Road to Destiny (Scorpio Stinger MC Book 5) (25 page)

I smiled as I drifted into sleep. It had been a good journey so far; I hoped it kept going this way. I hadn’t had a moment to think about Julian Palmer since meeting Alain. The sexy Frenchman was exactly the distraction I needed right now.

The next morning after breakfast, I signed up for the conference which was being held at the same hotel I was staying at. Happy that I could avoid peak-hour traffic, I hummed a tune as I made my way to the elevator; I hadn’t felt this upbeat in a long time. Was it something in the Paris air? Or was it the sexy man I’d hoped to see at breakfast?

Even though I was somewhat disappointed that Alain hadn’t shown up for breakfast, I was still in a positive frame of mind throughout the morning events. But, I often caught my mind drifting to my sexy tour guide, and the way he made me feel when I was with him.

Just as we broke for lunch, a smartly dressed hotel staff member handed me a note. Was it from Alain? My heart fluttered as I opened the note with trembling fingers.

Miss Clarke,

Have dinner with me tonight.

It was an order rather than a request. I drew in a sharp breath when I recognized the now familiar signature of Maxwell Grant.

He’s here, in Paris? Seriously?

My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I’d only ever communicated with him via email and Skype; I had yet to meet him personally. Even on Skype he appeared intimidating, self-assured to the point of arrogance. The type of man I avoided at all costs. Besides, I was hoping to spend time with Alain tonight.

I had no choice. If I wanted to keep my job—and I definitely did—I had to accept his invitation. After all, he was forking out an outrageous amount of money for me to deliver a series of workshops. In addition, his company had paid for my first-class flight and this luxurious hotel. And so far, I was really enjoying the Paris experience. I wanted to stay.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I scribbled a reply on the note and returned it to the man who had been waiting patiently. It was a local number. I answered hesitantly.

“Ma cherie, I have missed you,” Alain’s husky voice greeted me. My heart skipped a beat, before pumping erratically.

“Alain, I’d hoped to see you at breakfast— ” Was I sounding too eager?

Too bad.

“I couldn’t join you for breakfast. I had an urgent business meeting early this morning. I can’t wait to see you again, but I will have to wait till dinner. Please, say yes.” His voice was full of expectation.

I bit into my lip. “Um...I can’t...my new boss is in Paris. He insists I meet him for dinner. It's all business,” I said, keeping my voice light, hoping I sounded convincing.

“Sacrebleu.” I jumped at the loud curse in my ear. Clearly he was not happy. Neither was I, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. This contract was important to me; it was giving me the opportunity to live my dream. I had to please the man signing my paychecks for now.

Alain groaned. “I’ll have to keep you by my side at all times to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I want to see you tonight.”

“After dinner maybe?” I offered, trying to placate him. Right now I didn’t want him to know I was just as eager to see him tonight, and secretly delighted that he was so obviously wanting to see me.

“Definitely. If not sooner,” he growled. “I will call you at nine. Till then, Cherie.”

M
y mind was racing. I found it harder to focus on the afternoon’s conference session as my mind kept drifting. I hardly knew Alain and already he was so possessive. And meeting Maxwell Grant for the first time was going to be intimidating as hell.

From what I’d heard and read, he was one of the richest men in America and one of the most successful businessmen in the world, all self-made. He’d built his company up from scratch after a harrowing and impoverished childhood. The details were sketchy, as apparently Mr. Grant was a very private person. He didn’t do interviews, thus his private life and youth were clouded in mystery.

If only he’d kept the mystery alive longer. I had better things to do tonight.

Before the last session of the day, I’d had enough, my head was pounding and I couldn’t concentrate anyway, so I slipped back to my hotel room to get ready for dinner. This time, there was a small box on my pillow. I groaned and pulled a face.

Please. Not from Mr. Grant again.

I opened it gingerly. Inside the expensive looking box was an exquisite Mont Blanc pen.

What the hell?

The card read:
To sign a very important contract tonight.

