Boxed Set: At the Billionaire’s Command – Vol. 1-3 (2 page)

"Julia? Julia!"
It was Tom. We usually worked together, but this evening he was standing in for one of the night watchmen. Tom had been kind and friendly to me ever since I arrived. He was a tall, gangling young man, slightly awkward and a few pounds overweight, but a reassuring gentleness radiated from his whole being. I had immediately felt comfortable with him. He was discreet, kept himself to himself, listened to others and could eloquently and passionately discuss subjects which interested him. I was always surprised to see how different he was when he played the piano, drew or even when he was just talking about these subjects. He became almost otherworldly and I was astonished by his talent. Tom wanted to be an architect and was working at the hotel to pay for his studies. I was so lucky to have met someone I could share my love of the arts with! Even though our timetables didn’t give us much time to do so.

"Julia, are you ok? You look strange."

"I’m ok Tom. I’m just tired. I need a rest," I said, moving away. I could see Tom would like to chat for a few minutes, but my thoughts were elsewhere and I didn’t want give anything away.

"Ok, have a good night, Julia."

"Thanks, Tom."

I was pleased that Tom had dragged me out of my reveries. I had to get a grip on myself. If only I could talk to Sarah! But when I was going up to my staff bedroom on the top floor of the New York hotel, she would be sleeping soundly in her Paris studio…
The hotel provided reduced-price accommodation for its foreign seasonal staff, which had been a godsend for me. My room, with its beige walls and thick, cream carpets, was small but very nice. A narrow patio door led to a small balcony, whose stone border almost came up to my waist. On the left, it ran right along the whole floor. On the right, at the corner of the building, it ended at an iron gate which led to the outside fire escape ladder. These metallic serpents, which wound their way around the historic buildings of Manhattan, were like picture postcard images for me, a little taste of elsewhere on film and a source of imagination. When I leant on the balcony up in the New York sky, and the noise of the avenue reached me, I really felt as if I were in a film. This time I wasn’t watching it, I was in it. Near the window, under two rows of shelves covered with books, there was a fawn leather club armchair – no doubt considered too worn for the fastidious décor of the lower floors. It was slightly sagging and a bit scratched, but that was what gave it its cosy, comforting look, like an old friend waiting for you. A small desk, a dark wooden bedside table and a bed with white sheets adorned with the initials of the hotel embroidered in blue thread completed the room. The tiny en-suite bathroom had everything I needed. Pedestal washbasin, metro tiling, tulip wall lights and a toilet with a suspended tank and hanging chain; I loved its retro look.
I closed the door, took off my shoes, picked up my computer and went to snuggle up in my old armchair. Although I was exhausted, there was no way I could sleep. I had to write to Sarah.

I put my computer down, still full of all these new and uncontrollable emotions, by this apparition which, after being repeated over and over, had become filled with illusions. But I was also overcome with tiredness. I closed the blinds, got undressed and got into bed. My eyes closed and I fell into a half-sleep. In the heat of the summer night, somewhere between dreams and reality, my mind began to wander. The light sheet slid gently over my bare skin. The material brushing against me was making me quiver and it felt good. My body was half uncovered now. I bent one leg and caressed the sole of my foot with my fingers, moving up over my ankle, calf and knee, slowly, up to the inside of my thigh and my stomach. I lingered, my fingers tracing circles. My breathing deepened and I could feel my breasts becoming swollen and taut. I massaged them and then returned to my stomach, moving lower. I plunged my fingers into my pubic hair and the dampness between my legs. The hand running over my body was his. It was his fingers I could feel inside me, so much so that my back arched, my breathing quickened and my body contracted, becoming aroused to the very tips of my fingers. My mouth opened slightly, my breathing froze and as my whole body shook, I moaned and sighed. Suddenly my muscles relaxed, I sank into the mattress as if it were a bed of feathers and I fell asleep.

When I woke up I felt calm again and the previous day seemed like a dream.
I had only been at my workstation for a few minutes when the telephone rang. It was an internal number.

"
Good morning
, Julia Belmont
speaking
"

"Good morning Miss Belmont. I was hoping it would be you."
I recognised his smooth voice and all the composure I'd recovered disappeared. I tried to speak in a professional voice, but my intonation was awkward:

"What can I do for you, Mr Wietermann?"

"What a wonderful question, Miss Belmont…" he said with a languor which tightened the knot I already felt in my stomach.
The silence which he left deliberately made me nervous. When he spoke again, his voice was different and had become authoritarian rather than seductive.

"For the moment, a light meal for four people, something savoury, something sweet and some coffee."
I was thrown by this sudden change of tone, but relieved by this request which was completely devoid of innuendo; I told him I would inform the kitchen immediately.

"Don’t send anyone else, I want you to bring the food up," he ordered before hanging up.
But that’s not my job! Who did he think he was?

There was no point cursing, so I obeyed. The customer is always right, and I was dying to see him again and compare my memory with reality. To see whether this man would have the same effect on me as he had the day before. When the door to suite six-hundred and seven opened and he appeared, I completely forgot my annoyance. His green, smiling eyes, his unreadable fine lines and his charcoal-grey suit (which made him look so sexy) literally made me melt. I almost dropped the tray and he just managed to catch it.

