by Kimber Chin
The cool night breeze splashed against her skin. To Anne's embarrassment, both Gregory and Denise's fiancé, Derek, were waiting outside. She tried to cover up a bit, a futile gesture, as they got an eyeful of bare leg. With the dress being so short, it couldn't be helped.
"Is she—?” Gregory's voice cracked on the question. He sounded sincerely worried.
"She's fine. Banged up a bit but fine. I'm taking her home. Could you call my chauffeur to bring the car around, Gregory? My hands are full."
Blue eyes traveled up her thighs. “Lucky you,” Gregory muttered as he flipped on his phone and paced away.
Suzanne disappeared back into the washroom, returning in only a minute, a tan clasp purse in her hands.
"Anne, your purse. You forgot it."
That's right, she left it on the sink, before all this started.
But? Suzanne to remember it? The blonde held out the bag. Why was she being so helpful?
Their eyes met and then, with a smile, Suzanne released the purse. The move was coolly calculated. Anne hadn't a shot at catching it. The bag couldn't have been closed either as its contents spilled all over the sidewalk.
Something rolled out of the purse toward Gregory, a shape Anne didn't recognize. While on the phone, Gregory reached down and picked the object up. After a quick glance, he pocketed it. Why? What could that have been?
Anne had to wait for his call to finish to find out. Then Gregory held out his hand to her, his palm down, hiding what it held. “I believe this is yours, Anne.” He slid a plastic container into her hand, his blue eyes soft.
A pill canister? In her purse? No. That couldn't be. It had to be some mistake. “Gregory, this isn't mine."
"Anne, I think it is,” Gregory insisted.
She knew it wasn't. Anne examined it closer. What did the label say? Prozac? Wasn't that an anti-depressant? She glanced up into Philippe's questioning eyes and stated firmly, “Gregory, it isn't mine. I don't take drugs. I don't even use Tylenol."
"It has your name on it, Anne,” Gregory's tone was gentle, non-judgmental.
Crap, so it did. Anne looked at Suzanne and her eyes narrowed, no doubt in Anne's mind who planted it. Blast it, that woman is evil. She must have planned the entire horrible night from start to finish.
"Gregory, you have to believe me, this isn't mine,” Anne repeated. Suzanne whispered something in Denise's ear and the friendly blonde's face changed from concern to sympathy. Anne shifted unhappily in Philippe's arms.
First a fainting spell in the bathroom. Now a pill container full of uppers. They were all going to think her crazy.
"It's okay, Anne. Gregory, could you look into it?” Philippe took the container from Anne and passed it to Gregory, not bothering to hide it from view.
"But,” Gregory protested.
"It's not hers,” Philippe's voice was firm, “It must have been mislabeled. Find out whose pills they really are, Gregory, and let us know immediately. The pharmacy should be able to tell you, as Anne's legal representative."
"Philippe, please don't embarrass the poor girl,” Suzanne purred. “She's obviously under some stress. Anne likely forgot about the prescription, what with her illness and all."
"No, Suzanne.” Anne's chin jutted out. “I did not forget. It's not mine and I want to know whose it is. I'd also like to know how the pills got in my purse."
Suzanne was the one squirming now. “I don't think you do, Anne. I don't think you want to air your dirty laundry."
"I haven't any dirty laundry and I'm sure I do.” What did Anne have to lose? They all thought she was crazy anyway. Couldn't get much worse.
"If you feel that strongly, I'll help Gregory.” Suzanne planned to cover her tracks.
"All it'll take are a couple phone calls.” Gregory shrugged. “I can manage that on my own, Suzanne."
That would make her sweat. Anne smiled up at the lawyer. “I'm confident that Gregory will be able to handle it. Can I call you tomorrow?"
Gregory beamed, happy to be at service. “I'll look forward to it."
"Spreading it a bit thick, aren't you?” Philippe grumbled softly in her ear. What could he complain about? Philippe delegated the sensitive job to Gregory when he should have handled it himself. Anne gave the lawyer another wide smile as he opened the car door for them.
When Anne and Philippe were finally alone in the car, the driver occupied with the business of driving, Philippe examined Anne's face again, his fingers gentle. “So, Cherie, talk to me. Tell me what happened."
