International Guy_Paris Read online

  “You are wrong. My father created the harassment policy. He had only a single child. A woman. He would never want me harassed in a workplace and absolutely would not stand for any woman being treated like an object, especially in his company. He respected women, all women. He treated each of his employees with gratitude and respect for the work they did, regardless of their gender.”

  Damn straight. I want to high-five her across the room. I glance at Roy, and by the small smile alone, he too is proud of her.

  “What is it you want me to say, ma chérie? We are at an impasse, for your father is no longer here to settle this disagreement.”

  And that’s when I see the stunning businesswoman claw her way to the surface. It’s beautiful to behold the way Sophie stands straight, firms her jaw, and cocks her head.

  “That is the second time you have called me darling. I am not your darling. I am your boss. I own this company and am responsible for all of the people within it. That means when someone is not doing their job, based on the policies we have set in place to keep people safe, tough decisions must be made. And as such, I am sorry to tell you, Mr. Moreau, but you are relieved of your position with the Rolland Group.”

  The man takes a couple of steps back, and one of his hands covers his abdomen as though he’s lost his breath. Probably did, from the proverbial punch to the gut.

  “You cannot mean it?”

  “Oh, but I do, Mr. Moreau. You are fired, effective immediately. Your severance package will be issued by accounting in the next forty-eight hours.”

  Royce steps up and curls his hand around the man’s bicep. “I’ll escort you to get your personal belongings.” His voice is like a thunderclap, deep and definite.

  “This is absurd! I have worked for this company for twenty years. Hired personally by your father. You cannot do this to me!”

  Sophie crosses her arms over her chest. “Actually, I can, and I have. Please do not make this any harder by making a scene. Mr. Sterling will escort you to your desk, where you can pick up your things and leave. I will have a package mailed to you regarding your severance. Thank you for your years of service. I wish you well, Mr. Moreau.”

  “You are going to regret this decision! I will make sure of it!” he hollers as Roy leads him to the door.

  “I doubt that very much.” She smiles sweetly. It’s like getting punched in the face by Rainbow Brite or a magical Disney princess.

  “Come on; get a move on, or I’ll drag you. You do not want me to wrinkle my suit.” Roy’s voice is a panther-like growl. “If that happens, there will be hell to pay.” Royce pushes the irate man out the door and closes it behind him.

  Sophie sucks in a huge breath of air. Her shoulders slump, and I watch her face crumple as the tears fall down her cheeks.

  I pull her into my arms and hold her close, petting her hair. “You did so well, sweet Sophie. Amazing. I’m proud of you.”

  She sniffs into my dress shirt, her body hitching with sobs. “Y-you a-are?”

  I nod and kiss her temple, leaving my mouth there so she can feel my words while hearing them. “Yes. So. Damn. Proud. You took charge of the situation, stood up for what was right, and set an example for how you want your company run. Then you enforced the policy. All you, SoSo.”

  Her arms lock around my waist as she rests her ear against my chest. She’s so warm and small in my arms. I could hold her for a century. Do anything to protect her from harm. In a very short time, I’ve come to care for Sophie, and I can’t, for the life of me, explain it.

  “There really could be no other outcome for him.” I want this to sink in for her. “He didn’t deserve to stay on. He broke the rules of the company and protected a man who was harassing women. For years. There is never a time where that’s going to be okay. You did the right thing. Do you feel as though you did?” I need to know where her head is.

  She nods. “Yes. It was still hard. I have never fired anyone before.”

  I weave my hands through the locks of hair dangling from her ponytail. It’s soft and silky, exactly how a woman’s hair should feel running through a man’s fingers.

  “You’re going to have to do a lot of things you don’t like when running a company of this size. You have thousands of employees to consider in the decisions you make, each of them with lives, homes, bills to pay. And that should come with the ability to go to work and feel safe. You ensured that for them today. Now you just have to deal with Mr. Girard.”

