Amanda's Guide to Love (24 page)

But he’d be gone, and with some
luck, ENS would recover. Its foundations were solid, and it still had enough
good people in its ranks to pull it back up. The next CEO wouldn’t have to be a
genius to save the company—just someone with more intelligence and less ego.

Come to think of it, Julien’s fall
from grace might affect her personally, too. The industry might delist her from
the
untouchables
and put her in the
deserves-a-chance
category.
She might have better luck next time she applied for a managerial position. It
made sense that Julien’s warning not to hire her would matter less now that
he’d failed at his job so spectacularly.

Amanda was so excited she showed
the article to Jeanne and Manon. She shared the news with Amar and Pepe, who’d
come by for his Arabic lesson with Amar. She even told José about it. Tonight,
she’d fill Kes in, and they would celebrate with some good champagne. Amanda
grinned as she pictured him raising his flute and saying, “Burn in hell,
Julien. Mwahahaha!”

She was still grinning when someone
tapped her shoulder. “Hey, you! It looks like this new job of yours isn’t as
awful as you’d feared.”

She spun around. “Patrick! What are
you doing here?”

“I took a day off and thought I’d
drop by.”

“That’s so nice of you.” Amanda
pointed to a table. “Why don’t you sit down and have a drink? I’ll take my
coffee break and join you in half an hour.”

“Promise?”

She arched an eyebrow at him.
“We’ve known each other five years. We’ve worked together, and partied together
in Bangkok’s nightclubs.”

He sighed. “Those were the days . . .”

“Have I ever promised you something
I wasn’t sure I could deliver?”

He shook his head.

“Ha.” Amanda nodded toward the
table again.

Patrick smiled. “Can I have some
sparkling water?”

“Absolutely.”

When she joined him thirty minutes
later, Patrick launched into reminiscing about their year in Bangkok as green
ENS recruits. He and Rob had left the company to launch a start-up. Given how successful
they’d been, he had never regretted that decision. But, man, they’d had fun in
Bangkok.

“You know,” he said, giving Amanda
a strange look, “if you hadn’t been Rob’s girlfriend, I’m sure I would’ve hit
on you at the time.”

“Oh.” She smiled quickly to hide
her surprise. “But you’re into busty brunettes. It’s the only type you’ve ever
dated.”

“I’m over busty brunettes,” he
said. “I guess I’ve grown up. I’m no longer interested in women who look a
certain way.”

Her lips quirked. “That opens up a
whole new world of possibilities.”

“I’d like to have a relationship
that can grow into something bigger—something for life.”

She didn’t comment.

“These days,” he plowed on, “I’m
interested in women who are more . . . like me.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Tall, clean-shaven,
and prematurely balding?”

“God forbid.” He chuckled. “I’m
interested in a woman who, in addition to good looks, has brains. And ambition.
And balls.”

She opened her mouth to comment on
the last qualification.

“Figuratively speaking,” he said
quickly.

“Ah.”

He looked down at his glass and
then up at her. “A woman like you.”

She stared at him to ascertain if
he was kidding with her, but he looked earnest. What’s more, he looked anxious
to hear her reply.

“Patrick,” she finally said. “I’m
not sure how to react to this.”

“I understand.” He leaned in. “Will
you have dinner with me any day this week? Or the next. We could go to a Thai
restaurant for old times’ sake and . . . just chat about life.”

She hesitated.

“Amanda,” he said. “I may never
have told you this, but I’ve admired you since the day we met. You’re so
elegant, efficient, so . . . together. In my eyes, you’re the
ideal woman.”

She felt a blush warm her cheeks.

“All I’m asking for is one dinner.
Afterward, if you decide I’m not your type or you could do better than me, I’ll
totally understand, and we’ll carry on as friends.”

It was hard to say no to those terms.

“OK.” She stood. “My time’s up.
What about Thursday night?”

“Thursday night’s perfect.” He gave
her a happy grin.

After he left, she tried to figure
out if she was more surprised or flattered by his sudden proposition. Patrick
was one of the four people she called friends. She’d never thought he’d be
more, even if he did tick most of the boxes on her checklist.

Vivienne considered him an ideal
man.

She’d be over the moon to learn
Patrick considered her disappointing daughter an ideal woman.

Amanda smirked.

Ideal, my foot.

It was the most misguided,
delusional image anyone had ever had of her.

But it was undeniably
gratifying.

* * *

Kes and Amanda opened a bottle of
bubbly and drank it between bouts of hungry lovemaking. An hour later they
collapsed next to each other, a little sticky and a little tipsy.

Amanda propped herself up on her
elbow and traced the taut ridge between Kes’s neck and shoulder. “I love this
part on a man.”

“Do you?”

“Absolutely. But I’m hard to
please. This muscle here”—she ran her fingers along the ridge again from
shoulder to neck—“has to meet very strict criteria of thickness and length. And
it must slant at a certain angle.”

The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Just the left one or the right one, too?”

“Both. In a symmetric way.”

“What happens if one or both fall
short of your specifications?”

“Bad things.”

“Such as?”

“Failure to activate the region in
my brain that controls lust.”

“I see.” He gave her a smug smile.
“Well, it brings me pride and joy that my symmetric shoulders are activating
your lust region.”

“They aren’t activating it.” Amanda
slid her hand down to his biceps. “They’re setting it on fire.”

