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He frowned as he listened to what his assistant was saying.
'I have someone down here who would like to see you, Xavier. ’
Without an appointment? Xavier stilled, for he had an instinctive distrust of being taken by surprise. And what the hell did Security think they were playing at?
'Not another damned journalist? ’ he snapped — for the building had been practically under seige for a couple of weeks after France's biggest-selling weekly Bon jour! had published some snatched balcony photos. The pictures of Xavier sleepily buttoning up a pair of faded old jeans seemed to have found their way into the national consciousness, and women were downloading the images off the internet. Given the country's fierce privacy laws, the matter was currently in the hands of his lawyers.
'No, it's no one from the Press, ’ said his assistant.
"Well, who is it, and what does he want? ’ he snapped.
'It's a she, and she won't say. She says she wants to speak to you personally.'
'Oh, does she?" Xavier lowered his voice. "Do I know her?'
'She says not.'
'I see. ’ Just the fact that his assistant had not kicked the unexpected stranger out spoke volumes. Xavier only employed people whose instincts he trusted, and he was always prepared to listen to them.
His gaze flickered over to the blonde, who was still staring at him with a sulky expression, and he wondered how the hell he was going to get rid of her. Maybe this unknown woman was a blessing in disguise — presenting him with a legitimate reason to seamlessly extricate himself from this awkward situation.
'Tell her to wait, ’ he said smoothly. 'I'll be clown in a little while, when I have finished here." He put the phone clown.
The blonde turned on him and nodded her head slowly. "You've got someone else. Of course you have. How stupid of me." She gave a hollow laugh. "Did I somehow imagine that you'd still be available a year later, maybe pining for me, and hoping we could pick up where we left off?"
A shadow passed over his dark face. "I never promised you anything, Nancy. I didn't realise that there was going to be some kind of problem:
'That's just the trouble," she said softly. "You create the problem because you're so damned good. Goodbye, Xavier — and thanks for the memory'. And she walked out of the room with her head held high.
Xaviefs eyes narrowed into ebony slivers as he
heard the elevator whirring into action to take her downstairs. Had he acted dishonourably? No, he had not — to have been dishonourable he would have availed himself of her body today and then sent her on her way. He felt the ache of sexual frustration and knew that other men would think him a fool.
But Xavier was careful. He was fastidious in his choice of lovers, and he had only two rules when it came to making that choice: that they must be very beautiful and that there must be no deep emotional attachment or commitment. He made it clear very early on that he was neither interested in love nor marriage, for he had scant experience of the former and no wish to try the latter — and woe betide the woman who attempted to change his mind.
Raking his hands back through his hair, he felt the welcome subsidence of desire. The memory of her would soon be forgotten. He would have his assistant bring him coffee and he would listen to what this unannounced woman wished to say to him.
And then he would go home and take a long, hot shower before going out for dinner. Xavier gave a brief, hard smile at his reflection in the mirror.
Wasn't freedom the most delicious thing?
Perched on the edge of a scarlet sofa which clashed with the expensive suit she was wearing, which she still wasn't quite used to, Laura glanced around.
Over the past few weeks she had had a crash-course in expensive luxury, which had culminated in a stay in an ancient palace in a wildly dramatic country. She had thought that such opulence couldn't be topped — but the offices of Xavier de Maistre came pretty close.
The huge room resembled a luxurious home, rather than the nerve-centre of the successful corporation it undoubtedly was — with cream walls and sumptuous fittings. The chandelier which glistened and danced from the high ceiling looked priceless, and the rather old-fashioned oil paintings of horses and riverbanks gave the place a very traditional and masculine feel.
Carefully, Laura smoothed her fingertips clown over her new silk skirt, still getting used to the feel of it. Touching the sensuous material made her shiver — but then these expensive new fabrics felt so different against her skin.
She was scared — or maybe nervous would be a better way to describe it — but she was confident that she was well prepared. Preparation was the number one lesson of being a good lawyer, and although she might not be a great success in other areas of her life Laura had worked very hard to become a good lawyer.
Her mind skated over what she already knew about Xavier de Maistre — international businessman and playboy, and France's reluctant sex-symbol.
A powerful man, with a powerful reputation. He held a vast property portfolio in Paris — as well as in London and New York — and recently the papers had been speculating that he was soon to start a low-cost airline, operating out of Oily airport.
Which meant, of course, that he might not be impressed by what she was about to tell him — and the money which might soon be his. Money — certainly in Laura's experience — only really mattered if you didn't have very much of it.
She heard the lift doors slide open and sat up expectantly, but it was not Xavier De Maisti e who emerged but a beautiful blonde woman, who gave Laura a look which was half way between sympathy and envy.
