Two Weeks in Geneva

by Lydia Rowan

  Table of Contents

  Two Weeks in Geneva: Book One

  Look for the Other Books in the Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Thank You!

  Beneath the Boss: Excerpt

  Lydia's Other Works

  Copyright

  Two Weeks in Geneva: Book One

  by

  Lydia Rowan

  Look for the Other Books in the Series

  Book Two:

  Quinn Jeffries will remember her two weeks with Alexander Montague forever, but now, a year later, she's moved on and put Alexander firmly in the past.

  Or at least she thought had.

  Like a whirlwind, Alexander reenters her life, this time on her home turf, and Quinn's secrets are revealed. Forced to confront deceptions from the past and an enraged Alexander, whose fierce passion is on the verge of turning into an equally fierce hate, Quinn tries to reconcile her misdeeds.

  She and Alexander establish a fragile truce, and the connection between them grows. But a storm is on the horizon, and once it arrives, the future that she has just begun to imagine might be possible may not survive.

  Book Three:

  Quinn’s secrets have been revealed, and now so have Alexander’s.

  In the wake of these revelations, Quinn and Alexander are left angry and hurt, and the future they both wanted is in jeopardy. Forced apart by the past, they’ll have to push aside the pain and rebuild their broken trust if their love will have any chance to survive.

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  Chapter One

  Bienvenue à Genève.

  Willkommen in Genf.

  The words pulled Quinn Jeffries out of her light slumber and she opened her eyes. A quick peek out of the window revealed that they had landed, though from this vantage, she was unable to make out much about her surroundings. She could see the outlines of buildings in what she assumed was the city center, and Geneva’s famed mountains lay farther in the distance outlined by the early afternoon sunlight. Quinn marveled at the time difference. Her watch revealed it was a little after ten in the morning on the East Coast, making it after four in the afternoon here. Crazy, she reflected as she grabbed her phone and powered it on before dashing off a quick text message to her best friend.

  I’ve landed…in the future!

  She chuckled at her undeniably dorky note, smiling as she stood and tried to stretch her legs. Her seatmate, a friendly elderly lady coming home after visit with relatives in America, was busily gathering the knitting she’d been working on during most of the eleven-and-a-half-hour flight, clearly excited to be home. Quinn turned and also began gathering her belongings, again noticing how surprisingly spacious the accommodations had been. The steward escorted her seatmate off the flight, while another retrieved Quinn's second carry-on and handed it to her, stating she could leave whenever she’d like. First-class was a first for her, and beyond the much-appreciated extra seat space, leg room, and great service, the ability to leave the plane quickly almost made her swoon. Practical maybe, but Quinn had things to do and hated the penned-in feeling and interminable wait that came with disembarking from the back of the plane.

  As she walked up the Jetway, she shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her body. This unexpected trip had popped up out of the blue, and she’d hoped her heaviest coat, perfect for the cold snaps that sometimes hit North Carolina, would be sufficient. That didn’t seem to be the case, which was surprising because she hadn’t thought they’d yet reached the harshest part of winter. But it was ultimately of no consequence. There was work to be done, so much so that she doubted she’d have a chance to experience much of the city, and if she did, well, she could handle being a little cold if it meant she got to explore Geneva.

  It was funny; she’d never thought much about Geneva, Switzerland, or even Europe really, save a couple incredibly famous cities like Paris or Rome, and hadn’t thought she’d have occasion to visit any of them, let alone one as off her radar as Geneva. But the quick research she’d done in preparation for the trip had painted a portrait of a city that offered the best of both old and new Europe, including mountains, museums, a nice economy, a slowly diversifying population, and a unique mix of different European cultures all together in one place. Maybe she’d just been enamored with the idea of leaving America, but Geneva seemed tailored to her personality, and she hoped she get to enjoy at least a little of it.

  She exited the Jetway and headed through the terminal to baggage claim, realizing she hadn’t made transportation arrangements. Her stomach began a nervous flutter. That was so unlike her, leaving something so critical to chance. She took a deep breath and stood in front of the baggage carousel trying to formulate a plan as she waited for her suitcase. Geneva, like most European cities, had an extensive public transit system and encouraged tourists and residents alike to use it; at least that was what the Internet said. Maybe one day she would, but for now, she needed to reach her destination quickly and didn’t want to leave anything to chance. She assumed most of the taxi drivers spoke at least some English, so she’d just find the address for Montague Industrial and have the driver take her there for the meetings.

  Crap.

  What if the meetings were to occur offsite, at some location she’d never heard of? The flutter in her gut intensified. This deal was major for her company, and it was sheer dumb luck that she was even here. A screwup, no matter how slight, would not be tolerated, and she could imagine the looks she’d get—probably a mix of horrified and slightly amused—as she rolled up to the reception area of a renowned international architecture firm, rumpled from her flight, carrying luggage, and asking to speak to the CEO. And that was assuming she actually made it past security. Ugh, a nightmare scenario that would probably kill the transaction and make MI think they were a bunch of yokels.

