The Paris Affair (Affairs of the Heart #1)

by Kristi Lea

  Helmut glanced down at the bouquet of exquisite red roses, still wrapped in a generous sheaf of green florist paper. He hunted through the numbers in his cell phone. Nada.

  Helmut swore under his breath as he dialed Betty.

  “Hello?” She sounded distracted, and Helmut thought he heard the friendly chatter of voices in the background.

  “Betty, it’s Helmut. I’m very sorry to call you at home.”

  “That’s OK. What do you need?”

  “Do you have Claire’s cell phone number? Or a land line?”

  He heard the background noise on Betty’s end grow louder and then go silent, as if she’d shut a door.

  “Claire? You mean Sheffield?”

  “Yes.” Helmut walked to his coat closet and pulled out his old leather jacket.

  “I can pull it up on my laptop computer. Darned fancy technology. This is going to take me a few minutes to power up. Are you in the office? Can I call you back?” Helmut heard the rustling of papers.

  “I’m at home. Leaving it actually. Call my cell.”

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “I, uh, was supposed to go over, uh, something with her tonight. But I’ve got a family emergency.”

  “Did something happen to your mom?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising. Helmut could picture the concern on her face. Betty had only met his mother once or twice over the years, but the two women got along well.

  “No, no. It’s Kelsie.” He heard the faint chime of the laptop powering on.

  “Your sister? You’re going to Florida? Do I need to rearrange your schedule for Monday?”

  “Calm down, Betty. Kelsie’s fine. She’s just stranded in Peoria. And no, I don’t know how that happened. But I intend to find out in a few hours.”

  “Some crazy college stunt, no doubt,” she said. “I found the number. Are you ready?”

  Helmut grabbed the first envelope off a stack of mail and hurriedly scribbled down the digits as she read them off. “Thanks, Betty. Again, I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

  “I know you are, Helmut. Go take care of your sister, and I’ll see you at the baseball game tomorrow afternoon.”

  The Cubs game. He had almost forgotten. He had arranged for his department to use the company box for the Cubs-Cards game. “About that. Any chance that there’s an extra ticket? In case I have company for the weekend.”

  Betty chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. Safe driving.”

  Helmut clicked off his phone and headed out the door to the elevator. As he rode down the twenty-three floors to street level, he dialed Claire’s number. It went straight to voice mail. Helmut frowned into the phone as the doorman handed him his car keys.

  “Claire, it’s Helmut. I hate to cancel on you like this, but something came up. I will make it up to you as soon as I can.”

  He slid behind the driver’s seat of his BMW, slamming the door shut at the same time he clicked off the phone.

  The caustic mix of anger, frustration, and fear had faded into weariness by the time he pushed open the glass door of the little restaurant. The monotonous landscape of rural Illinois had droned the fight out of him.

  He immediately spotted the familiar petite brunette, sitting in a corner booth with her legs stretched out before her, reading a paperback book. He slid into the opposite end of the booth and signaled for the waitress. And Kelsie pounced.

  “You’re here!” She threw her arms around him and buried her head in his chest.

  Helmut gave her a squeeze and carefully set her away from him. Her eyes were puffy and red and she exhaled a shuddering breath. Clad in a pair of faded, low-hipped jeans and a gray hoodie with her long hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, she looked far younger than her twenty-one years.

  “What happened, kiddo?” he asked.

  “We were on our way to Iowa City, to visit some friends—”

  “We who?” Helmut demanded.

  Kelsie’s cheeks reddened and she twirled the straw in a half-empty soda glass. “It doesn’t matter. I’m never seeing him again.”

  “Kelsie.”

  She looked back up at him, with the same stubborn set to her chin that she used to have when she’d get in trouble as a kid. “His name is Chris. We’ve been dating for a couple of weeks, and we both have friends at Iowa State, so we decided to take a road trip. I told Mom I was headed up to Laura’s in New York. I knew she’d freak if she found out I was going on a trip with a guy. She treats me like I’m fifteen, or something.”

