Sweet Reward (21 page)

Philippe stood before the mirror in his private bathroom just off the auditorium. His head turned left and then right as he made sure there were no strands of his thick, wavy blond hair out of place. Since cameras and bad lighting could be so harsh, he had considered applying a small amount of makeup but had changed his mind. If he looked washed out or pale, all the better. People would see him as a grief-ravaged man, mourning the unjust loss of two young people. Their hearts would be touched even more.

This morning, in preparing for his appearance, he had sprayed a small amount of diluted lemon juice into his eyes. Just enough to make them water, and then he’d rinsed them. Now his light hazel eyes gleamed with unshed tears and were bloodshot, as if he’d cried all night long. He looked the epitome of a successful man who’d been dealt a tremendous personal blow. Two of Ricard’s finest employees were lost forever.

Both of the families, though grief-stricken, had seemed pleased that he was taking the time to honor their loved ones this way. They knew he was a very important man and for him to disrupt his busy schedule to deliver a formal televised statement in such a splendid manner was a true testament to how very much he cared about his employees.

He’d also been the one to suggest a double funeral, which would take place tomorrow. Out of the goodness of his heart, he had offered to pay for everything. Of course, he’d really had no choice in the matter. Apparently both Josette and André came from impoverished backgrounds. Before he had intervened, the funerals were going to be small affairs, and with the families’ lack of funds and influence, it was going to take days to get everything arranged. All the wonderful momentum that had been built would be lost. Taking advantage of fresh grief would ensure a successful fund-raising event.

Philippe would attend the funeral, but he wouldn’t intrude on the family by speaking at the service. The implication was that all attention should be focused on their departed loved ones, not on the celebrity in their midst.

Of course, they didn’t realize how very beneficial all of this publicity was for him and the foundation. Not only was a double funeral so much more dramatic than two individual events; he didn’t have the time or patience to attend two separate services. One would be exhausting enough.

The sweet strains of violin music alerted him that the time was near. His expression changed to one of immense grief. He’d practiced several different versions in the mirror and decided that this particular look was the most convincing. A sort of dignified devastation. Seconds later, a light knock sounded at the door and his assistant stuck his head in. “Monsieur Ricard, it is time.”

Squeezing his eyes tight to gather a bit more moisture, Philippe neatened the pages of his carefully worded speech and headed out the door. By the time he finished, every person in the large auditorium would be sobbing, along with those watching at home. And the best part of all was that purses, wallets, and checkbooks worldwide would start opening.

His face somber and grief-ravaged, Philippe stood at the podium and gazed out at the standing-room-only crowd; most were Ricard Foundation employees, along with several members of the press. Two large photographs of Josette and André stood side by side in front of the podium. He’d paid an enormous amount of money to get their photographs enlarged and framed for today’s event. And he had graciously offered them to the families, so they could use them for tomorrow’s funeral. It would, of course, be a closed-coffin funeral. Philippe had fought his amusement when he’d learned that Josette had already designated herself to be cremated. Irony could be so entertaining sometimes.

As he began his carefully thought out speech, he never moved his eyes to the typed words lying before him. He’d learned early on that to give a heartfelt speech people believed in, he had to memorize the text; that way, people wouldn’t be distracted by the speechmaker looking at his notes or using fillers to allow for thought. He was known for his moving speeches, and many people credited them with the phenomenal success of the foundation’s fund-raising.

He kept his words brief and just emotional enough not to come off as tacky. As he was completing his thoughts, his assistant walked onto the stage, headed toward him. Philippe was so stunned, he actually stumbled over his words. What would possess the man to interrupt him, especially at such a pivotal time? People were practically salivating to donate the shirts off their backs. This kind of interruption could ruin everything.

His expression grave, Higgins handed his employer a piece of paper and then backed away. Philippe’s eyes dropped to the hastily scrawled note. As the words penetrated, his opinion of Higgins rose significantly. Why,
he might well have to give the man a raise. What perfect timing!