  No, that wouldn’t do. But she was no closer to a solution when her bag finally appeared. Worrying her bottom lip in earnest, she grabbed the bag and made her way toward ground transportation, no clue where she was going, but certain she couldn’t hang out in the Geneva airport until she figured it out. Deep in thought, she barely paid attention to the row of drivers standing in a neat line holding small name cards, until one in particular caught her eye. He was tall, so tall that his height set him apart from the others, as did his outrageously broad shoulders. Interest piqued and the quandary of the moment forgotten, Quinn allowed herself a long, slow look at the man. His closely cropped hair was dark, black really, and looked like it would grow into a wave of riotous curls if allowed. Sunglasses covered his eyes—Quinn usually found sunglasses inside something between pompous and epic douchebaggery, but she’d happily overlook that fact for him because the outline of his masculine jaw and chin and his firm-looking lips left no doubt that his eyes would more than live up to the rest of the package.

  Quinn looked down, noting the fine cut of his suit and thinking that drivers in Geneva were impeccable dressers, before she finally noticed the small white card in his hand. The other drivers held larger pieces of paper, names scribbled in permanent marker, but this sign was different. It appeared to be of heavy paper stock, a rich ivory color with a golden-colored border. And inside the boarder, in neat block print was QUINN JEFFRIES. Quinn looked at the sign for a moment, unsure because no one at her company, ARc-light Designs, had mentioned a driver, and she hadn’t had direct contact with anyone from MI. But then again, who else would know her name and time of arriv
al? She approached the man cautiously and could tell that even though he had his sunglasses on, he was watching her, appraising her. The thought made her shudder and wonder what he saw when he gazed at her. She’d tried to look professional although she was sure the flight had not been kind to her navy-blue suit and white blouse, despite having chosen a fabric that repelled wrinkles. She had tamed her relaxed, shoulder-length brown hair into a tight bun that was presentable at least. A quick look in the mirrored walls as she’d walked through the airport had revealed that her brown eyes were clear with no bags or redness, and the smooth brown skin of her face and hands, as well as her lips, were properly moisturized. And well, her body, it was hers, and after some hard-fought battles, she’d learned to love it, or at least appreciate it, curves and all. Though, if the airport was any indication, that resolve would be put to the test. If the women of Geneva were anywhere near as hot as this cab driver, her self-esteem was in for a major workout. Not that it mattered. She was here for work and work only, so her looks were not an issue, and outside of assuring that she maintained a scrupulously professional appearance at all times, she was sure no one would care how she looked. Or at least she hoped that was the case.

  The man arched a brow at her as she approached. “You are Quinn Jeffries,” he said in deep, rumbling voice, his English quite clear, though his words were heavily accented, something between French and German that Quinn couldn’t pin down.

  It had been a statement not a question, but Quinn found herself nodding. “Um, yes. Hi. You’re here to pick me up? No one mentioned that to me.”

  She hated to babble but relief warred with common sense. All of the airport brochures and travel-warning sites said not to take rides from people you hadn’t booked yourself.

  “Yes. I will see you to Montague Industrial. This way,” he said as he grabbed her bag, turned and stalked toward the door.

  Quinn lingered for half a beat and then begin to follow, scurrying to catch up with his long-legged strides, something she was sadly accustomed to, given her own below-average height. Moments later, they stepped outside of the airport, and he approached a late-model black Mercedes and begin loading her bag into the trunk. The sight spurred her into action.

  “Hey, wait,” she said and he halted. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I don’t know you.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up and the skin around his eyes crinkled. She could imagine the smile-lit gaze hiding behind those sunglasses.

  “Ah yes, I am Alexander.”

  He offered his hand, and she offered hers, the first contact of their fingers sending an electric zing through her body. As he engulfed her hand in his, a hand that was masculine in a way that transcended culture and country, she imagined him doing something outrageously flirtatious like kissing the back of her hand or enclosing both of hers in his as he stared soulfully into her eyes. He didn’t though, and she was slightly disappointed, irrational as it was. But he did flash her a smile that was almost as exciting.

  “I am sorry. I tend to get carried away with business.”

  Of course. He probably had a dozen other trips today, and she needed to get her head back in the game, too.

  “Nice to meet you, Alexander,” she said and got into the back passenger side of the car.

  A tight smile played on his lips as he closed the trunk, walked around the car, and got into the driver’s seat. After he’d navigated the airport traffic and merged onto what she assumed was the Swiss equivalent of a highway, he spoke.

  “I’m sure you need to rest. I will take you to the hotel and return to pick you up tomorrow.”

  “Um, actually, can we head directly to MI? I know it’s a little late, but I’m anxious to get started. Though I guess I should drop my bag off at the hotel.”

  “The hotel is near the office. I’ll look after you bag until you get there.”

  They rode in silence for a while, but Quinn didn’t mind because it gave her a chance to take in the sights.

  “Your first time in Geneva?” he asked.

  She laughed and looked into the rearview mirror. “My first time anywhere, actually. Am I that transparent?”