"I'm very pleased to see you again, Miss Belmont. Tell me, how long have you been working here, Julia? I've been coming here for years, but I have never seen you before."

"Oh, I'm just here temporarily, I have been here about six months. When I go home, I will be taking Art History classes in Paris. I would like to work in a gallery. I thought it would be useful to be able to speak English. And also there are so many museums and exhibitions here…"
Why on earth was I telling him my life story?

"How old are you, Julia?"

"I will be twenty tomorrow."

"twenty? So you’ll be having a party."

"Oh no, no. Tom, the only person I really get on with here, is working and so am I. I'll celebrate when I go home, which is soon."

"What a sad little face! You miss your family, don’t you?"
Why would he care about that? He was talking to me as if I were a child. Was he making fun of me?

"No… yes… well, I sometimes feel a bit lonely here."
Oh, I was talking nonsense…

"I have to go. Have a good day, Mr Wietermann."

From the moment I'd arrived in New York, I'd had to cope on my own, and I'd managed rather well. Six months working as a receptionist had dispelled my shyness. But I certainly wasn’t completely cured yet; my timidity had just played a dirty trick on me. The disclosures I had just made to Daniel Wietermann were one of its pernicious effects.

Luckily, I was so busy that morning – with arrivals, departures and the visit of the Head of Personnel, Mr Guttierez -, that I didn’t have time either to be too annoyed at my verbal diarrhoea or to think about the effect that Daniel Wietermann had on me, or even to analyse his words.

Slightly before midday, I received a phone call:

"Hello, Miss Belmont. This is Candice, Mr Wietermann’s secretary. He would like to see you. Without delay."

She had added “without delay” after a short pause, kindly, as if she were giving me the information for my own good.
What does he want with me? Regardless of his earlier request, I was not completely at his beck and call!
Tom was at the reception desk with me.

"Is everything all right, Julia? You seem annoyed about that phone call…"

"Don’t worry Tom. Just a guest who wants to speak to me, but I don’t know what about."

"Another guest who’s hard to please…"

"Looks like it… Could you stay here on your own for a while?"

"Of course Julia. Good luck!"
There was no point telling Tom which client it was. I left my workstation and went to the lift.
I listened at the door to suite six-hundred and seven for a while before knocking. I couldn’t clearly make out what was being said, but I could hear Daniel Wietermann giving instructions in a commanding voice. I rang the bell. Candice opened the door. I had been struck by her stature when I had seen her crossing the lobby. With her long legs, slender build, generous chest, flamboyant red mane, pretty face and haughty bearing, she really was extremely classy.

"Come in Julia. I’ll tell Mr Wietermann you’re here."

Suite six-hundred and seven was the biggest in the hotel. I had read the description of the hundred and eighty metre squared apartment in the hotel brochure, but I had never entered the room. Alone in the entrance, I took a few steps as discretely as possible and had a look around. To the right, I discovered a living room whose decor and atmosphere were warm and personalised, a far cry from the standardised, characterless interiors which usually typify hotels. Candice had left the door on the left ajar. I could not see much, but by twisting a little I could make out a sort of large office, a meeting room, and I could see piles of small black briefcases. Suddenly, the door burst open, taking me by surprise. I jumped, broke out in a terrible sweat and blushed with shame at being caught spying. Daniel Wietermann was standing there in the doorway. I could clearly see on his face that he was preoccupied, irritated and annoyed.

"Julia. Over the next few days, it is possible that someone may ask for me. The name is Camille Wietermann. Whether I am here or not, you must say that I am absent. You and your colleagues – I’m relying on you to pass on the message – will not give out any information about me, my room number or my departure date, nothing. Do you understand?"

Did I really have to reply?
He stood there, still and silent. He was waiting. His frosty look obliged me to say “yes”. I was furious inside. I understood that my curiosity was not the cause of his annoyance, as he probably hadn't even noticed anything. I had made myself afraid, imagining that he might notice me, but he was far too focused on himself to do that. And if I wasn't the cause of his annoyance, why was I the target? And was it really necessary for me to come here for this? Before I turned away, I couldn’t help muttering that he could just as easily have told me that on the phone.

"Keep your insolent comments to yourself, Miss Belmont," he said aggressively and closed the door on me.

I was devastated and hated myself for it.
Why am I so sensitive to the way this man talks to me? Why do his demonstrations of coldness seem to take away the very air I need to breathe? Why, behind his charming appearance and kind words, was there a world of sensuality which stirred and aroused my body and heart? And who is this Camille Wietermann? His wife?
I had to pull myself together. When I got back to the lobby, I tried to look indifferent and asked Tom to look after reception, using the pretext of a backlog of paperwork to be filed; I shut myself in the office behind the reception desk without really waiting for his answer. I needed to be alone and lose myself in work which required more precision than thought.

Late in the afternoon, I went back to join Tom, calmed and slightly dazed by the daunting filing work. We were waiting impatiently for the next shift to arrive so we could finally leave our workstation, when Daniel Wietermann walked across the lobby.

"Wow, did you see the way that guy looked at you?"
I shrugged my shoulders. How did he look at me? Tom thought it was obvious that I had caught his eye. I burst out laughing to forestall the way the conversation was heading and hide my embarrassment. Two minutes later, the telephone rang and Tom answered: