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Heath reached for his phone and frowned. It was Nolan’s number and picture on the screen of his smartphone. He was almost certain this wouldn’t be a social call. With a sigh, he hit the button to answer. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” Nolan began, making Heath grit his teeth. “I had to call.”
“What is it?” And why couldn’t Nolan handle it? He couldn’t voice the query aloud. Nolan was running the whole show to accommodate Heath’s family emergency, but Heath couldn’t help the irritation creeping up his spine. He had enough to worry about in Connecticut without New York’s troubles creeping in.
“Madame Badeau called today. And yesterday. And last week. For some reason, she must think your assistant is lying about you being out of the office. She finally threw a fit and insisted to talk to me.”
Heath groaned aloud. Thank goodness only Nolan and his assistant had his personal number. The older French woman refused to use email, so if she had his personal number, she’d call whenever she felt the urge, time difference be damned. “What does she want?”
Nolan chuckled softly on the line. “Aside from you?”
“Most especially,” Heath responded..
“She wants you in Paris this weekend.”
“What?” It was Wednesday. Was she insane? He held her advertising account; he wasn’t hers to summon at her whim. “Why?”
“She’s unhappy with the European campaign we put together. You and I both know she approved it and seemed happy when we first presented it, but she’s had a change of heart. It’s a last-minute modification and she wants you there to personally oversee it. She wants the commercial reshot, the print ads redone—everything.”
That wasn’t a weekend task. Heath smelled a rat. Surely she wasn’t just using this as an excuse to lure him to Paris. He’d told her he was married. She seemed to understand. “Why can’t Mickey handle this?” Mickey was their art director. He was the one who usually handled the shoots. Redoing the J’Adore campaign fell solidly into Mickey’s bucket.
“She didn’t like his vision. She wants you there and no one else. I was worried about this. I’m sorry, but there’s no dissuading her. I told her about your leave of absence for a family emergency, but it didn’t make any difference to her. All she said was that she’d send her private jet to expedite the trip and get you back home as quickly as possible. A long weekend at the most, she insisted.”
As much as Heath would like to take that private jet and tell Cecilia what she could do with it, they needed her account. It was hugely profitable for them. If she pulled out after they had spent the last two years making J’Adore the most sought-after cosmetic line in the market, it would be catastrophic. Not only would they lose her account, but others would also wonder why she left and might consider jumping ship. It was too high-profile to ruin. That meant Heath was going to Paris. Just perfect.
“So when is the plane arriving to pick me up?”
“Thursday afternoon in Hartford. Wheels up at four.”
“I guess I’ll pack my bags. I didn’t really bring a lot of my suits to work on the farm. Thankfully it’s only for a few days.”
“You need to pack Julianne’s bags, too.”
“What?” he yelled into the phone. “How the hell did she get involved in this discussion?”
“Just relax,” Nolan insisted, totally unfazed by Heath’s tone. “When I was trying to talk her out of summoning you, I told her that your father-in-law had a heart attack and you and Julianne had gone to the farm. I thought reminding her about your wife and the serious situation you were dealing with would cool her off a little. I lost my mind and thought she would be a reasonable person. Instead, she insisted you bring Julianne to Paris as well.”
“Why would I want to bring her with me?”
“Why wouldn’t you want to bring your sweet, beloved wife with you to Paris? It’s romantic,” Nolan said, “and it would be suspicious if you didn’t want to bring her. Between you and me, I think Madame Badeau wants to see her competition in the flesh. What can it hurt? Maybe she’ll back off for good once she sees Julianne and realizes she’s not just a made-up relationship to keep her at arm’s length.”
Heath groaned again. He’d never met a woman this aggressive. Had his mother not died when he was a child, she would be a year younger than Cecilia. It didn’t make a difference to her. She was a wealthy, powerful woman who was used to getting what she wanted, including a steady stream of young lovers. Heath was just a shiny toy she wanted because she couldn’t have him.
“Do you really think it will help to take her?”
“I do. And look at the bright side. You’ll get a nice weekend in Paris. You’ll be flying on a fancy private jet and staying in a fabulous hotel along the Seine. It’s not the biggest imposition in the world. You’re probably tired of staring at pine trees by now. It’s been almost a month since you went up there.”
Heath was tired of the trees. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. He was tired of being cooped up here, pacing around like a caged tiger. If it weren’t for the nights with Julianne to help him blow off steam, he might’ve gone stir-crazy by now. Perhaps a weekend away would give him the boost he needed to make it through the holidays. It was early November, so better now than in the middle of the holiday rush.
“Okay,” he agreed. “You can let her know we’ll be there.”
“Thanks for taking one for the team,” Nolan quipped.
“Yeah,” Heath chuckled, ending the call.
Paris. He was going to Paris. With Julianne. Tomorrow. Even after the happy truce they’d come to, going to Paris together felt like returning to the scene of the crime, somehow. That’s where he’d told her he loved her and kissed her for the first time since they were nine years old. They’d left Paris for Spain, and then took a detour to Gibraltar to elope.
With a heavy sigh, Heath got up from the kitchen table and tapped gently at the door to Julianne’s studio. Now he had to convince her to go with him. And not just to go, but to go and act like the happy wife in public, one of the barriers they hadn’t breached. To fool Madame Badeau, they had to be convincing, authentic. That meant his skittish bride would have to tolerate French levels of public affection. It might not even be possible.