  The sly, slight smile turned the corners of his mouth again. “A little. And most people don’t pay so much attention. What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful. Oh, and everyone drives really nice cars.”

  She could have kicked herself for saying that, but it was true. From she’d seen so far, every car on the highway, including hers, could be carrying a dignitary of some sort or other.

  He chuckled. “Looks very official, eh?”

  Quinn snorted and let out a loud laugh. “I have to confess. I was just thinking that very same thing.”

  Alexander chuckled softly. “Trust me, it’s not, and don’t worry. We all think Americans drive pickup trucks, and I’m both jealous of and amazed by that, so we will call it even. Are you here for work?”

  “Yes, and maybe some fun, hopefully, if there’s time. It’s funny, but I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, voice calm and inquisitive but not at all pressing. She wondered if she’d be better off not saying anything, but then again, what was the harm if she kept out the details?

  “It’s just there’s an important project, and the person who was supposed to handle it had a car accident and broke his leg. So here I am.”

  “But you can handle whatever it is?”

  “I can. But I don’t know that everyone else knows that. They’ll be watching, waiting for me mess up, and I cannot and will not let that happen. I know my stuff, so I’ll just have to trust in that.”

  The last statement was probably more for her own benefit. She hadn’t told Alexander how absolutely key this deal was for ARc-light, how it was on her to make sure it off without a hitch. People’s livelihoods, friends’ livelihoods, not to mention her own, were at stake and the pressure was tremendous. She half believed Rich had broken his leg on purpose just so he’d be out of the line of fire. The thought sobered her, and as fun as the conversation was and as good as Alexander was to look at, she needed to focus. He seemed to agree, for he remained quiet the rest of the journey.

  Finally, Alexander turned into the underground driveway of a tall building on Rue du Rhône, one of the prominent streets on the Rues Basses, the most famous shopping district in Geneva. She wouldn’t have thought an architectural firm would be located in a shopping district, but given the fame of the street, maybe the address had been too good to pass up. The security guard waved Alexander in, and he parked in an empty spot right next to the elevators and got out of the car.

  “Oh, it’s okay, Alexander. Stay in the car. I can find my way.”

  She wasn’t sure that she could, but she didn’t want to trouble him or get him into trouble.

  “Nonsense. Come with me, Quinn.” Alexander buttoned his suit coat and headed to the bank of elevators.

  For the second time that day, she found herself following his lead, which chaffed a bit. Quinn was accustomed to setting the tone and didn’t like how vulnerable she felt. But seeing as she didn’t have much choice, she decided to suck it up. Besides, Alexander was nice, and she wasn’t expecting such a kind reception later, so she’d enjoy it while she could, which would probably be the length of the elevator ride to the lobby. Alexander pushed a button and turned to face her, removing his sunglasses as he did. She noticed how large he was in the confirmed space, how his height and large, muscled frame dwarfed her own. But what she noticed most were his now-uncovered eyes. They were a deep, rich brown that contained practically every hue from golden to near black. And they practically sparked, alive with intelligence that had her sure he never missed a thing. Which she couldn’t say for herself. A niggling thought crept into her mind, a rush of anger following with it.

  “I’m sorry, Alexander, I didn’t catch your last name,” she said, eyes narrowing.

  “Because I did not give it.”

  Th
e elevator dinged, the doors opened, and he stepped off.

  “Pleased make your acquaintance, Quinn Jeffries. I am Alexander Montague. Welcome to Montague Industrial. Please follow me.”

  And then he stepped out of the elevator.

  Chapter Two

  If looks could kill.

  Alexander now understood that particular saying better than he ever had before. But he couldn’t help but smirk as he walked away. He heard her follow and didn’t have to turn around to know that she was still staring daggers into his back. He actually appreciated the pushback and was pleased to see that, at least so far, she wasn’t the type to run away from a challenge. But he wasn’t sure what to make of Quinn Jeffries quite yet, and he’d resist celebrating until he knew for sure she was up to the task. True, he’d been less than forthcoming during their initial meeting, and Roger, one of MI’s longest-tenured employees and the company’s unofficial greeter, had been scandalized when Alexander had insisted that he would retrieve their important guest from the airport himself. Doing so was certainly out of the ordinary, but Alexander had wanted to take the measure of ARc-light’s representative. This investment was key and he refused to leave anything to chance even if it meant using a little deception.

  He led her through the hallways that were quiet and staid, partly because of the relatively late hour, partly because of his presence, but also partly because it was simply the way of things here now. Sure, there was activity, the standard dronings of an office, one that could have been anywhere. When he was a boy, and his grandfather still ran the company, the offices were practically alive with creativity, vibrating with excitement and design, and he wanted to get that back.

  “Where are we going?” Quinn said after a few moments, frustration clear in her voice.

  Rather than answer, he turned into one of the conference rooms lining the hall. Windowless and small, the room was not one of their nicest and certainly not something they’d ordinarily show to outsiders, but it was perfect for his needs, tucked in an out-of-the-way corner where he could quiz Quinn and get a sense of how the board presentation would go without having to worry about prying ear and eyes.