by Kimber Chin
"Thank you.” An auto-reply. It was his hand on her waist. His body against hers.
"What a pleasant surprise, Mademoiselle Anne James.” Hot breath caressed her cheek. “I had been wondering when my little brown sparrow would finally surrender to thirst, bless the water hole with her presence. Now here you are, in my arms."
She looked up into laughing brown eyes and swallowed. Hard. No, it hadn't been her overactive imagination. It was the man himself. Even more handsome up close, his chin etched and defined, his eyelashes obscenely long for a male. He had his arm around her like she was his to handle. And he knew her name.
"What, not even a chirp, Mademoiselle?” Philippe Lamont's mouth quirked upwards in a challenge.
She had to get a grip. This was a challenge, classic Lamont. He was playing one of those games he played with unwitting people when he was bored. Well, he wouldn't play with her. She eyed him warily and tried to step away. His fingers splayed across her hipbone wouldn't allow her.
"Chirp? Chirp?"
And now he ridiculed her like she was one of those brainless twits that fawned over him? Insulting. Her response was cool and steady.
"M'sieur Lamont, why should I bother to speak? My common sparrow song pales with that of the canaries you normally listen to. To try to compete would be foolish and I'm not a foolish woman."
"Indeed.” His eyes sparkled with appreciation. “You're not a foolish woman and I have been listening to a canary. You're quite correct, mon Cherie, although not the type you were thinking of. He told me all sorts of things, interesting things about you and I."
You and I, that sent a quiver down her spine. It was business then. How had he...
"Who?” Anne stopped in mid question, her Perrier arriving.
Philippe picked it up with his spare hand, waving the glass underneath his slightly hooked nose. “No alcohol?"
Anne shook her head, bringing his attention to her hair. Before she was aware of what he was about, Philippe reached up and slid off the barrette holding it back. Her long straight brown tresses cascaded over his fingers.
"Much better,” he murmured, “so soft, like a bolt of honey brown silk.” His eyes warmed for only a moment before returning to their usual cold brilliance. “Yes, no alcohol for my Anne. Ahh, but then you are working tonight, non?"
"Working? Do I look like the wait staff?” Anne's answer was as dry as she could manage, trying to put him on the defensive. This tactic backfired.
"Do you look like the wait staff?” his voice lowered. He held her at arm's length and let his lazy appreciative eyes rove over her body, his glance as intimate as a touch. He was good, she had to give him that. Anne found herself responding before remembering that this was part of his strategy. “With your hair up, you looked like a woman who didn't want to be noticed. Now you look like a woman a man already has noticed."
"Hmmm, so what you are saying is that I look used up and tired.” She couldn't take the nonsense he was spurting seriously. It meant nothing, flirting second to Lamont's nature.
Knowing that, his amused smile still managed to light something deep within her. “Ah, mon Cherie.” His fingertips caressed her cheek. “You were worth the effort."
Anne was bumped again, pushed against Philippe's body. She tried to step back but his arm was around her waist, her hips squashed against his.
"What do you want from me, M'sieur Lamont?” came out as a strangled question.
"Tout a coup, I don't know.” His eyes were on her lips and he leaned forward. Anne thought for one wild moment that he was going to kiss her and it was a struggle to keep her features serene.
But then Philippe stepped aside, his face knowing as though, despite her best efforts at concealing them, he had read her fanciful thoughts. He slid her hand through the crook of his arm; she could feel his lean muscles ripple under her palm, and he starting moving her toward the center of the room. Anne didn't know what he was planning. She knew only that there was a plan and she needed to put a stop to it. Pronto.
"How do you know my name?” Her question was deceivingly light and careless.
"How do you know mine?” Philippe asked back.
"Everyone here knows yours.” Anne looked around. People were glancing at her curiously. “Not everyone knows mine."
"Not many people know yours.” His long fingers drifted over the back of her hand. “It took me a while to uncover it."
"Why would you bother?"
