by Ludi and angyxoxo
(3) Dirty Tricks
Stunned into awe by
this unexpected vision of manhood, I jump to my feet without even so much as a
thought.
“Bonjour, mes amis,”
he greets in what sounds to be impeccable French to my inexperienced ears.
“Sorry ‘bout bein’ late. Have t’ have
my cigarette break, y’know.”
In a matter of
seconds, I’ve all but forgotten the fact that I’d wanted to wring this guy’s
neck. Instead, I find myself staring at
him. No, make that ogling. Boy oh boy, this guy is hot. All 6 foot 2 inches of
lean, toned muscle, framed in a smart beige suit and white shirt, all cut to
show off his gorgeous body to perfection.
He doesn’t take a bit of notice of me as he strides into the room, his
jacket slung casually over one shoulder.
As he crosses the room he gives me a view of his aquiline profile, the
chiseled nose and strong jaw, a few thick, auburn locks straying over and onto
his forehead. I notice he’s wearing
shades, and even though it’s kind of odd for the middle of winter, one look at
this guy and you’d swear shades in winter was the new fashion.
“B-Bonjour.” I find
the words spilling involuntarily out of my mouth, despite better judgement. “Je
suis Rogue.”
Shit!
He stops in the middle
of the room, turns, and stares at me.
Up until that moment, I don’t think I knew the meaning of the phrase
‘when sparks fly’. In that one shared
glance it’s like a few thousand fireworks go off all at once. Oh wow!
“Rogue, hmm?” he
drawls in that oh-so-seductively accented voice. He looks half-amused, half-intrigued. Shit, shit, shit!
“Uh…No, Ah mean, uh,
je m’appelle Anna Raven,” I blurt out.
Oh God, why can’t the earth just swallow me up right about now?
He raises an eyebrow
and slips the shades off slowly. For a
moment I’m stunned to find myself staring into his eyes – red on black eyes,
eyes the color of deepest crimson. His
gaze runs over me without the slightest hint of shame or subtlety, yet with
such intensity that I feel a blush begin to creep up my cheeks. I’ve never felt so undressed with a single
gaze in all my life.
“Remy LeBeau,” he
finally introduces himself in return.
Then he does something no guy has ever
done to me before. He scoops my hand up
and kisses it. “Enchanté,” he adds, with a small, suggestive smile.
“Remy,” Monet begins warningly from behind him, “Please.”
He bestows me with
another dazzling smile before dropping my hand and turning to take his seat at
the table. As he does so he gives Monet
an outrageous wink.
“Ah, ma chere Monet, I
hope you’re still on for our date tonight, non?” he asks unabashedly. Monet doesn’t dare say a word, a blush of
her own crossing the cheeks of her rather prim and haughty face. That should’ve been enough to warn me about
Remy LeBeau’s reputation, but I was still too busy recovering from his dazzling
smile to take any notice.
“Remy…” Jean-Paul
shoots at him, but even he looks a little hot under the collar at his
colleague’s flamboyant entrance.
Without further ado,
Remy takes his seat at the table with an air of casual elegance. I sink back into my chair wishing I’d
decided to wear the sexy red suit Emma had cajoled me into buying the other
week. For some reason, all I can think
of right now is a cold shower and a stiff drink.
-oOo-
On the other side of
town, in the executive director’s office at Frost Industries HQ, Emma was still
silently fuming over her meeting with Warren the night before. Scattered across her desk were several
copies of the papers he’d refused to sign.
How dare he, she wondered? How
dare he treat her like dirt? No man
messed with Emma Grace Frost and lived to tell the tale! And what was that comment he’d made about
her breasts?! She’d teach that pompous
and arrogant twit to insult her to her face!
She’d show Warren Kenneth Worthington III just how threatening she could be!
Emma gritted her teeth
and pushed the contracts out of her sight.
As if the situation with Warren wasn’t bad enough, her gardener had just
quit and left her with a nine-acre garden that was badly in need of attention. She’d mocked his resignation, saying she
didn’t need a gardener in the middle of winter anyway, only to discover that
her ponds had filled up with dead leaves and consequently, a couple of dead
$5,000 koi. And now she had to waste
yet more time and money advertising for another wretched man to fill his post.
She was just about to
call her secretary and order her to put an advertisement in the newspaper when
her cell phone went off. Picking it up
she saw that the caller was none other than Betsy. Emma let out something between a growl and bark. Hadn’t she told both Rogue and Betts not to call her on her business
line? She was really going to have to
talk to them about that some time.