I rolled my eyes. This was way too extravagant. Really, any freaking pen would do the job just as well. And what was this with going to dinner just to sign a goddamn contract? Hadn’t the man heard of couriers? Maybe I was just annoyed because I couldn’t see Alain till much later, but I was already starting to dislike my boss.

Tonight I was channeling Audrey Hepburn, and was going for elegant and aloof. I tied my hair into a chic French-style chignon to match the simple black dress I was wearing. Diamond earrings and a diamond pendant completed the picture. Twirling in front of the mirror, I smiled. I totally rocked this look; all that was missing were the long gloves and cigarette holder. Ms. Hepburn would have been proud.

Men wore red ties to show confidence and intimidate their opponents. So I figured, that a woman’s equivalent was red lips. And, red lips paired with my flaming-red hair, was a killer combination, equally as intimidating. I refused to be anything less. Mr. Grant may be signing my paychecks, but that didn’t mean he owned me.

Over the years, Mom had drilled the mantra
Fake it till you make it
into me, so tonight, I planned to do just that. Needing the extra height, I slipped into the tallest heels I owned—kick-ass confidence-boosting Louboutins.

Besides being ridiculously good looking, I’d never seen a photograph of Maxwell Grant where he wasn’t overshadowing every other person, male or female. The man was a giant. And, I didn’t want him looking too far down his nose at me when I first shook his hand.

Cool, sophisticated and confident. Check.

Pouting my vixen-red lips, I thought about my strategy. Should I be early and stake him out, or should I be late and make a grand entrance?

I would have the advantage if I were early, so I made my way down to the lounge where I was meeting Mr. Grant, feeling confident that I would recognize him from his pictures. And, if all else failed, his American accent was going to be a dead giveaway.

I entered the cocktail lounge a good fifteen minutes early, providing enough time to choose a comfortable spot from where to observe everyone as they entered. The best option would be a table in the corner so that I could have a full view of the room.

My blood froze in my veins and I stopped dead in my tracks, staring into the bluest of midnight-blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Damn
. Maxwell Grant had beaten me at my own game.

M
r. Grant rose from his chair as I approached, a warm smile on his face as his gaze raked over my body, slightly nodding his head as if approving. He was taller than I imagined him to be; his muscular body filled every inch of a navy blue pinstriped suit, even straining slightly across his chest. My gaze followed as he casually undid the jacket button. His angular jaw was relaxed, but instinctively, I knew it would become tightly set if he weren’t pleased.

My first impression: Maxwell Grant was not a man to be messed with. But that didn’t stop me from being pissed off that he had the upper hand at that moment.

“Miss Clarke.” He held out his hand as I approached him. “Very pleased to finally meet you face to face.” His warm smile reached his eyes.

I narrowed my eyes, my voice cool. “Mr. Grant.”

Still peeved at being outsmarted, I raised my chin as I placed my hand into his. He squeezed softly, yet raw power radiated from him. Maxwell grinned at me, cocking his head slightly as he held onto my hand longer than I was comfortable with. I squirmed under his intense gaze, something about him made my skin tingle.

“Maxwell,” he offered. I’d wondered about that. What were his parents thinking when they chose a name that could be confused as a surname? Grant Maxwell made perfect sense, too. I wondered how many people got it wrong?

Before I could respond, he drawled, “Is it OK if I call you Rebecca?”

“Of course,” I replied, withdrawing my hand from his. He indicated to the chair and I sat down, relieved. I didn’t like the way he completely overshadowed me with his sheer enormity. So much for the killer heels.

He waived at a man standing to the side and ordered two martinis without asking me what I wanted. The man jumped to life, as if he was waiting for the signal. Either Parisian wait staff were extremely competent, or this man was seriously important to have someone waiting in the wings at his beck and call.

Money can buy just about anything.

I smiled wryly to myself.

“Something amuses you, Rebecca?” I squirmed in my chair. He wasn’t meant to pick that up. Apparently Maxwell’s eyes missed nothing.

Intelligent. Powerful. Arrogant.

What a combination.

I didn’t care much for powerful or arrogant. This was going to be a painful dinner.