Anne pondered the situation. Tempting but Suzanne was right. She should deal with it.
"I don't want to talk about it, Philippe. It isn't important."
She didn't want to talk about it? He was supposed to take her word that those pills weren't hers, even though the label damned her, yet she didn't trust him enough to confide in him? He didn't believe the story about her fainting due to the heat either. Anne may be slight but she was no delicate flower to wilt away in the above average temperatures. Plus the night was not nearly as hot as their lawn sex. If she felt fragile, Philippe would have known then.
The cuts and bruises on her cheek hadn't come from falling. There were bruises and scratch marks on her arms, clear imprints of fingers on her beige skin. Like someone held her against her will. Held her. His Anne. Against her will. And then beat her. In the ladies’ room ... that meant with another female. But who? Denise?
Couldn't be. Denise was with Derek, waiting for them, when Philippe entered the pavilion. So who else? Suzanne? He couldn't picture Suzanne attacking anyone. She might break a sweat, or God forbid, a nail. She wouldn't have stuck around either, acting like Nurse Betty. Not if she were guilty. Non, it couldn't have been Suzanne.
And what was up with the pills? Were they Anne's? Why else would they be in her purse? But she said they weren't and Philippe believed her. If she were in trouble, she'd come to him ... wouldn't she? Wouldn't she?
"Anne, if you need someone to talk to...” Philippe smoothed her hair. Anne rewarded him with a lopsided smile. She, thankfully, had no idea how puffy her face was, and her spirits hadn't sagged one bit.
Non, she didn't need anti-depressants. Or did she?
"Thanks Philippe. Your offer means a lot to me. And that you trusted me about those crazy pills, even though the evidence...” She took his hand, her fingertips circling his palm.
"What would a person gain from doing that?” He searched her big brown eyes. They softened and she smiled, her face glowing. Merde, she was beautiful, even with her cuts and scrapes and the puffiness, her beauty shone from those eyes.
"Whatever it is, it must be worth the trouble,” and she snuggled into his chest, her head burrowing into the nook of his neck. She knew. Or at least she suspected. Was it the same person that attacked her?
"We'll wait to hear what Gregory finds out.” He would get answers then. Philippe held her as securely as he dared. He didn't want to hurt her.
"Don't worry, Philippe. I can handle it.” Anne yawned delicately, her entire body vibrating against his.
Yes, she could handle it but she didn't need to. Didn't she understand that? Obviously not. She didn't trust him. Time. It will take time to rebuild, Philippe reminded himself.
Philippe had plenty of quiet time to keep on reminding himself. Anne fell asleep and didn't wake up when they pulled up in front of her residential complex. She didn't wake up when Philippe carried her to the condo, amazed about how tiny she was, fitted in his arms. She didn't wake up as he juggled her while searching through her purse for the key.
Anne whimpered a bit as he laid her on the bed, the sound tugging at his heart. Did she hurt or was it a bad memory? What could he do? He looked down at her. There was one thing. Her dress was filthy. He should remove it. Then he stopped short, memories flooding his mind. Weeks ago as he did tonight, he undressed Anne. While she was drunk.
He also went through her purse to find her key. No pill containers in that bag. No Prozac.
Then he searched through her bathroom cabinets looking for mouthwash. She was right. She didn't even have a bottle of pain reliever. Her medicine cabinet was bare of any medication. Tension left his body. He had the physical proof to back up his faith in Anne. The pills couldn't be hers.
"Hmmm ... come to bed, Philippe.” Anne reached out for him, her voice drowsy.
She wanted him by her side. That said something, didn't it? Couldn't he bring her comfort? Keep her safe? Philippe smiled at her. “You need to get naked, Cherie."
Anne groaned, her hand at her forehead. “Not tonight, dear, I have a headache."
He frowned. That wasn't a joke, she did have a headache, “and you don't have Tylenol."
"I don't need Tylenol, that's a placebo, I need sleep,” and she yawned again.
"Come, let's get rid of this dress.” He slipped the silk off her, trying not to dwell on her small perky breasts and dark berry nipples. “It smells like the potty.” Philippe held the dress up with regret. “I think it's ruined.” It was covered with stains from blood, grass and some untraceable dirt.
