The Billionaire’s Desires Vol.12-13 (15 page)

Nothing has changed. At least not when it comes to Vadim. Apart from Lily, my family never gave him a chance. It’s just like it was before – the Lancasters are distrustful and intolerant, and they like to warn me against a non-existent threat. They see nothing but the negative in him. Because Vadim is not from the same milieu, because he hasn’t always made the right choices, because he dragged me down with him and because he represents everything we are not. At least, that's what they all think. Back then, their prejudices and their need to control everything influenced me. I ended up giving in to their pressure. I decided to side with reason, betraying the boy I loved in the process and giving up on the love of my life. I still hold them responsible, at least, partly. I should have listened to my heart, had more strength of character, and refused to let them separate us. Who knows, if I had resisted, maybe Vadim would still be in my life today. Not as a vengeful boss who is clinging to resentment for dear life. But as...

Wild card!

“Irony.” The word seems to be everywhere since Vadim used it to set me straight. This morning again, the irony of the situation has turned against me. Wilson had sent an email saying that Mr. King would be absent until Wednesday. It's Monday morning, I look like crap, my face is drawn and I decided to wear a black shapeless suit that's too severe – just like my mood – thinking I wouldn't see him today. Except he's here, with a sardonic smile on his lips, just as I step into the elevator. My pale face turns tomato red. He's dressed to the nines. I look like a sack of potatoes. Careful not to look into his eyes, which I’m sure are mocking me, and trying to ignore the thumping of my heart, I take stock.

Hair: dull and disorderly. Makeup: zilch. Outfit: last century. Total points: failed audition. Opinion of the jury: needs a serious makeover!

The ride up to the eighth floor takes an eternity. Ill at ease, I hug my financial papers against my chest, with my nose in the air. From the other side of the elevator, I feel him looking at me. When he finally lets out a little laugh, I crack...

“Do you have something to say to me?” I ask, glaring at him with my olive eyes.

“Nice outfit. Are you joining the convent or just going to confession after work?” he answers with his irresistible accent, looking me over from head to toe, mocking me with his stupid smile out of the corner of his mouth.

“Confession? Why? I've done nothing wrong.”

“If you say so,” he says, just as the doors open.

Sixth floor. Maximilian Finn, his assistant, gets in the elevator and greets us warmly. I grit my teeth, cursing my stupid suit and my asshole CEO.

Eighth floor. The way is clear, I escape without looking back.

Everyone around here knows I have two left feet. There’s always something – ripped top, spilled coffee, wet trousers: one accident per week is my average. Funnily enough, this little flaw turns out to be extremely useful when I'm on my way to a last minute meeting with Mr. King. I open the lower drawer of my desk and see my"spare" little black dress. It's a Vera Wang.

Yes!

Hmmm. But maybe I should keep my funeral attire on...

I don't have time to think it over. I slip on the dress – maybe a bit too short and sexy for the circumstances – and I pull my messy hair up into a high bun. A bit of lipstick and I'm ready to go. Something tells me he won't be laughing now. At least, I hope...

Joseph Wilson stares hungrily at me as I walk into the big room walled with windows. I had forgotten he'd be there. Sophie looks me over as well and greets me with an"Alma" full of innuendos. Then there's the subtleness that is so characteristic of Clarence as he whistles in my direction. Note to self: register him for an etiquette workshop. And add Wilson to the list. I sit down with as much dignity as possible, trying to ignore the attention I've attracted. Vadim comes in next and sits down in his CEO chair. He looks over the room quickly, then pauses for a moment when he sees me. His face tenses, darkens and a slight smirk forms on his lips. Then the meeting starts and our little game can begin.

While Clooney launches into an endless speech about current projects and kowtows to the big boss, Vadim doesn't seem very focused. Not on budget negotiations, filming schedules or communication campaigns, anyway. Our eyes seek each other out continuously, dart away, and meet again. He runs his hand through his hair. I bite my lip. He fidgets nervously, grips his Evian bottle and plays with his Mont-Blanc pen. I simper at first, then pretend to be indifferent. But inside I'm boiling. No one seems to notice the tension that has built up between us and, quite honestly, I couldn't care less if they did. In this moment, Vadim and I are alone in the world, shipwrecked on a desert island, an iceberg or...

“Wake up, Miss Lancaster!” barks Wilson. “Do you have the filming dates for the next
Larry Water
movie or not?!”

Totally taken by surprise, I open the file frantically to give him the information. Out of pure luck, I find it easily and Clooney settles down. A near miss... Vadim savors the moment. His eyes sparkle and he gives me a teasing, sensual, irresistible smile that I can't help but mirror back to him. It clicks. I am looking at the old Vadim, the real one! Shivers go down my spine.

I never should have left you...

Once again, King disappears as soon as the meeting ends. Not surprising. Arcadi was always the first one to jet when the bell rang at the end of class. Maybe Arcadi and King have more in common than I thought... This is the thought going through my mind when Sophie Adam, stylish as usual in her Color Block outfit, chases after me and follows me into my office.

“Alma Lancaster, I want to know everything!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The dress! You think Wilson the pervert was the only one to notice? You’re today's hot topic, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It's my spare outfit, my suit was... damaged.”

“Oh, of course... Who are you trying to impress? Mr. King, maybe?” she adds, laughing before turning away and laying it on even thicker. “Whatever the reason, it worked – you're gorgeous!”

Urgent need of caffeine.

A few minutes after this quick – and somewhat embarrassing – conversation, I’m back in my sardine-can of an office with a latte in hand. OK, sardine-can might be a bit of an exaggeration. Let's just say broom closet. My office, the real one that was assigned to me, is being renovated. New paint, furniture, the latest technology, and a panoramic view: ah, the privileges of being an assistant director. Now if I could only start enjoying them.