“What?” she
practically snapped once she’d accepted the call. She wasn’t particularly in the mood to hear how CFC’s damaged the
ozone layer.
“Well, excuse me,” Betsy’s cultured accent
replied indignantly. “I didn’t know that’s how friends greeted each other these
days.”
“This is my business
line,” Emma retorted rudely. “I thought I told you to call me on my private
line! I could have an important client
trying to phone me right at this very moment!”
“Bloody hell, Emma,
what on earth’s got into you?” Betsy replied, clearly offended. “If you must know, I was going to ask whether
you and your significant other wanted to come and join me and Neal tonight at
this new eco-club they’ve just opened across town. But if that’s the attitude you’re going to take, then…”
Emma gritted her
teeth, trying to calm her temper. Betsy
had been acting strangely lately, but
there was no reason to take things out on her.
“Sorry, Betts,” she
finally returned, her tone more level, “but it looks like I’m going to have to
stay over late tonight. Besides, my
‘significant other’ got dumped by yours truly last night. And I think three would be too much of a
crowd, don’t you?”
“Oh, Emma, luv…” It
was Betsy’s turn to sound sheepish. “I didn’t know… Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Oh, it wasn’t
anything serious,” Emma replied, getting out her nail polish. “The only thing
the guy was worth keeping around for was his soufflés and his shiatsu massages,
and even they were below my usual
acceptable standards.”
“Well, you don’t sound
upset, so I’ll take your word for it.
But Emma, darling, you’re simply going to have to phone me and tell me
all the juicy details tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,
honey. You just have fun tonight and
try not to drink too much organic punch.”
She cut the line
before Betsy could work out whether her parting jibe had been serious or
not. What she hadn’t told her
purple-haired, ex-model friend was that the thought of spending the night alone
scared the hell out of her.
Sighing violently,
Emma punched the button on her intercom and called impatiently for her
secretary.
“Jubilee! Jubilee!
Where are you?! I want you to
place an advert for a gardener in the newspapers right away!”
-xXx-
Shit.
I’m only eight minutes into my
interview and I’ve already screwed it up beyond human reason. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’m
desperately trying to speak terribly-pronounced French to a panel of three
interviewers, I’m also making a fool out of myself in front of an extremely hot
guy. Can my day get any worse?
I knew following through on this List of Priorities thing was a bad
idea.
“So,” Remy LeBeau asks me in French
from his end of the table. “Tell us a little about yourself. What do you do in your leisure time? Any hobbies?”
Okay, this isn’t so bad. Since this was Lesson One of my ‘Teach
Yourself French’ book, I actually rehearsed this topic pretty well. I manage to run off a few automated
sentences about being able to dance (does boogie-ing down the club on a Friday
night count?), singing (at karaoke on Thursday nights, and not half badly
either), and playing guitar (which I haven’t touched since… well, the Incident
two years ago or thereabouts). Then I
add some stuff about being into fashion, which I hope will recommend me to the
perfume industry. My recital is by no
means perfect, but it isn’t bad either.
In fact, I’m quite proud of myself.
“You like to dance, huh?” Remy gives
me an intense look from those dark red eyes, and I manage to nod weakly, but
can’t find the French to reply. So he
smiles – this slow, seductive curl of the lips – and suddenly all the English
has flooded out of my brain as well.
Great.
“And what do you think you can bring
to the company?” Jean-Paul inquires.
Uh oh. The dreaded question every interviewer asks, and I can’t even
form a sentence in my own native language, let alone French. I spend the next five minutes struggling
through an answer like a paraplegic attempting to climb Everest. I feel absolutely pathetic and decide here
and now that my first interview has been a complete and utter disaster. Monet St. Croix is desperately trying to
stifle her laughter; Jean-Paul Beaubier has a look of extreme concentration on
his face as he attempts to keep up with every word I’m saying; Remy LeBeau, on
the other hand, is gazing placidly over the table at what seems to be my chest.
Oh Lord have mercy and strike me
down with a bolt of lightning right now PLEASE!!!
In the end I just give up, and I
must look like I’m about to cry because Remy suddenly decides to take pity on
me.
“It’s okay, Ms. Raven,” he assures
me after a moment, flashing another winning smile my way. “I don’t t’ink you
need to impress us with your…most excellent French anymore.”
Monet gives a little snigger under
her breath when she sees me gape at his unmistakable Cajun accent. I’m already considering jumping across the
table and gouging out those pretty eyes of hers.