"First time I wore it too.” Anne's bottom lip curled. “I love that dress."
"Ahhhh ... moi aussi.” Philippe went to work on her sandals. It took some concentration. The straps were very complicated, criss-crossing up her leg. “Don't fret, Cherie. I'll buy you another dress."
One index finger raised up. “You owe me a pair of underwear too."
"Underwear?” Philippe didn't remember why the underwear but he would buy her anything she wanted.
"The red ones, you ripped them, while you were punishing me, remember?” Anne smiled as though it was a happy memory.
Strange peculiar woman he had. Here he was twisting himself with guilt over his less than stellar behavior and she had enjoyed herself.
"D'accord, d'accord, I'll buy you a pair of underwear."
"And shoes."
He finished the one leg and started on the other sandal. This time it went faster, Philippe having learned the trick behind unlacing them.
"You owe me a pair of black pumps, Philippe."
Oh, yes, the ones they left in the garden, right after looking at the stars and right before she started vomiting. “And a pair of black pumps.” Philippe kissed the sole of her left foot, making Anne kick. “Maybe I should buy extras for future clothing mishaps."
"Maybe you should.” This good idea earned him a kiss on his chin as he bent over to tuck her into the bed.
"Aren't you coming too?” Her smile held pure encouragement.
Philippe didn't even hesitate. He broke all speed records for getting undressed, peeling off his clothes, leaving only his underwear on. He wouldn't leave her alone tonight.
He lightly glazed the four scratches on her shoulder, the results of a person's not so gentle fingertips. Tonight someone had targeted his Anne, his woman. Despite her wishes to take care of it herself, Philippe would get to the bottom of it. But that thought drifted away as she spooned her body into his.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Eighteen
"You want some corn flakes?” Philippe rattled the box at Anne as she wandered into the kitchen.
"I have corn flakes?” Anne eyed the package with suspicion. She had cereal? Where'd he get that? Not a breakfast eater, she couldn't remember buying cereal. Ever.
"I found it stuck deep in the back of the cupboard, neatly packed away in a plastic container.” Philippe opened the flap and tossed a handful into his mouth. He promptly spit them back out into the sink. “I don't think this is fresh, Cherie."
"I'm sure it isn't.” Anne took the offensive box from him, checking the “best before” date. “Yep, expired three years ago.” Must have been when Ginny came to stay while looking for an apartment of her own. Time to clear out the cabinets. Anne threw the cereal in the trash.
"Is the coffee...?” He eyed the already gurgling liquid.
"Now, coffee I drink. I make it every morning."
Philippe opened the fridge door, looking for something to eat. “You have eggs.” He took the carton out, weighing one in his hand. “They're okay. And cheese.” He placed a block of cheddar on the counter. “Oh, and a green pepper.” The man sounded delighted with his findings.
"I do cook.” Anne acted indignant, but was secretly glad she bought the green pepper. She didn't know what she was going to do with it at the time, green peppers having been on sale.
Philippe's expression said he didn't buy her protest.
"Okay, maybe not every single day,” Anne admitted, “but I do cook. I even have an onion somewhere and there should be a tomato rolling around in the crisper."
He found it. “You're right. If you grate the cheese, sparrow, I'll make you a killer omelet."
"A killer omelet?” Anne unwrapped the cheese. Was killer a good descriptor for food? She had a taco once that was almost a killer, she was sick for days.
Philippe pulled out the cutting board and quickly diced the veggies. He seemed to know his way around the kitchen. “D'accord, d'accord, bad choice of words. It won't kill you, far from it. I'm a terrific cook."
"And a modest one too.” Anne wasn't paying attention to what she herself was supposed to be doing. She narrowly escaped grating her fingertips.
Her billionaire venture capitalist could cook? So Philippe was skilled in the boardroom, bedroom, and kitchen. Anne, in contrast, entered her kitchen only to clean. No, that wasn't exactly true. She knew how to open a can in thirty seconds flat. Somehow, she didn't think this skill would impress Philippe.
"Where'd you learn how to cook?” Did he want all the cheese grated? Anne didn't know. She'd keep grating until he said stop.