"Why? I've been hunting you, mon Cherie. I know your business plans, they have the smell of you.” He sniffed by her ear and she shivered. “The Bernstein was yours?"
"Yes.” Anne's backbone straightened.
"Ace?"
"Yes"
"D-F-T? Promagic? Chinklette?"
"All mine,” Anne admitted proudly. They were excellent offerings, most proved lucrative for Lamont. “But how did you...?"
"With each, I threatened to withhold funding if they didn't tell me who did their plans. Who coached them to sell to me. Who told them my preferences, my weaknesses. My secrets. You do know my secrets, don't you Anne?"
Anne ignored his question. “They were good deals. You wouldn't have walked away from them."
"Ahhh, my little sparrow, you know that. I know that. The entrepreneurs, they weren't so sure. But to your credit, none of them caved. Quite loyal to you."
Anne's stomach fell. She knew where this was heading. “Until Bruce."
"Mais oui.” He grinned. “Bruce needed the financing too badly and he is weak. Under my questioning"
"Interrogation, more likely,” Anne amended coolly.
"D'accord, interrogation, you are correct.” Philippe nodded, his brown curls springing to life upon that high forehead. “He fell apart like a business with no sales force. He told me all about you, little one. I even know where you live."
"I'm in the book. You could have just looked me up,” Anne used flippancy to hide her growing anxiety. “So what? You now know I did the business plans. Did you track me down to thank me?"
"Thank you?” Philippe sounded entertained.
"For making you a lot of money over the years.” Her chin lifted in defiance. “You should be thanking me."
"Sorry to disillusion you, mon Cherie, but you didn't do me any favors. No, I would have found the deals eventually,” he dismissed, “and at a greater discount, nests fallen from trees, rather than polished plums. You merely increased the price and cost me money."
"Ungrateful bastard.” Anne dropped her head, her voice barely detectable.
But loud enough for Lamont's sharp ears to pick up.
"My sweet little sparrow, you call me a bastard in front of my sister?” Philippe repeated the insult clearly, nodding to the sophisticated older woman now beside them. Anne recognized her immediately. “Not nice."
"Your brother is a bastard.” Anne didn't hesitate to announce, her voice flat and matter of fact.
"Child, in that, you're correct. Philippe is a bastard. However, he's not my brother.” The perfectly coiffured woman's tone was slightly amused, her blue eyes flashing in interest.
"I know that, Ms. McKenzie."
This widened those eyes. “How do you know me?"
Sixty-three, twice divorced, ten year old Siamese cat named Fluff. Anne did her research. Plus everyone in the start-up financing business knew of Ms. McKenzie, angel of the angels. She had been one of the first local female financiers, blazing a trail for others. To repeat that would be viewed as sucking up and Anne had no reason to do that. Regardless of what Philippe said, she brought deals to them, not the other way around.
She simply said, “It's my job."
"And that job is?” Anne was looked up and down, it was no Chanel she was wearing but she knew that the slim black dress was simple and elegant. Ms. McKenzie would not find fault with it. “I'm sorry but I don't know you."
Anne wasn't about to leak her identity to another funding source. “That also is my job."
Two sets of white teeth gl
eamed their appreciation.
"She's not a fountain of information, is she, Philippe?” The angel investor spoke as if Anne were absent. Or deaf.
She was neither, but ignored them all the same, her teeth gritted. She would not lose her temper. This was business and emotion had no place in it.
"Au contraire, mon ange, she knows more than you and I would wish.” His eyes danced merrily. “Don't you, Anne?"
Anne smiled sweetly, trying to slip her hand out from under his. Philippe held on tight.
"Anne, doesn't ring a bell. She must know more, I suppose, if she interests you, naughty man.” Ms. McKenzie patted Philippe's shoulder. “Will I be seeing more of her?"
"Much more. Anne will be working with me closely,” Philippe explained cheerfully.
Anne swallowed back a nasty retort, counted to three and said lightly, “Our dear, dear Philippe is laboring under some misconceptions, I'm afraid."