  Helmut raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, just past Indianapolis, he got a phone call from some other girl. I asked who it was, and he started on some rant about how he’d never agreed to date me exclusively.”

  “You got in a fight, so he dropped you on the side of the road?” Beneath the table, Helmut clenched is hands into fists. His sister was impulsive, and as the baby of the family, more than a little spoiled. But she was still his sister. And if this Chris-guy had been standing nearby, Helmut would have decked him.

  Her pink cheeks deepened to a bright crimson. “No, he didn’t kick me out. We didn’t talk at all the last hour in the car. When he stopped for gas across the street, I got out and walked away.”

  Helmut took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, willing his fists to unclench. Impulsive, spoiled, and willful.

  “Can I get you something?” the waitress asked.

  “The check,” Kelsie said.

  “Coffee. Black,” Helmut said.

  “I’ve been sitting here for three and a half hours,” Kelsie said. “Can’t we go?”

  “I’ve been up since five this morning, worked all day, and played an hour and a half of racquetball. And I’ve been driving for three and a half hours.” Not to mention Claire and the steam room. “Unless you’re willing to take the wheel, I need caffeine.”

  “Oh. Right. Fancy sports car with the fancy stick shift.” She picked up her ponytail with one hand and began twirling the ends around her fingers. “Rob offered to teach me, you know.”

  Helmut raised an eyebrow. “To teach you what?”

  “To drive a stick, of course. Sometime when he’s home.”

  He sighed. Their brother hadn’t been home in years. He was too busy with his research on Brazilian tree frogs to come home and teach his baby sister how to drive a stick shift. Or to call their mother. “Do you hear from him much, Kelsie?”

  “An email here and there. He’s on Facebook, too. I actually chatted with him for a few minutes last month when he was in Sao Paolo.” She cocked her head to one side. “Haven’t you guys made up yet?”

  The waitress arrived and deposited a chipped ceramic mug and a pot of coffee on the table in front of Helmut, and he busied himself adding cream and sugar. He raised the mug to his lips and inhaled the steam. It was way too hot to sip. Unfortunately.

  “I take it that’s a ‘no’?” she asked.

  Helmut sighed and set the cup back down. He ran one hand through his hair, smoothing the lock by his forehead that was so often out of place. “He’s never called, no.”

  “Maybe you should be the big brother here, Helmut, and call first. Maybe if he thought he was welcome, he might come back to the States once in a while.”

  And maybe Brazilian tree frogs would sprout feathers. “Look, Kelsie, I appreciate your concern but this isn’t any of your business.”

  “But—”

  “With all due respect, butt out. Rob’s a big boy. If he wants to live his life in the Amazon jungle, it’s his decision. I’m not going to try and talk him out of it. And don’t—”

  She opened her mouth to protest again.

  He held up his hand to cut her off but deliberately softened his voice. “Let it go, please.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and slunk backwards into the booth seat, her pose more protesting than defeated.

  Helmut took a gulp of his rapidly cooling coffee. It was too strong and tasted bitter, even with the additions. He u
nderstood his sister’s frustration. He wanted Rob home as much as Kelsie and Mom did. But after their father died ten years ago, he and Rob had a major blowup. He had accused his younger brother of skipping on family responsibilities, and his brother had accused Helmut of having a stick up his ass, and a teenaged Kelsie had cried through the whole argument. And then, in the thick of it, Rob had just left. Turned and walked out.

  At least his younger brother was starting to talk to Kelsie again. Helmut drained his cup. At least his younger brother was talking to someone again.

  “Helmut?”

  “Yes, Kelsie?”

  “Thanks, big brother. For coming to pick me up. I am glad you’re here.” Her voice was soft and shy, and Helmut spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at him with her wide brown eyes and a hopeful vulnerability that melted just a tiny corner of his heart.

  Kelsie was almost seventeen years younger than he was. And she’d had him wrapped around her little finger since the day she’d first learned to smile. If she was spoiled, it was because she was so easy to spoil. His lips quirked into a half grin, and he slid one arm around her slim shoulders.