  “Stephanie sent me a text a bit ago stating that he called in sick to work today. It will have to wait.”

  “All the better. You need some downtime to process. How about I take you to that dinner I promised you?”

  Sophie leans her chin against my sternum, her pretty brown eyes glassy and sad.

  I cradle her face and wipe her tears with my thumbs. “It’s going to be okay. All of this will get easier.”

  “Thank you. For being here. For helping me learn how to do this.”

  Against my better judgment, I lean forward and press my lips to hers. I’m kissing another woman the same day as the last one.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I pull away before the desire to deepen the kiss overwhelms me. “Dinner?”

  Sophie smiles lightly. “Yes. Dinner. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.”

  “When you said you would take me to dinner, I had no idea it would be at the world-famous Jules Verne Restaurant in the Eiffel Tower.” Sophie squeezes my hand as an attendant leads us through a secret entrance for restaurant goers.

  We’re in the belly of the beast, surrounded by iron bars and rivets galore as we wait our turn to go into the private elevator that slowly takes you from the ground level up 380 feet to where the restaurant resides.

  “This way, Messieurs-dames.” The attendant, who is smartly dressed in an all-black suit, gestures to the open elevator.

  It’s compact and cozy, the entire back wall glass. The sun is just setting over the horizon as we ease our way up the country’s most iconic monument.

  “This is incredible!” Sophie gasps, leaning against my side.

  I frown. “Have you not been to the Eiffel Tower before?”

  “No, I have, but I was a child then. We visited on a school outing, and of course, I have seen it from below, walked the path, but have not experienced it as an adult.”

  I hook an arm around her waist. “I’m glad we’re doing it together.”

  “More first-time memories?”

  She remembered. “Yes. And with a beautiful woman by my side, one I’ll never forget.”

  “Then we should kiss, non?” She turns, flattens her chest against mine, and wraps her arms around my neck. “First times should always be marked with a kiss.”

  I bend forward and cup her soft cheek.

  She lifts up onto her toes, bringing her lips a scant inch from mine. “Do not think about it. Just do it.”

  ’Nuff said. I lay my lips over hers and take her lips in a slow, meaningful kiss. She opens her mouth instantly, inviting me in. I accept the invitation, licking deep and devouring her. Her sugar-and-spice scent swirls around me, coating me in heaven. Her tongue dances with mine as I turn her head left, then right, going deeper, wanting more. Our kiss becomes heated, bodies pressing against one another, trying to get closer. I need skin . . . her skin.

  I run my hand from her cheek down her neck, and cup her breast through the silk of her dress, and then farther down until I encounter the hem. In no time at all I’ve got a lock on a velvet-smooth swath of Sophie thigh. I push her forward against the glass and grind against her front as I suck her tongue.

  She moans into my mouth right as the lift stops and the bell dings, announcing we’ve made it to our destination. It takes serious effort to leave the beauty of her mouth and body, but I peel myself away, and she slides her hands down her dress, making herself presentable once again. It’s so easy for women. They can just breathe through their desire and attraction. They don’t have a hockey stic
k tenting their pants when they’re excited. Flushed cheeks can be explained away by heat or hormones. Men can’t do the same when they’ve got an erection the size of the damn tower itself!

  I button my suit jacket over my erection and guide her in front of me as the attendant takes our names and looks up the reservation I made this morning when we got to Rolland Group Inc. I was lucky to score a reservation, but apparently midweek is easier when you’re planning on spending several hundred euros a plate.

  We’re seated in a position that’s perfect for two and right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which give us a spectacular view of Paris at dusk.

  “Did you know that Chef Hugues de Saint Vincent will be making our meals tonight? He is a culinary genius.” Sophie smiles wide, and I vow to do more to put that smile on her face.

  “Is he now?”

  “Oui. I have heard nothing but amazing things from my father. He ate here many times when I was away at university. He loved his country and anything overtly French. He promised me he would bring me here one day upon my return. Alas, that was not to be.” She looks out the window, a sorrowful expression taking over her earlier joy.

