a wave of want through me.
I could feel his longing, his intense need for control, and it made me go weak at the knees. My breath quickened and my pulse began to race.
I could hardly breathe.
He paused from the kiss for a moment and stared down at me.
“Let's go back to the hotel,” I said, panting and gasping.
“No,” he replied.
“No?”
“No.”
“But . . . but why?”
“There's a beautiful hotel around the corner, and I don’t want to wait for the 30 minute cab ride back to our hotel is going to take. I want you now. I need you now.”
I smiled up at him. There was no need to say anything.
We hurried across the street where Asher stopped at an ATM and withdrew a hefty sum of cash. We then proceeded to a grandiose, old building, shining spectacularly against the night sky with lighting that illuminated the baroque architecture.
We walked inside, still holding hands, our blood hot and eager in our veins. The reception hall was palatial and reminded me of something straight out of the 17th century, aside from the computers at the desk.
The concierge at the front desk looked surprised to see us, and I suppose he was justified in that reaction, given the nature of the establishment and the late hour.
“Good evening,” Asher greeted him in English as we approached the desk.
“Mademoiselle, monsieur. Is there something I can assist you with? The hour is very late.”
“We're not guests—not yet, anyway,” Asher said.
“Well, I'm afraid that it would be impossible. We are—”
“Nothing is impossible,” Asher interrupted as he opened his coat, withdrew a block of euros, and set them down on the counter in front of the concierge.
The man's eyes widened as he glanced at the stack of money in front of him.
“Er, yes, yes . . . You are correct monsieur. Nothing at all is impossible! Will you be wanting the presidential suite, then?”