  “That’s what family’s for, kiddo,” he said, and gave her a squeeze.

  Chapter 8

  “Your friend Helmut keeps himself busy.”

  Claire clenched her teeth as the smug undertone of Frank’s nasal voice grated along her last nerve.

  “That is his name, right? Helmut? You two were very chummy at the concert.”

  The late May afternoon was sunny, it was a perfect seventy-five degrees, and the Cubs were actually favored to win over the Cards. Claire had been looking forward to the outing with the girls for three months. The four friends—Claire, Steph, Jen, and Alicia—had been friends since college, and shared an apartment for two crazy, party-filled years after graduation. Now they all had busy careers that sent them to the far ends of the country. Get-togethers like this were too precious to waste.

  “Why is he here?” she whispered to Steph.

  “Frank or Helmut?”

  “Frank,” she ground out.

  “Alice and her brother, Doug, went together on tickets, to qualify for the group rate. You two weren’t so, well, distant last fall when we were planning this. Just ignore him, Claire,” Steph said. Doug and Frank had been frat brothers and Claire had forgotten all about Alice’s brother.

  “No, this has got to stop. Now.” Claire turned around in her seat, and whipped the blue and white baseball cap off her head.

  “What? I’m just making small talk.” Frank shrugged.

  “Out with it, Frank. What’s got you gloating this morning?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I had thought that you and the guy you were with at the concert were together. That’s all.”

  Claire seethed. Frank’s guess was far too close to the truth. But after last night, it was not a subject she cared to argue about. Least of all with her slimy ex. “We’re just coworkers, Frank.”

  “Then you wouldn’t be upset to see him with the hottie up in that skybox.” Frank took a swig of his beer and sat back, feigning boredom. Claire saw the look he snuck under lowered lashes, daring her to look.

  Claire glanced up toward S&F’s box, cursing Frank under her breath. She had wanted to use it for today’s game instead of their general admission seats, but it was already spoken for. One of the other departments had reserved the box for the day.

  “Finance is having an outing here today,” Steph said.

  Claire whipped back around to her friend. “Quit that.”

  “What?” Steph asked.

  “Reading my mind. It’s eerie.”

  “You’re not that hard to read, girlfriend.” Steph grinned. “And it’s my job to keep track of all of the little details so you can focus on corporate strategy and all that bullshit.”

  Claire chanced another glance upwards toward the box. She saw a curvy brunette leaning forward over the railing, but she couldn’t make out her face. She didn’t remember a young brunette in Helmut’s office, but everyone looked different in jeans and baseball hats than they did in skirts and suits.

  Not that she cared. She was absolutely not jealous. Not at all. Frank was trying to rile her, and it wasn’t going to work.

  The crowd roared approval as the new first baseman slammed himself into the padded wall to catch a foul ball. Claire cheered and tried to focus on the game.

  Helmut had stood her up last night. He left a voicemail, for goodness sake. A voicemail. After the steam room. Maybe the rumors about him were right. Heartbreaker, player, cad. She was just a notch on his belt. A conquest. The fact that he hadn’t actually gotten any—she had barely even touched him—wouldn’t matter.

  “You could pop in if you wanted to. Shake hands, kiss a few babies, do that CEO-goodwill-stuff,” Steph suggested.

  Claire twirled her hat in one hand. “This is personal time. I haven’t seen you girls for months. Well, I haven’t seen Jen and Alicia for months. I’m not ditching you to crash someone else’s party.”

  Steph raised one eyebrow and quirked her lips. “I wasn’t suggesting you spend the whole game up there. Five minutes should be plenty.”

  “I don’t care who Helmut brought to the baseball game. He could have an entire harem up there, for all the difference it would make to me.”

  “It’s almost the seventh inning stretch. If you go now, you won’t get caught in the mad rush for the bathrooms.”

  One of these days, Steph is going to be wrong about something.

  Claire excused herself and squeezed over her friends toward the end of the aisle.