“Actually,” Remy continues in a more
serious tone, “the Laurier and Lauriel company hasn’t had much of a connection
wit’ France since the end of the Second World War. Most of our operations take place here, in de US. English is and always has been our choice of
language here.”
Two things immediately become
apparent to me. One, I’ve made a
complete and utter fool of myself; and two, this arrogant bastard of a Remy
LeBeau knew from the very beginning that I hadn’t a clue how to speak French.
“What?”
I cry, half standing up, my temper flaring as I realize a cruel trick’s been
played on me. Jean-Paul glances over,
confused.
“You mean to say you didn’t know
this about our company?” he asks incredulously.
Well, what can I say? That I just happened to send a doctored resume to a company I didn’t know the
first thing about, in the vain hope that I might just have an outside chance of
getting a job? Dammit, the truth is
hard enough admitting to myself, let alone to these high-flying execs. Face it Rogue, you’ve blown it. You blew it the moment you stepped into this
room. You’re such a yutz that you even
let that cocky prick across the table play you for all you were worth! No way out of this one, uh-uh. Time to save what face you can, gal, and get
outta here sharpish!
I stand up quickly, mustering what
dignity I have left.
“Well, Ah really don’t think there’s
any more to discuss here,” I begin indignantly, “so Ah guess we should just
stop wastin’ one another’s time and end this interview. Ah suppose Ah deserved to be treated with
disrespect since Ah wasn’t willin’ t’ take the job seriously. Ah’m sorry for takin’ up your time.” I level
a cold, hard glare in Remy’s direction. “And
for takin’ up your precious cigarette break.
Maybe y’all oughta think ‘bout arrivin’ t’ your interviews on time, Monsieur LeBeau, yah just might get some
respect from the other people you interrogate.”
I spin on my heel to leave the room,
congratulating myself on my second most-satisfying exit speech in three
days. But just as I’m about to reach
the door and finally escape this embarrassing predicament, Remy stops me.
“Wait a minute.”
I turn expectantly, thinking he’s
going to reprimand me for my outspokenness.
Does the guy have to make this anymore of a torture than it is
already? But there isn’t the slightest
ounce of anger on that handsome face of his.
If anything, he looks rather amused – which is enough to send my blood
pressure soaring with rage. Oh? So he thinks this is funny? Just wait till I get my hands on that
despicable, good-for-nothing, gorgeous, fit, athletic, positively edible……
“Having personally looked through your resume,” he continues casually,
snapping me out of my reverie, “I happen t’ think you’re actually a very strong
candidate.”
What? I hadn’t expected him to say that.
“Yes,” Jean-Paul nods beside him,
“I, too, think so. The skills you have
listed in your resume seem perfectly suited to our marketing and advertisement
department. At the moment we could do with
a person of your talent in the company.
You say you worked previously in finance, non? In Joe Co.?”
Well, this is a surprise.
“Uh… Yes. For two years,” I nod.
“And you quit because?” Monet asks
me. I get the sense she doesn’t like
me, especially since Remy made such a display of kissing my hand – the
slimeball. But her question doesn’t
faze me. Now that I don’t have to worry
about French anymore my brain’s come back.
“Ah wanted a change. Somethin’ new, exciting…refreshing.” (I hope
Jean isn’t going to mind me borrowing her phrases here.) “Ah guess Ah kinda
figured that working in the marketing section of a renowned global company
could provide me with a new kind of…stimulation.”
I involuntarily shoot Remy a
glance. What the hell is all that about? Sometimes my body really doesn’t behave the
way my mind tells it to.
“Well, you’ll certainly find that
things can be stimulating here at L&L,” Jean-Paul grins expansively. “Our
company motto is ‘expand creativity, promote inspiration’. Everyone’s always bursting with new
ideas. There’s never a dull moment!”
Oh
I bet there isn’t, I think, as I glare over at that infuriatingly handsome
Cajun.
“Well, Ms. Raven,” Remy begins,
taking charge again. “Dere are still a few t’ings my colleagues an I have to
discuss regarding your position here, but we all seem to agree you’d be a
…perfect candidate.” He gives me one of those looks again, but I’ve wised up to
his swamp rat charms and the only thing I feel is disgust. Won’t he ever stop so blatantly checking me
out? Not even Joe was that crass. “Well, I guess de
interview’s over,” he continues, standing up. “You can expect t’ hear from us
regarding your acceptance some time on Monday.
T’anks for comin’, Ms. Raven.”