  I place my hand over hers on the table. “Then we shall toast to Mr. Rolland and have a splendid meal in his honor.”

  Sophie nods and smiles softly. “I would like that.”

  The sommelier comes to our table and offers us the first of six wine pairings we’ll be having with our courses tonight. The first is a crisp white that has a complex French name but tastes like a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand.

  We enjoy the first pairing while appreciating the view as the sky lights up in pinks and darkening purples. Lights throughout the city start to flicker on in faraway chateaus and row houses, like lightning bugs across a green plain back home in Massachusetts.

  We are brought the second pairing and a small appetizer that includes a sea bream in a sorrel-herb sauce. The second Sophie takes a bite, she moans, and my dick takes notice, stirring once more. He should be tuckered out after the overnight romp I had with Blue Eyes, yet Sophie makes me—and him—take notice. I adjust my pants, trying to find a bit more room, making sure the white tablecloth hides anything vulgar from popping up.

  “Tell me about yourself, SoSo. What’s it like to be a French heiress?”

  She takes a sip of her wine and purses her lips.

  “Not as interesting as you might think. I have spent the last six years at university getting my bachelor’s then my master’s in business. Prior to that, it was school and extracurricular activities such as language and piano lessons. My father was strict about being able to speak fluently the primary languages used in business.”

  “Really? How many languages do you speak?”

  She lifts a hand. “English obviously.” She ticks off one finger. “Italian, Spanish, and German, and a bit of Japanese but not much. I am afraid that the Asian languages are difficult for me to grasp.”

  I blink dumbly. “You speak five languages.”

  “Like I said, almost six if you include French, and one day, I will have a better handle on the Asian languages.”

  “Sophie, you blow me away.” I laugh and suck back the rest of my wine. When she does the same, our trusty sommelier brings the next tasty wine from another French region. It’s buttery and layered with citrus notes, reminding me of a California chardonnay.

  “If I may ask, where’s your mother in all this?” I pinch off a piece of a roll and pop it into my mouth. I groan when the rosemary-infused oil from the bread hits my taste buds. So. Damn. Good.

  Sophie waits for me to get over my bread mouth-gasm before speaking. “My mother died during childbirth. I never knew her, but my father loved her dearly. Never remarried after her. I think when you find the one you are meant to be with, it does not matter how long you have them. You will always want no one but them. At least that is what my father always said.”

  “Wow. I think he had a good point, though. My parents were high school sweethearts. Got married right away and had my brother, Paul, then two years later, me. They’ve been happily married for going on thirty-six years. They married when they were only nineteen. Pops, to this day, swears that I’ll know when I’ve met the one I was meant to settle down with. Said I’ll feel it deep in my bones and heart like a physical ache.”

  “Do you believe that?” She swirls the golden wine around her glass.

  I nod and lean back in my chair, the wine, not to mention the easy company, making me loose and relaxed. “No reason not to. He’s what I have to go by, and I’m a lot like my father.”

  “And have you ever felt that sensation or ache before?”

  I shake my head. “No. Then again, I worry that I’m not open to it. I’ve been so focused on building International Guy Incorporated with my partners for the last few years, all of my attention has been on that. Maybe I missed the proverbial one in passing?”

  Sophie chuckles. “I do not think so. Like your father said: you will know it. I am open to that feeling happening, but like you, I need to focus on work. Keeping my father’s company alive and well. This is more important to me than anything else.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip. “Makes sense. I imagine you’ll probably find the one at a business event in the future.” I grin.

  Sophie raises her glass. “To finding love in the workplace or anyplace.” She chuckles.

  I tap her glass with my own. “To finding love at the right time.”

  Sophie frowns. “I do not think there is a right time for anything. It just is.”

