The Paris Affair (4 page)
“Now, about the meeting tomorrow.” He reached for his laptop, shifting the stacks of notebooks around on the coffee table to make room for it.
Oh yeah, work.
Claire glanced at the wall clock. It was nearly eleven. She didn’t know if she could concentrate on any more numbers. “Mind if we finish in the morning? I need some sleep tonight if you don’t want me snoozing through the conference call.”
“Sure. Me, too. I’ll stop by at nine tomorrow? Sorry if I let the time get away from us.”
The glow in his eyes didn’t look sorry at all.
The concert hall Thursday night was packed with a mix of college students and community members. As the lights dimmed, Helmut scanned the rows of heads in front of him, searching for a familiar blonde.
She was here somewhere. Betty had mentioned it before he left work this afternoon. Sheffield & Fox donated three scholarships to the university every year, one of them in music. James had never taken the time to come to any of the student performances, but Claire must have thought it was important.
Helmut never missed one. Stevie was the best of tonight’s performers. He had played one of his pieces solo on the piano during the first half, and he was directing a string quartet for this next piece. The lanky kid stepped up to a podium and began waving his small baton, like a magician with a wand. Helmut closed his eyes and let the music wash over him.
He himself didn’t have an ounce of talent, outside of buying a CD or tuning the radio. But he’d seen firsthand how hard music students worked for their degrees, and how little most earned right after graduation. Once his salary surpassed what he needed to live on, he started donating to the university. The past three years, his anonymous checks were enough to pay full tuition for a student. When his favorite Chinese delivery guy mentioned grad school, he sent a note to the admissions director. Not that he would ever admit that to Stevie.
When he invariably ran into acquaintances at these concerts, he always alluded to representing Sheffield & Fox. Claire might know better, but he wasn’t worried tonight. Anyone could walk up to the box office and purchase a ticket.
Stevie’s last piece ended to a thunderous round of applause. The kid had talent. Helmut had quietly called a business-school buddy of his who was now working for Disney and sent him the home-recorded CD Stevie had given him last semester. He was pretty sure the kid would have his choice of jobs, if he didn’t decide to strike out on his own.
The lights came on, and the crowd dispersed into the lobby of the performing arts building. Helmut bought wine in a plastic cup from the concession stand and scanned the room again. The student performers would be out soon, to mingle with their friends and benefactors. And maybe a talent scout or two.
“I didn’t know you were a music lover, Helmut.”
Claire’s honeyed tones teased his senses, and he turned, smiling. “Stevie—the last performer—is our Chinese food delivery man. I promised I’d come watch his big concert.”
Claire arched one delicate eyebrow. “You order takeout often?”
Helmut shrugged. “What brings the illustrious Sheffield & Fox CEO to such a pedestrian gathering?”
“I got a personal invitation from the chancellor to meet some of the company’s scholarship recipients. It’s good PR. The press either ignores us, or gives us only the briefest coverage, and we’re having trouble recruiting new-hires lately. I want to turn our reputation around. Get our name out there with a positive message.”
“Your father wasn’t ever worried about the press.”
“James Sheffield and I have differing viewpoints in a number of areas,” she said frostily.
Helmut raised his cups to his lips for a sip of the overly sweet red wine, and paused. All the color had drained out of Claire’s face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s my ex,” Claire said.
Frank Burwell met Claire’s gaze from across the room, and started immediately toward her. She cringed.
She had heard from a friend that he and his latest girlfriend were on the rocks. The last time he had woman trouble, he had shown up on Claire’s doorstep, smelling like rum and looking at Claire with puppy dog eyes. It was the same expression he wore tonight.
She almost had to physically kick him out of her apartment that night, and she didn’t relish exchanging
pleasantries
with him again.
“I am sorry,” she said to Helmut. “He can be a real jerk. I’ll try to get rid of him as quickly as possible.”
Helmut nodded, a half-smile on his lips.
“Claire. You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart.”
Claire turned and glared. “What do you want, Frank?”
Frank flashed her a hurt expression. With his brushed-back dark hair and longish nose, he looked like a hawk circling his prey. How had she ever found that angular face attractive? “I just wanted to say hello to you, my dear. I have missed your company.”
“Your company has missed me, you mean,” she muttered under her breath. His stock price was down twenty percent already in the few weeks since she’d left.
“What have you been doing with yourself during your little vacation? You must be getting restless for some real work by now,” he asked, missing her backhanded remark.
“Didn’t you hear? I took a new position.”
Frank looked genuinely startled. “Really? Where?”
“Sheffield & Fox. The board approved me as CEO Sunday afternoon. I started Monday.”
His bird-like eyebrows shot up even higher, and Claire felt a surge of triumph. When she’d announced her resignation from Arachnava, Frank had sneered that she’d be back begging for her job in a week.
His eyes narrowed. “Your daddy’s company? I thought you said you’d never work for him.”
“She doesn’t. James retired.”
Claire’s eyes flew to Helmut’s face. His jaw was set in a grim line as he studied Frank.
“Frank, this is Helmut Forrester. Helmut, Frank Burwell.”
Helmut swapped his wine glass to his left hand and offered his right to Frank, but the slime ignored it.
Frank drooped his shoulders and flashed his puppy dog look at Claire again. “If you need anything, Claire, I’m here for you. I hope you will always remember that.”