His smile grew bigger. Then,
suddenly, something snapped in his eyes, chasing hilarity from them and
replacing it with a deeper, more solemn emotion. An emotion Amanda couldn’t
quite decipher.

“What about me?” she asked, trying
to regain her comfort zone. “Which part of me do you like best?”

“Every part. I like every part of
you, Amanda.” His eyes burned into hers. “I like every single thing about you.
Very much.”

Her
stomach began to knot.
This conversation was taking a turn she hadn’t anticipated. Or was prepared
for.

“It’s the novelty.” She forced a
smile. “It’ll wear off. If you stayed in Paris through September, I’d start
getting on your nerves.”

“I doubt it.” He laid his palm on
her cheek and began to stroke it gently. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone
before.”

Oh God.

She peered at him. “How can you
make such claims?”

“Because I know my heart. And I’ve
dated enough women to recognize that anything I may have felt in the past is a
fraction of what I feel now.”

“Kes, please—” she began.

“I’m in love with you.”

She shut her mouth and just stared
at him. When she could no longer bear the intensity of his gaze, she focused on
a spot on the wall.

He framed her face with both hands,
urging her to look at him again. “Ma belle, I need you to say something back.”

She held his gaze. “You won’t like
it.”

“Say it anyway.”

“OK.” She hesitated. “Do you want
the short answer or the long one?”

“The long one.” He gave her a faint
smile. “I think I already know what the short one is.”

“Nothing has fundamentally changed
since we met in Deauville. All the reasons why I didn’t want us to date at the
time are still valid.” She spread her arms in a vague apology. “I am who I am,
and you are who you are. Besides, I don’t do the whole love thing anymore. I
suck at it, and it’s pointless to persist in doing what you’re bad at.”

A sadness she found unbearable
filled his black eyes.

“Let me add a footnote.” She took
his hand and kissed it. “You are a fascinating person. You’re intelligent,
funny, and humble for someone with your looks.”

He rolled his eyes as if to say,
oh
please
.

“I mean every word. You’re freaking
gorgeous, Kes. Just looking at you turns me on, even in public. It’s
embarrassing, actually.” She paused and then added. “And you’re hands-down the
best lover I’ve ever had.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread
across his face.

He gathered her to him
and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I can work with that.”

* * *

Amanda shut the door after the
deliveryman left and stared at the package. It consisted of two things: a
medium-size cardboard box and a white ceramic pot.

The pot contained a magnificent
orchid.

She opened the box and
retrieved two big illustrated books: one about orchids and the other about
spiders. At the bottom of the box was an envelope with a typed letter inside
it.

A
Woman’s Guide to Love, Part I

Introduction
: Some women decide they are
through with love because they “suck at it.” If you, dear reader, are one of
them, this guide will help you
relearn
it. If you have loved once, you
can love again, and you can have more luck the second time, provided you do it
the right way. What’s the right way, you may ask? It’s to love a man for who he
is and not for whom you imagine or want him to be.

Note
: Throughout this guide, “man” is
used in a broad sense to denote
any
individual who may become the object
of a woman’s affection. The term, therefore, covers women (should you, dear
reader, be so inclined), lawyers, and Gitans.

Rationale
: As with any big task, the best
approach is to start small. We recommend practicing on a houseplant. Orchids
are perfect for that purpose. Unlike cacti and some other easy plants, they
need regular care to survive.

Instructions
:

1. Read the orchid book delivered
with this guide to familiarize yourself with the technicalities.

2. Place your orchid somewhere
visible.

3. Water and tend it regularly as
advised in the book.

4. Think of it when you’re away.
Admire it when you’re around. Try to develop empathy and affection for it.

Bonus
points
: If you
happen to have a nonvenomous arachnid in your bathroom, please don’t kill it.
Perform the actions described in Step 4 and talk to it. Spiders are
extraordinary creatures. Did you know the silk they make is the strongest
material in the world? Read the spider book.

~ ~ ~

We
count on your goodwill and cooperation.

Stay
tuned for Part II!

The second page was a
short, hand-written note.

Meet
me in front of the Grand Rex movie theater at eight. You’ll see something
special tonight. Please call if you can’t make it.

She glanced at the
clock on the wall. There was no need to call—she’d make it. She’d even have
enough time to unwrap the orchid and find a visible spot for it.

“I hope your ‘something special’ is
better than an episode of
Josephine, Guardian Angel
I was going to watch
on TV tonight,” she said, spotting him in the crowd in front of the Grand Rex.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he
promised.

“Which movie are we seeing?”

“No movie tonight. Our show is a
ten-minute walk from here at the Théâtre des Variétés.” He grabbed her hand.
“We better get cracking.”

“So,” Amanda said, falling into a
stride next to him. “I got your package.”

“Good.”

“You’re plagiarizing my guide.”

He knit his brows in fake
indignation. “Absolutely not. I was simply inspired by it.”

“Hmm.” Amanda pinched her lower
lip. “I could maybe manage to keep the orchid alive, but honestly, you’re
asking too much with regard to Christophe.”

“You’ve given that spider a name,
for Christ’s sake,” he said. “It would be murder if you bug-sprayed it.”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Two reasons. First, I don’t
believe in killing living creatures unless they’re a threat to you or your
loved ones. Which Christophe isn’t.”