  For a long moment, I think about what she said and realize she’s right. “Touché.” I hold my glass up high once more. “To finding love that just is.”

  6

  The food is mouthwateringly good, our view outstanding; wine is flowing, and I’m having the best time with Sophie. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much with a woman.

  “You’re really a fun date.” I fork another delectable bite of duck confit in some insanely tasty sauce. At this point, I just eat what lands in front of me because every course and bite we’re served has been better than the last.

  Sophie chuckles. “You are snickered!”

  I howl with laughter and smack the table once, making a bunch of the glasses tinkle and rattle. None of them fall, thank God, or I’d turn into the most ill-mannered date she’s ever had. Though something about Sophie makes me believe she wouldn’t care much. This girl takes in stride everything that comes at her.

  Is she inexperienced about business? Yes, but her instincts are on point. A little honing of her natural skills by Royce and me, and she’ll be golden. As far as her taste in clothes, she has left much to be desired. Especially since she lives in one of the fashion capitals of the world and can afford any designer without batting an eyelash. Still, I like that she’s quirky, eager to learn, and picks up things lightning fast.

  “It’s snockered! Not snickered!” I laugh again, but try to rein it in.

  She giggles and sips at her fourth pairing of wine. It’s a Chianti from Italy that goes lovely with the duck. So far, it seems as though with each pairing, the wine gets thicker and darker. Works for me. I love wine and food. Put them together and you’ve got quite the party.

  “Tell me, sweet Sophie, what does a lovely young woman like you do for fun?”

  She puts an elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand. “Read, watch American TV programs on Netflix.”

  I let my mouth fall open in an overt display, expressing my shock. “You don’t!”

  She nods. “I do. I love that show Leverage where a team of highly skilled thieves steal back things and give them to the poor. Like a modern-day Robin Hood.”

  “I’ve seen it! I love that show. And there’s a Sophie in it!”

  “And a Parker!” She squeals with delight.

  “Oh my God! You’re right. Only Parker is the blonde girl who’s able to do all those acrobatics and squeeze through tight places.”

&nbs
p; Sophie nods. “Oui, oui! I bet you could join their team. You are very handsome and look the part. Besides, I am sure you have some tracks up your sleeve!”

  “It’s tricks up your sleeve, not tracks! Silly woman!”

  She covers her mouth as she laughs fully, her cheeks becoming rosier the more wine she drinks.

  “What do you do for fun back in the States?” She sips her wine, a crimson drop glistening on her bottom lip. If I were sitting next to her and not across from her, I’d lick that drop right off her plump lip. I bet she’d taste amazing mixed with wine. Finally she licks her lip, and I groan before running my hand through my hair.

  The wine is warming my gut, and I find that I’ve not a care in the world while having dinner with Sophie. It doesn’t feel at all like a business dinner, even though she’s a client. Then again, I haven’t exactly acted all that professionally, if you consider kissing her and fondling her ass yesterday, and kissing her and copping a feel in the elevator. Sophie and I are headed in a far more tangled gray area of this relationship, and as much as I should put on the brakes, she told me the score earlier. If we choose to become lovers here in Paris, it’s going to be short lived. Her declaration, not mine. I’m 100 percent on board with that decision. And I can’t get the idea of spending a few nights between her thighs out of my mind.

  “Um . . . Parker, where did you go?” She frowns.

  I shake off the lusty thoughts. “Nowhere. Just thinking. Fun? Me?”

  “Oui.”

  “Back home, my father owns a pub called Lucky’s. The guys and I head there once or twice a week for dinner and drinks. We shoot the shit, play pool, that type of thing.”

  “Sounds entertaining. You are close to these men, yes?”

  I nod. “Yeah, they’re more than business partners. They’re my family. Like brothers to me.”

  “That is important in a smaller company.”

  “It is. We make it work. I run the day-to-day; they do a lot of jobs off-site, and for big clients like you”—I cock an eyebrow—“the three of us bring in the big guns.”