Philippe lifted glazed, tear-filled eyes to the audience. “I’m afraid we’ve been dealt another serious blow. Our immense grief is not at an end. I’ve just learned that another one of our beloved employees, Paul Raymond, was on his way to work this morning and had an accident.”

He paused to swallow audibly, ostensibly to compose himself as he delivered the final blow. A carefully placed pause could build wonderful momentum. He added, “He was pronounced dead at the scene.” One more slight pause; then, in a trembling voice, he finished with “The Ricard family is overwhelmed with sorrow.”

The gasps that followed his announcement were gratifyingly reassuring. Philippe quickly left the podium, obviously overcome with emotion. The audience was silent, rendered immobile, stunned and saddened that such heinous things had happened to such a worthwhile cause. Once out of sight, Philippe nodded his satisfaction. All in all, not a bad fund-raising day … not bad at all.

   Jared, munching on a piece of toast, watched the performance of a lifetime. The man couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d asked for the funds outright. It took more than just ego to do what Ricard was doing; it took the kind of narcissistic confidence that could lead to conscienceless acts. Had Ricard’s high opinion of himself taken him that far?

He shot a glance over at Mia to see if she was equally disgusted at the line of bullshit Ricard was spewing. Silent tears rolled down her face.

“Shit, you’re not buying his act, are you?”

She threw him a watery, exasperated look. “I wasn’t even listening to him. I’m thinking about that poor couple that lost their lives. To think they were probably going
to get engaged, and now, instead of a wedding, they’re going to have a funeral together.”

How the hell did she function with all those emotions? No wonder she could sleep so deeply. Emotions that close to the surface must be exhausting.

She grinned at him. “You think I’m a big sap, don’t you?”

“You do seem to feel things intensely.”

She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “It’s who I am. I made the decision years ago to be the real me … not what people expected me to be.”

That’s what he had decided after his divorce, too. Only his real self was a humorless asshole and Mia’s was a warm, caring person. So how was it that two people who seemed to have so little in common with each other could burn up the sheets so well together?

He hadn’t come back to her apartment until after midnight. Mia had been asleep but had woken when he got into bed. He’d been too damn tired to do anything but kiss her, and then she’d crawled into his arms as if she belonged there. This morning … he got hard just remembering how she’d woken him this morning. The woman was amazing on every level.

“We never talked about last night’s op. Why’d you decide to act like one of the victims?”

She put down her coffee cup. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I knew two men were headed my way. If there was gunfire, the chances that one of the men would freak out and start shooting at the girls were too great.”

“You think fast on your feet.”

She gasped and held a hand to her chest. “A compliment from Jared Livingston? Be still my heart.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She gave a gurgle of laughter. “I won’t.”

“I thought I’d go to the hospital and check on McCall. Want me to tell him anything?”

“Give him a hug for me.”

Jared went to his feet and reached for her at the same time. Pulling her close, he looked down at her. He liked how she teased him. Not too many people had ever attempted that. Cupping her hips in his hands, he brought her flush against his body. “There’s not a thing about me that scares you, is there?”

A knowing smile lifted her lips. “Nope. You disappointed?”

He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers … once … twice. “Just makes me want to test you.”

“Bring it,” she challenged softly.

Groaning under his breath, Jared covered her lips with his. Plunging his tongue deep, he tasted her: a mixture of the strawberry jam she’d had for breakfast and Mia—the sweetest taste he’d ever had in his mouth. He retreated, then thrust again and again. Mia wrapped her arms around him, her lower body molded perfectly to his. He could have her again. And no matter how many times he took her, he wanted more. He told himself it was because he was getting his fill, since this thing they had would end soon. He just hoped to hell that’s what it was, because if it was anything else … Jared wouldn’t even let himself finish the thought.

His head lifted, and though he was breathing heavier than normal, it gratified him to hear the breathy little pants Mia made. Dropping his arms, he said, “Gotta go.”

“Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Turn ice-cold when I know you’re as hot and turned on as I am.”

He shrugged and backed away. “Either hold it till tonight or take care of it yourself. I’ve got to go.”

Torn between throwing their breakfast dishes at his head, along with a shout to go to hell, and crying her eyes out because she even cared, Mia did neither. She calmly sat down and took a sip of her now cold coffee. Tasted like crap, but at least it was a calm, rational action as she watched Jared, without another word, walk out the door.

Something had scared him. And for Jared Livingston, that was probably the scariest thing of all. The man was all about self-protective barriers. Anything that dented the barricade he’d built was bound to cause bad behavior. Just because she understood him didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt; nor did it mean she wasn’t angry. But if she pushed, he’d back away completely.

There was no future for them—she knew that. But until the end came, she wanted to be with him. If that meant putting up with some of his crap, so be it. She could give it right back to him, but she would also give him leeway. Whatever Jared had gone through in his past had colored his entire life. She knew all about coloring.

Since brooding never solved anything, Mia quickly cleaned up the breakfast dishes and then got dressed. In two days her undercover assignment began. The goal was to get inside Philippe’s personal records. Her initial plan to convince him to show her how to run a huge charity was still valid, and she hoped to be able to use that ruse. However, judging by their conversation, he was going to want to escort her around town. That meant parties and benefits, being seen in public. Which meant she needed to do some major shopping. And she was in Paris. What better place to shop?

Mia threw on a pair of jeans and one of her favorite shirts and applied a smattering of makeup. In this outfit, she would be met with disdain in many of the shops. But she knew Paris too well to rely on the pseudosophisticates. There were places where the salespeople treated
their customers with respect, and elegance could be purchased at a bargain price.

When she’d moved away from her parents and their way of life, Mia had decried most of the trappings that went with that upper-crust lifestyle. However, there were certain parts she missed, like getting all glitzed up and having a handsome man escort her around. The glitz part she could do. The handsome man? The only one she wanted would probably rather die than spend an elegant evening out. And the funny thing about that was, she wouldn’t want him any other way.

Shaking her head at her ridiculous thoughts, Mia closed the door to her apartment and set off for a shopping extravaganza. The ring of her cellphone stopped her in mid-stride. She glanced down at the readout and sighed. She had known he’d call sooner or later.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she chose the stairs over the elevator. If they got cut off, he wouldn’t be pleased.

“Hi, Dad, how are you?”

To the point as ever, he said, “Your mother told me you’re in Paris.”

“That’s right.”

“When will you be visiting us?”

Saying she wasn’t going to visit was not an option. If she did that, he’d be on her doorstep in a matter of hours. “Not for a few weeks, Dad. I’m on a case.”

“Mia.” His tone, heavy with forbearance and patience, was the one he’d adopted after “the incident.” And of all the ways her family treated her after what had happened, her father’s attitude was the one that hurt the most. She’d much rather have her mother’s controlled exasperation. Even Nadia’s feigned sweetness and caring were bearable to a point. Anything nice that came from her sister’s mouth was a lie, and Mia could shrug it off. But her dad’s attitude was different. He treated her as if she’d been
mentally damaged by what had happened. She wasn’t damaged; she was Mia.

And because he was her dad, she couldn’t let it float off her back like she could with her mom and sister. “Don’t start, Dad. Okay?”

Many people used a long pause to get you to say something you didn’t mean to say. But for her father it was a clear indication that he was genuinely searching for the right words. As a diplomat, Quinton Maxwell had the smoothest and most charming of tongues. When it came to his family, he struggled. And maybe that’s why his attitude hurt the most. She’d once had a relationship with her father that the rest of her family might have envied, especially her sister. She and her dad had shared a lot of the same interests and had felt a special bond. Once she’d been released from the hospital and had begun the long road to recovery, she had noticed the change in their relationship. The chasm had only grown wider over the years.