I settle into my tight space as best I can and take off my heels to allow my aching feet to breathe. I take a gulp of the hot coffee and type my password. My goal for the next half hour: stop thinking about that surreal meeting. His piercing eyes. His delicious smile. His powerful body.

STOP!

In the meantime, I have fifty-two emails to sort, read and trash. The rest of the morning is going to be long. After a quick reply to one of our advertisers, I notice a light pink card on the corner of my dark wood table. The color stands out very obviously. How could I have missed it? Intrigued, I grab the paper and unfold it. I am dumbfounded when I recognize Vadim's illegible handwriting. My heart beats in my temples.

[If you keep pushing me, I might just push back...]

He's provoking me...

Or he's serious and my job is on the line.

He's provoking me!

“I've been waiting for you downstairs for fifteen minutes! I have to pick up the girls in an hour, Alma, I'm in a hurry!” Clémentine is annoyed as she rushes into my office, a takeaway bag in her hand.

I completely forgot about her! Well, not her, but about our lunch date. That meeting lobotomized my tired brain, and that was before I found the note that I'm now obsessing over. I apologize lamely, suggesting we eat in my office, which she agrees to without putting up a fuss. Sea bream tartar, salmon sashimi and spring roll maki: my best friend knows the way to my heart! Our mouths full, we chat about nothing in particular until the sensitive subject comes up.

“He really wrote you that?!” she asks, the proof right before her eyes.

“No Clem, I wrote myself the note... Obviously it was him! Who else would it be?”

“I don't know… Wilson?"

“No, it's Vadim's handwriting, I'm positive.”

“What are you going to do? Don't you think it'd be better to set him straight once and for all? He is your boss. And given your past...”

“That's just the problem, given our past, it's not exactly very easy for me to... resist him.”

“For the last three days he’s been treating you like shit! Since when do you take that kind of crap from guys?”

“I'm not just taking it. I am still very wary of him. But I can't exactly give him the hard word or take it too far; I don't want to lose my job!”

And, I want him! Vadim King... or Arcadi, whatever!

“And... Raphaël?” Clémentine asks in a quiet voice.

“Not now, Clem. I don't want to think about it.”

“He's not going to wait for you his whole life, you know.”

“I don't want him to wait for me! Things shouldn't be complicated – they should be... clear. And with him, it's not like that.”

“And with Vadim, it is?”

“Yes. It always has been. Clear, burning and passionate! I want to feel all that, like before...”

Finally free! After my stressful day, both physically and emotionally, I want just one thing: peace and quiet. I've made a deal with myself: tonight, I’m going to think about nothing. Not even him. A nice shower, a light dinner, a DVD – a thriller, definitely not a romantic comedy – and a good night’s sleep. Not exactly an exciting evening, but the kind that restores you. But for that to work, I need nothing to get in my way. Like running into Vadim in front of the building. Escorted by an extremely irritating young woman. Abnormally beautiful, sexy, smiling and engaging. It's that last adjective that irks me most. If only she were despicable...

But Grace Montgomery is nothing of the sort. Her only flaw may be her utter perfection and the complexes she conjures up in every woman she meets. She's a supermodel and rising actress, and has already made a name for herself in Hollywood. She has golden blond locks, the face of a porcelain doll, is tall and slim with a generous cleavage and perfectly lifted buttocks. A man's fantasy come to life. And the man standing next to her right now: Vadim King, gorgeous billionaire with a fiery temper and a mysterious past. The perfect couple.

He's mine!

Too busy stroking his protégée's cheek, my cursed CEO takes quite a while to notice my presence. Finally, when my legs get some feeling back – going from jelly to cardboard – I try to walk discreetly away. Too late. Vadim has already turned and is walking toward me, the bimbo following behind.

“Grace, let me introduce you to Alma Lancaster. Assistant Director of King France and... an old acquaintance,” he says in English, cheerfully.

Old acquaintance?! You mean the love of your life, you idiot!

“Nice to meet you! I hope Vadim isn't too hard on you!” she screeches, also in English.

“You have no idea...” I say bitterly, watching for my ex's reaction.

He's quick to deliver! My response sends him into a fit of hilarity, which only increases my annoyance. For a few long moments, we stand there mute, skinning each other alive with our eyes. Vadim gives in first. He nods at me and, with a diabolical smile, heads off with Grace. Hand in hand.

My hand is twitching...

I have trouble concentrating on the road. Drinking and driving aren't a good mix? Vadim King and driving are fatal! Twenty minutes after I get home, I still haven’t gotten over my intense fit of jealousy. We’re not together, that's a fact. He owes me nothing. And vice versa. Seeing him with someone else has clearly altered my judgment. Something has taken over in me and is keeping me from reacting like a rational human being. I try to distract myself by watching
The Usual Suspects
, but when I go to get in bed, I can't resist any longer.

Fully aware that I'm about to make a huge mistake, I sit down at my computer and open my email. I enter King's email address and begin typing without thinking.

Immediate reply. Whew, they weren't in the middle of...

Bastard!

Alma Lancaster, ex-Assistant Director, King Productions, fired for taking excessive liberties in addressing her CEO...

I don't give a damn, he was asking for it!

Aaaah!"1 new unread message!"

Icy cold response.

Then again..."sweet dreams"?!

"Emerald green is definitely your color, sweet Alma," Joseph Wilson whispers into my ear, waiting behind me at the coffee machine.

I'm not stupid. Clooney has a brand spanking new Nespresso machine in his kingly office. If he's here clinging to me at the coffee machine, it's because he wants something specific. He's stalking me. He makes comments about my clothes, whispers sweet nothings in my ear while no one is looking, trying me out to see if he stands a chance. The answer is no: a very definite no on my part. Now I just have to make this first-class smooth talker understand that. Though he also happens to be my boss.