  “Good Luck,” Alicia called as Claire climbed the stairs. Claire threw a glare over her shoulder at her friends. They had their heads together, and Steph and Jen were giggling like a couple of coeds. In the row behind them, Frank gave her a wink. She took a deep breath and mentally blocked out his smug face.

  As she wound her way past the concession stands to the mezzanine, she tried to recall the names and faces of everyone she’d met in Finance this week, something she normally excelled at. But it was Helmut’s gray-green eyes that filled her mind.

  Claire paused at the door to the box. The interior of the air-conditioned room had been custom-decorated with navy blue leather seats and small end tables topped in the same granite as the countertop of the built-in wet bar. Framed posters of some of S&F’s aircraft were interspersed with Cubs memorabilia on the walls. Claire recognized the baseball bat autographed by Babe Ruth that her father used to display over the fireplace in their den when she was a kid.

  Neither Helmut nor the brunette were anywhere to be seen. Claire breathed a quick sigh of relief. The walk up the stairs from the infield had cooled her ire, and she realized how awkward it would be if Helmut were here with a date.

  “Ms. Sheffield, what a surprise.” Helmut’s secretary crossed the room and greeted her warmly. “Helmut forgot to tell me you were coming today.”

  “Oh, I’m not staying. I am sitting with some friends down by the infield. I just thought I’d stop by and say hello.” Claire smiled at the woman. Dressed in khaki capris and a baseball jersey with her long hair loose, Betty looked far different than the tight-laced persona she wore in the office.

  “Did he get a hold of you last night? He called me at dinnertime asking for your phone number. It sounded urgent.”

  Claire startled. He called his secretary? “Um. Yes. He did leave me a message.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad things worked out. Well, come in and let me introduce you to a few of the folks you might not have met yet.” Betty steered her toward a several family groups, where three or four kids ran circles around the legs of the relaxed, chatting adults.

  Claire made small talk with the accounting staff and their families, noting the names of two men and one woman who seemed eager to get face time with their CEO. She’d have Steph check out their records next week. Ambitious workers could be a real asset, or a total pain in the ass, and
Steph was an expert at ferreting out the latter.

  The eighth inning was about to start when she turned to leave and caught her breath.

  Helmut stood at the doorway, a beautiful young woman on his arm. She had thought he looked sexy in tailored slacks, but that was nothing compared to the way a pair of well-worn denim jeans hugged his lean hips and emphasized rock-hard thighs. The T-shirt he wore left his tanned and muscled forearms bare, and Claire’s pulse quickened as she remembered those arms tracing up her bare ribcage.

  The woman stood on tiptoe and whispered something into Helmut’s ear. He chuckled. The bright glow in his eyes as he talked to his date answered all of Claire’s doubts. Clearly, they knew each other well. Claire’s stomach churned at the thought of all of the sexual fantasies she’d been nurturing the past week. He had been making a fool of her—and of his pretty little girlfriend. She stiffened her spine and raised her chin a notch. The girlfriend was none of Claire’s business, and as of now, Helmut was nothing but business to her.

  Before she could rip her eyes away from the pair, Helmut spotted her. His eyes darkened as he caught her gaze. Claire’s blood boiled at the thinly veiled desire she saw in his eyes. How dare he look at her like that, here, in front of his whole office and his date. She turned sharply on one heel and stalked into the suite’s private restroom, closing the door behind her with a snap.

  Fool. Wimp. Claire stared at her own image in the bathroom mirror. You are fearless in the face of television cameras, an auditorium full of stockholders, or a boardroom full of men twice your age. But you are a complete coward when faced with one lone man.

  A speaker in the ceiling announced that the backup pitcher had just taken the mound. Time to get back to her own party. Claire flushed the empty toilet and ran the sink water briefly, for effect, and then lifted her head high and stepped out of the bathroom.

  Most of the people had returned to their seats or found spots along the wall of windows overlooking the field, and no one paid any attention to Claire as she slipped out the door and back into the now-empty hallway.