Purposely evading his question by making a neutral observation about the lovely spring weather, he backed down and played along for a while. We made small talk until the waiter arrived with our martinis and a platter of nibbles, even though Maxwell didn’t request those.

“I’m a regular at this hotel,” he explained. “They know what I like.”

Crap. How awkward. My boss and my new lover were both staying in the same hotel as I was.

We finished our drinks and Maxwell pushed to his feet, and held out a hand to help me up. The smell of his cologne filled my nostrils. Clean and fresh. As I rose to my feet, the heat radiating from his body overwhelmed me. Intensely aware of every inch of his closeness, my palms were clammy, and my heart beat too fast. I felt dizzy.

Get a grip, Becca.

Sensing my discomfort, a half-smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Dinner time.”

His eyes were those of a wolf—hungry. With me as dinner. My mouth dried as I stepped back and grabbed my purse, avoiding his gaze.

Please don’t let him be a goddamn lech.

I’d seen pictures of him in celebrity gossip magazines with his very beautiful wife. She was a famous model who commanded thousands of dollars to wear designer brands on the catwalk. With such a beautiful wife, why would he have a wandering eye?

Men.

They didn’t appreciate what they had, always playing the chasing game, always wanting to make a new conquest.

I hoped I was wrong. All that sexing with Alain had my libido and imagination in overdrive. Was I reading the signals incorrectly? Compared to the beautiful creature he was married to, I paled in comparison. So I couldn’t imagine why on earth the very powerful and very wealthy Mr. Grant would be interested in someone like me, when he had perfection waiting for him at home.

Although I was pretty, I wasn’t a classic beauty. My flaming auburn hair was the single defining characteristic I’d cursed at school. I was constantly teased and called cruel names because of it. The one positive thing though, was that I became tough and knew how to stand up for myself. I didn’t suffer fools gladly. Along with the fiery hair came a fiery temperament. Rebecca Clarke wasn’t afraid of challenges.

I didn’t like men who cheated on their wives. I had no proof that Mr. Grant was indeed a cheater, but the way he had devoured me with his eyes was inappropriate. Was he on the lookout for something on the side? I was familiar with ‘the look’. Usually it wasn’t long before it was followed up with a proposal of a ‘no-strings-attached’ affair. It riled me. Just because I was single didn’t mean I was available as a plaything. And I certainly wasn’t going to be Mr. Grant’s new toy. I was not for sale.

Maybe I was just oversensitive and imagining things. Maybe it was because I’d been in this situation before that I was so easily worked up about it. I was prejudiced. But it was the very reason I had to escape my world, and escape Julian. Somewhere deep down, it was against everything I believed in, to be lovers with a married man.

Although our situation was completely different to this, the fact remained, that Julian was married and therefore out of bounds.

Julian.

A pang went through my heart as I thought of him, wondering how he was coping without me. I had run. I had deserted him. But, I did it for me. And even though he wouldn’t understand now, I ultimately did it for him, too. At this moment he probably thought I’d abandoned him when he needed me most. But, one day, he would realize that it was best for us all. And he may just begin to understand how much of my strength it took to walk away from him and our fucked-up situation.

“Rebecca.” Maxwell nudged me gently, bringing me back abruptly to the present. “You are so far away. Anything wrong?”

Startled, I gazed into sapphire-blue eyes, his concern reflected back at me.

“You look so sad,” he said, and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. I was shocked by his gentleness; it was as if he could see right through me.

“No, of course not,” I said a little too brightly. He cocked his head, not taking his eyes from my face, as if deciding if he were going to believe me or not. He let it go, and drew my attention back to the contract.

“So, as I was saying. You’ll do one seminar and related workshops every six weeks, in each European country we have branches in. Five in total.” I nodded to show I was listening. He continued, “The last two months you’ll spend in New York, at head office. There you’ll brief the board and set new training  in motion. We’ll renegotiate your contract at that point. Let’s first see if there is mutual benefit in extending the contract.”

He watched my face closely, ensuring I was following him. “I will be in touch, regularly, checking your progress. Of course, if necessary, you may be summoned to head office at any time.”

Wow. Summoned.

Just like that.