"Don't be afraid, Cherie. You know that I don't believe in labor and you will be working with me.” He winked at her. “That's already decided, or are you too busy doing ... what is it that you do again?"
Brown eyes met brown. Anne didn't say a word. There was no misunderstanding the veiled threat. He would expose her here and now if pushed.
"Sounds like details are dangling,” Ms. McKenzie cooed. “Wrapping them up does interest me but that's your responsibility, Philippe, and of course, best done in private. May I suggest the two of you take a stroll in the hallway? It is more conducive to such things."
And with that, the Angel drifted off to another nearby group, dragging their interest away from the sight of Philippe playing with the sweet little sparrow as he so aptly called her.
"We have been told, mon Cherie.” Philippe's dark head bowed. “L'Ange is always so correct about these things. There are ears all around us and what we have to discuss should be done in private."
"I don't have anything to discuss with you,” Anne proclaimed airily, but they were already headed toward the door.
Although the corridor was several degrees cooler, Anne didn't feel it. She was irritated and flustered. How could she not be? Philippe was a typical power demon and now that he had dirt on her and her company, he wouldn't shy away from leveraging it to gain control over her. She had to discuss it with Nancy first, Anne fumed, but she wasn't about to let that happen. She'd send out a press release before she let him call the shots.
Anne walked only so far before stopping. “So M'sieur
Lamont, you wished to discuss something. Lets be professional, and discuss it."
Philippe looked down at the brunette and grinned. Anne James appeared to be pure business, her actions devoid of emotion, her words cool and collected, but he knew that he had to be getting to her. She was intelligent enough to realize that she was being maneuvered, proud enough to dislike it. He had a few weapons in his arsenal, one being the ability to draw a physical response from the opposite sex. Philippe slid an arm around her slight form, running his fingers up her backbone. Anne straightened so abruptly that he thought she would clear the ground.
The sparrow had passion, she couldn't disguise it, no matter how hard she tried.
Her pride was also a tool to be used against her. She couldn't tell him to shove off without admitting that he affected her. She'd never do that.
Anne turned from him, a subtle attempt to dislodge his hand. He moved with her. “Nothing to discuss? Then I'll go."
Philippe wasn't about to let her go anywhere. “Not so fast, Cherie. We do have some things to talk about."
"Like what?” Anne looked at him doubtfully.
"Like your starting date, for example, and your title."
"M'sieur Lamont?"
"Philippe, please,” he murmured. “We know each other well enough to be on first names, wouldn't you say?” His hand drifted down her back to the soft round of her buttocks. She tried to shrug him away but he grasped on more securely.
Philippe had expected the smoothness of tights under the fabric of her skirt. Instead he could feel the ridges of her undergarments, straps running down her thighs, like, he didn't quite know. Yet another mystery to be solved.
"Philippe.” She sighed. “I have my own business to manage. We've a backlog as it is, I can't give that up to work for you."
"Only temporarily.” He studied her serious pixie face, those big brown eyes. No she wasn't so plain, not beautiful, but not so plain either. “It should take you three months, tops."
"Irrelevant. Why would I work for you?"
Because I can teach you things, some wicked, wicked things. But no, he couldn't say that; it would scare her. Besides, he had to stay focused, revenge first. “Because then we'll be even."
Brown eyes rolled. “I don't owe you anything. You owe me."
"Ah, that we can argue about all day."
"I don't have all day.” She tapped one high-heeled shoe in impatience. Was it a trial for Anne to talk to him? Didn't she know how many women would kill to be in her place?
"Me neither, Cherie.” That was incorrect. For her, he had all day or at least until she no longer intrigued him. “If you do this, I'll keep quiet as to who you are."
One delicate eyebrow rose. Anne didn't believe him.
"I promise you.” He brought her hand to his heart. Philippe could feel her fingers tremble under his.
She opened her mouth and he knew then that she was going to question his word. He wouldn't tolerate the insult, his dark look nipping her comment in the bud. His word was his bond.
"Three months and you'll stay silent?” Anne bit her full bottom lip, drawing Philippe's eyes there.
