Beauty & Her Billionaire Boss. Barbara Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ artwork. She invited Piper to visit after lunch. The appointment meant skipping a day of class, but Piper didn’t really mind. A day off, in fact, might do her some good. Help her get her head back into the game.

      Marie’s address, which turned out to be a luxury tower near La Défense, the business district just outside the city, was easier to find than she expected. Not wanting to ring the woman’s bell before she was expected, Piper found herself wandering around La Grande Arche, the city’s twentieth-century version of the Arc de Triomphe. It was the perfect summer’s day. Not too hot, not too cold. Being lunchtime, the square was filled with people. Business executives sat on nearby steps soaking up the sun while tourists and others lounged on the grass in the nearby park. Piper strolled the perimeter and watched as they laughed and chatted with each other. Was this what Frederic meant when he told her to see as much of the city as possible?

      Thinking of her boss made her insides sag. He was nowhere to be found when she woke up this morning. That didn’t surprise her, he was nowhere to be found most of the time, but Piper sort of hoped that after last night, the routine might have changed. She still couldn’t shake the image of him staring out his salon window. Looking so solitary and distant. So alone.

      There’s a word for what you’re doing, you know. Projecting or connecting, something like that. Whatever the word, she needed to stop. Just because she was in another sad mood didn’t mean her boss was too.

      Her feet hurt, protesting having to wear sandals after months of wearing sturdy shoes. She looked around for a café where she could give them a break. There was one on the corner with a maroon-and-white awning that wasn’t overly crowded. Helping herself to one of the empty rattan chairs that lined the sidewalk, she had just pulled out her cell phone when she heard a familiar-sounding voice ordering an espresso.

      No way. She looked to her left. Even with aviator sunglasses covering his face, she recognized Frederic’s profile instantly.

      He was alone. At least the chair across from him was empty, and judging from the way his long legs were stretched out to claim the table’s real estate, he wasn’t expecting a guest to arrive anytime soon. Piper’s eyes traveled their length, from his wingtips to the muscular thighs that disappeared beneath the tablecloth. In contrast to last night, today he looked the picture of ease.

      Must be nice to feel so confident instead of having to fake it all the time. And to be that good-looking. Patience was always saying that being beautiful wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Piper wouldn’t know. She was never someone people thought of as beautiful. When the guys in high school made fun of Patience’s job, they did so with a glaze of lust in their eyes. No one’s eyes ever glazed for Piper.

      Just then, as though sensing her stare, Frederic turned in her direction. Piper started to shrink back into the shadows, then caught herself and waved instead. He didn’t wave back.

      She was about to take offense when she realized she wasn’t in his field of vision. Smoothing her skirt, she walked toward his table.

      “Bonjour, monsieur,” she greeted with a smile.

      * * *

      The sound of an American accent jarred Frederic from his thoughts. He knew of only one person who spoke French with an accent like that. Blinking out of his fog, he found a whirl of yellow and red in his line of sight. Lifting his eyes, he saw a familiar brunette head. “Piper? Where did you come from?”

      “Two tables over. I waved, but you weren’t paying attention.”

      She was being polite. They both knew he didn’t wave because she wasn’t sitting in his field of view.

      “Lost in thought,” he replied, continuing the pretense.

      “I’m not bothering you, am I?” Piper’s question brought him back.

      “Not at all. I’m killing time after an appointment is all.” Yet another pointless meeting with his ophthalmologist. He went every few months simply to hear that his eyes were still diseased.

      “And you?”

      “Killing time before an appointment, actually.”

      Sitting back in his chair, Frederic found himself wishing he’d been paying attention when she approached. Whenever he saw Piper at the apartment, she wore either her chef’s jacket or that awful maid uniform that was the antithesis of every French maid fantasy ever written. This sundress, however... The bright colors definitely suited her better. Plus, there was an expanse of flesh around her shoulders he didn’t normally get to enjoy.

      “Are you meeting a classmate?” he asked. A date would certainly explain the dress. Why he was suddenly intrigued by her social life, Frederic wasn’t sure, except that the memory of her crying by the kitchen counter refused to leave him. He found it odd, an attractive American—and she was attractive as that expanse of skin attested—spending her evenings in Paris alone.

      “I’m supposed to meet with someone at the Rose d’Arms,” she said. “It’s a retirement home a block or so from here.”

      “Looking for a surrogate grandmother?”

      “Hardly,” she said with a laugh. A very pleasant-sounding laugh, too. Like bells. “I’m doing a favor for my sister.”

      “At a retirement home?”

      “It’s a long story. I won’t bore you with the details. I really just stopped by to say hello. I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were...”

      “Please. Stay. We can kill time together.”

      “Are you sure?”

      There was hesitancy in her voice. Frederic couldn’t blame her. Eight months of hardly talking, and now here they were on their third conversation in two days. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure,” he told her. “There is no reason for the two of us to sit at separate tables when we are both by ourselves. Besides, you have me intrigued.”

      The café had arranged the tables as so many cafés in the city did, with the seats side by side so that patrons could enjoy the view. As Piper slipped into the seat beside his, Frederic was struck by an aroma of vanilla and spices that made his mouth water. “Did you bake today?” he asked.

      “No. I skipped class. Why?”

      “No reason.” Who knew a person could smell delicious? “Tell me this long story of yours.”

      Piper took a deep breath. “Apparently, Ana, my sister’s boss, lived with an artist here in Paris in the seventies and posed for a bunch of paintings. Her great-nephew, Stuart, is hoping to surprise her with one as a gift, so Patience asked me if I would talk to the artist’s sister to see if any of his paintings survived.”

      “Doesn’t your sister realize there are easier ways to track down an artist’s work? If he is well-known...”

      “This is where it gets complicated.”

      She paused while the waitress brought his espresso and she placed her order.

      “Complicated how?”

      “The artist died in an accident a long time ago. According to Ana, he would have been huge—like Picasso huge—but then Theodore Duchenko went СКАЧАТЬ