She felt the touch of Helmut’s hand on the small of her back and looked up. His green eyes twinkled. “The performers are on their way out. Lets go find our scholarship student, shall we? Pleasure to meet you, Burwell.”
Claire flashed him a smile and allowed Helmut to lead her to a small group of bright-eyed students, well aware that she had not told Frank that Helmut worked for her. She felt a pang of conscience at deliberately misleading her ex into thinking she had a date. But then, Helmut hadn’t volunteered that information either. That was...interesting.
While she complimented performances and posed for a photo with a bashful soprano with the voice of an angel, she could feel Frank’s gaze following her. Helmut stuck close to her side, and Claire was grateful for his presence. Frank was not the type to provoke a direct confrontation for any reason. He was too passive-aggressive. It was one of the man’s worst traits and top of the list of reasons she’d left him over a year ago. Right after his habit of sleeping with his executive assistants.
As the party began to break up, a few of the horn players decided to give an impromptu encore in the lobby area. Their music was beautiful, but made conversation nearly impossible. The wine she’d downed after the concert had seeped into her bones, relaxing her for the first time all week.
“Shall I call us a cab?” Helmut’s lips were a breath away from her earlobe. Claire shivered at the husky timbre of his voice.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she was drowned out by a saxophone’s bluesy solo. Instead, Claire nodded, and soon she was sliding across a rippled vinyl seat to make room for Helmut.
“Where to, folks?”
“Ladies first,” Helmut said.
She gave her address to the cabbie. “Thank you for helping me escape Frank.”
In the shadows, his dark eyes gleamed like molten lead. “Glad to be
useful
.” The darkness couldn’t disguise the smile in his voice.
Claire laughed. “Shall we call it even, then?”
“Do women always have to keep score?”
Claire quirked her lips. “I thought men liked everything to be a contest.”
Helmut’s gaze slipped away for a moment, out to the orange-lit Chicago streets. When he looked back, the streetlights reflected in his eyes like twin fires.
“If this is a sport, then I’ve scored twice.”
Claire arched an eyebrow. “And I thought accountants could add.”
Helmut grinned. “First, I succeeded in luring you into putting your hands on me.”
“Only on your clothing. Never trust a woman holding a silk noose around your neck.”
“Careful, that’s workplace violence.”
Claire giggled at the mock outrage in his voice. “That’s one point for you. But tonight, I roped you into helping me out.”
“True,” Helmut said, his voice low. “But I got you alone in the backseat of a car.”
Claire’s heart thudded in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She glanced quickly at the plexiglass partition separating them from the driver, and then out the side window. Helmut shifted in the seat next to her, his knee lightly brushing hers, as if by accident.
Claire took a steadying breath. The backseat of the full-size car suddenly felt like a compact, with his broad shoulders taking up the lion’s share of the space. Claire uncrossed her knees and straightened her spine, excruciatingly aware of his warmth and his scent in the small quarters. The light hint of cologne tickled her nose and stole through her, spiraling into a warm fire in her pelvis. She had the sudden urge to wrap herself in that scent, and the strong arms that carried it.
The cab pulled to a halt in front of her building, and Claire grabbed her purse. Before she found her wallet, Helmut tossed a bill through the window in the divider. She opened her door and stepped out into the cooling night air that was, unfortunately, thick with the exhaust from the idling taxi. She walked around behind the cab and stopped short. The black and white checked car pulled away, leaving her gaping at Helmut, standing on the curb.
“I didn’t invite you in.”
He shrugged. “I’ll just walk you to your door. My mother would skin me alive if I left a woman alone on a dark city street.”
Claire glanced up and down her block, full of hulking warehouses. Some buildings, like hers, were being converted into loft apartments. The neighborhood was considered trendy by the few, transitional by the many. She walked past him, and headed for the brick archway that covered the street-side door. She could feel Helmut following her steps.
The door opened before Claire reached it, and her two downstairs neighbors walked out.
“Thanks.” She smiled, and went inside. Helmut followed, still just behind.
She passed the elevators and took the wide wooden stairs at a slight jog up to the third floor. Claire stopped to extract her keys from the bottom of her purse, and Helmut braced one arm against the wall beside her, his breathing much calmer than hers.
“You lead a merry chase,” he said.
“A little exercise never hurt anyone.”
She met Helmut’s gaze in the dimly lit hallway. In his darkened eyes, she recognized the same burning attraction she’d been flirting with all evening, but he held something back.
Claire’s fingers closed on her keys, and she tried to pull them out of the bag, but they snagged on the strap and tumbled from her grasp.
Almost before they hit the concrete floor, Helmut was on his knees at Claire’s feet, retrieving them. He stood slowly, his body a mere breath from hers. Though he didn’t so much as brush her clothing, her breasts tingled at the heat radiating from his chest. If her heart beat any harder, it would have smacked him in the face.
This close, Claire could see a faint touch of stubble darkening his squared jaw, her eyes level with his Adam’s apple, above the finely tailored dress shirt that fit closely to firmly muscled shoulders. He wore no tie, and the top button was undone, showing a small hint of tanned, supple skin. Claire’s knees went weak at the thought of unbuttoning that shirt and running her fingers across his chest.