"Yes.” He brought her hand to his own lips and pressed a kiss to her palm, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. Salty. Soft.
Anne's eyes flashed, and she pulled her hand away, bristling with suspicion. “What will I be doing?"
Whatever I like, Philippe's eyes roved over her body. “We can discuss that on Monday."
"I don't know about this,” she stonewalled. “I'll have to discuss it with my partner."
"Nancy Sherbourne,” he interjected, and Anne stiffened in surprise. Ah, little sparrow, you're not the only one doing your homework.
"Yes, I...” Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by Suzanne.
"Philippe, darling, there you are.” Anne watched as the blonde's perfectly manicured hand wrapped around his arm. Philippe immediately dropped his arms from around Anne, leaving her with no doubt that he knew his behavior had been improper.
"Suzanne, this is business,” the venture capitalist rumbled.
The scornful look Suzanne gave Anne dismissed her as possibly being any threat. “Of course it is; it couldn't be anything but."
Anne's lips twisted.
"Whatever it is can wait until later,” glossy lips cooed, “Gregory's looking for you, said it was urgent, some deal gone south, or some other."
Business. This got Lamont's attention. “Anne, we'll discuss this further on Monday."
"I'm busy Monday,” Anne murmured, secure in the fact that he didn't have time to delay.
"Monday.” Philippe shot one last look over his shoulder as he strolled away. “I'm expecting you."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Three
Anne did not make her Monday meeting with Lamont. Why? For no reason other than stubbornness. Was she busy? Not at all.
The day started with her nine o'clock calling in sick with the flu. It had been going around, or so the CNBC-watching Nancy informed Anne. Then her ten o'clock hadn't received the necessary paperwork. It didn't make much sense to meet without it, did it? Anne supposed not. And so it went all day. Appointment after appointment cancelled or rescheduled.
It could happen, Anne told herself. The odds were very, very low but it could happen. Those already impossible odds dwindled down to nothing by end of day Tuesday. Not a single client made their way into the office, their explanations, pathetically weak, and in the case of one poor CEO
suffering from smallpox, improbable.
If that wasn't suspicious enough, there had been no word from Lamont. On Wednesday morning, the matter had to be addressed.
Nancy burst into her office and flopped down on the guest chair. “Cancelled.” she proclaimed in a huff, “Our ten o'clock cancelled."
"Again.” Anne groaned. “What was the excuse this time?"
"Said production went down.” Her friend made a face. “I don't believe him. He's not a good liar."
Making her clients lie. “That, that...” Anne rose from her seat and strolled over to the window, watching the traffic crawl like ants twelve stories below. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Of all the controlling...
"Annie, do you think it's...?"
"That cold hearted bastard, yes.” Anne nodded. “I gave being busy as an excuse and then surprise, surprise, my days magically free up."
Nancy didn't have to ask which cold-hearted bastard, Anne was referring to. She knew the story. The blackmail, the threats, the feel of his body snug against hers. Correction, Nancy knew most of the story.
"Amazing how that happened.” Her friend sounded slightly bemused.
"No, not amazing at all. Blasted aggravating. He's trying to force me to do what he wants. I just know it.” If he thinks he can control me, he has another think coming.
"It does sounds like Lamont. It has his finesse. But Annie, think, how would he know about our appointments?"
She glanced at Nancy. Anne was not as naïve about the accessibility of corporate information. “He, unofficially, has hackers on staff.” Lamont skirted the borders of legality, whatever got the job done. “A throw back to his programming roots. I suppose he just lifted the information."
There was silence as Nancy absorbed this, then she started moaning over and over. “Oh my Lord, oh my Lord."
"Oh my Lord, what?” What was Nancy hyperventilating about?
"I'm so sorry, Annie, he might not have had to. Lamont has partial ownership in the IT company we outsource to."
"Nance!” Anne's mouth dropped open. Office management was her friend's domain. Anne assumed there was separation between vendors and end users. “What were you thinking?"