"Ma Maman, of course,” like it was obvious. “She's a good cook. In Europe, every meal is a celebration. Fresh ingredients, freshly prepared, no cans.” He clucked disapprovingly before popping some grated cheese in his mouth.
No cans. Anne guessed she hadn't fooled him at all.
"How did you manage not to learn to cook?” It was her turn to be grilled. “Didn't your mother teach you?"
"Oh, she taught, my poor mom, she taught and taught and taught, only nothing stuck.” Anne grinned, remembering her mother's frustration. “But I have other talents. I'm great at dialing delivery."
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell. It's probably Ginny."
"Oui, oui, go dodge your duties, mon amour,” Philippe berated.
Anne gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she passed. “It's for the best, Philippe, believe me."
Ginny's eyes widened as Anne swung the door open, reminding her that her face looked bad, bruised and puffy.
"What happened to you?” Her little sister pushed her way into the condo, carrying a clear plastic box of loose papers. No file folders for Ginny. She thrived on chaos.
"I fell.” That answer was getting tired.
"Would you like an omelet too, Ginny?” Philippe called from the kitchen.
"No thank you. I already ate,” and then Ginny's voice dropped so only Anne could hear, “Whoa, whoa, what's he doing here, Annie?"
They watched as Philippe whisked the eggs in a bowl, a never-before-worn frilly apron over his grass stained, blood speckled white shirt from the previous night, the shirt untucked over equally rumpled khakis. Domestic Diva meets Outback Jack.
"After what happened last night.” Anne gingerly touched the cut on her forehead. She hadn't put a bandage on it, allowing it to breathe and hopefully heal faster.
"Your mysterious fall, like I believe that.” Ginny was clearly disgusted at the lie. “You claim I'm intelligent, yet you try to fool me with that bullshit story. Why would you bother ... Oh, no, was it Philippe that..."
"No, no, it wasn't him, Ginny. He didn't hurt me. Philippe would never hurt a woman, he loves them too much.” Anne stopped that line of thinking immediately. All she needed now was a visit from her overprotective father.
"Then what happened?” Ginny wouldn't let it go.
&n
bsp; "It's all so embarrassing, I'd rather not talk about it.” She hadn't told anyone, not even Philippe that it was Suzanne. What was the point? It hadn't had the result Suzanne was counting on and Anne doubted she would try it again.
Ginny studied her, her face scrunched up in thought. Then her expression cleared.
"Got in a fight, didn't you?” Ginny hooted, “My big sis got into a brawl. Oh, man, that's priceless. Did you get a few good licks in?"
"Hush.” Now that Ginny guessed correctly, Anne wouldn't lie to her but she didn't want Philippe to overhear. He remained hunched over the stove, and Anne relaxed. “Philippe doesn't know and unfortunately no. I didn't. I'm more a lover than a fighter.” Anne was never one to get into physical confrontations.
"I can see that.” Ginny nodded to Philippe, rustling through the drawers, finally finding one of those flipper things. “So he stayed over to keep you company, Annie? Strictly platonic?"
"Yep.” Anne sighed. Last night, at least. Philippe was treating her like she was made of the most delicate china. He definitely wasn't making any moves on her.
"God,” Ginny huffed in disappointment. “He's not another Stanley, is he? Philippe comes across as so masculine."
"No, not another Stanley. Philippe is all hetero.” Oh, boy, is he ever. “He was concerned about me being hurt."
"How disappointing,” Ginny summed Anne's feelings up completely. “Are you that bad?"
"No, no, I'm fine. He's being careful."
"Sweet. I guess I like him, Annie. He's a bit frightening at first, all forceful and angry, but once you get to know him..."
"I know.” Philippe was really a nice guy under the bad-ass disguise and Anne was glad her sister liked him.
"If you'd rather I came back,” Ginny offered, setting the box down on the floor.
"Nah.” Anne shook her head. “Philippe and I are going to his office. The condo is yours for the day, but first, I have to clean up."
"Hey, don't clean up on my account.” Ginny opened up the laptop, booting it up. “I had to deal with your room growing up."
"My room?” Anne knew the script. This was a long running argument.