“Thank you,” I mumble half-heartedly
in return. I shake Jean-Paul’s hand
with genuine feeling, and just about manage to do the same for Monet. But as far as I’m concerned, Remy can go and
stick his hand up that cute ass of his.
So I ignore him completely before turning and flouncing out the room.
Well, Roguey, you may not have
slam-dunked that one, but somehow you definitely managed to get the ball in the
net.
Then I remember just how badly I’d
made a fool of myself stumbling through all that needless French.
I practically run all the way back
to my car out of sheer embarrassment.
-oOo-
Elisabeth Braddock was not happy.
Here she was, huddled inside the
tiny SmartCar she’d bought after she’d dumped her humongous, gasoline-guzzling
SUV, completely lost. She coasted the
block at about ten miles per hour, looking desperately for a club that simply
wasn’t there. The car behind her was
honking rabidly and Neal wasn’t picking up his cell phone.
“For the love of God where is this place!” she cursed under her
breath.
Neal had
patiently written down all the directions to ‘Le Jardin’, the so-called eco-club that had just opened not a week
ago. Yet she still couldn’t find the damned place. If only Emma had agreed to come along – Emma had the honing
instincts of an eagle, while Betsy’s sense of direction was nothing short of
abysmal.
“I just know it was down this road!” she muttered angrily to herself. The car behind her hooted her one more time
and then sped past, clipping her wing mirror.
“Oh screw you, you great, sodding
bastard!” she raged at the fast-disappearing driver. This really wasn’t doing her blood pressure any good. Once she got home she’d have to do another
round of tantric yoga just to calm her nerves.
Damn! There was nothing for
it. She was going to have to get out
and ask for directions.
Betsy turned off onto an unknown
side road and parked the SmartCar on the curb.
She tried calling Neal again, but he still wasn’t picking up.
“Where on earth is he?” she mused to
herself. She knew he’d spent the day at
an activist rally, but he was supposed to have left half an hour ago to meet up
with her. Maybe his phone was
dead. Maybe he was working late. Or maybe…
She shook her head violently and got
out the car. A few yards down the
street, light and techno were pouring out of what seemed to be a small
nightclub. Several people were standing
around outside, laughing and chatting, some smoking and some with drinks in
their hands. It was a lifestyle Betsy
had been used to in the days before she’d quit the supermodel life. She hadn’t been out much since then – that’s
why she’d been excited when Neal had told her about ‘Le Jardin’. But still, she
felt a pang in her heart when she saw all the beautiful young people out there
enjoying themselves, and she didn’t know why.
After all, they were all so oblivious, weren’t they? They didn’t care about the world like Betsy
did – they were all as selfish and blind as she’d once been, before she’d met
Neal. So why should she so suddenly
miss her old life? She had something
new to believe in now. She had
principles. And more importantly, she
had a guy who respected them.
Nevertheless she passed a nostalgic
sigh as she walked up to the club entrance.
She was surprised at how popular it seemed to be, being tucked away as
it was in some small and murky back street.
She looked up with curiosity at the neon sign over door. ‘The
Hideaway’, it read, in crackling red and orange letters.
“Can I help yer, lady?” a gruff
voice asked beside her. Turning, Betsy
saw that it was one of the bouncers addressing her. He was immaculately dressed in a plain black suit and red bow
tie, yet this neat ensemble couldn’t take away the gruffness of his
appearance. Still, underneath that
rough-and-ready, wolf-like exterior, she caught a sense of the compassion and
integrity of the man within. He was
shorter than her, which was not much out of the ordinary for Betsy, since she
was a model – but he was a lot shorter than any other man she’d met, perhaps
only about 5’2”.
“I hope so,” she replied. “I’m looking
for a place called ‘Le Jardin’. It’s a new club that opened just last
week. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
The bouncer appeared to think hard a
moment, then shook his head slowly.
“Sorry, lady. Ain’t heard of it. ‘Fraid I ain’t much acquainted with all those fancy new places
that’re springin’ up round here nowadays.
Man like me… the only places I know are the live houses and the dingy
little bars no one else goes to.”
“Oh well, never mind,” Betsy sighed,
glancing at her watch. “I suppose there’s someone else round here who’s bound
to have heard of it.”
“Perhaps I could be of some
assistance?” a low and charming masculine voice offered behind her. Whirling round in surprise, Betsy found
herself face to face with what she had to admit was probably one of the most
gorgeous men walking. He was actually
taller than her, and sported a pair of casual pants and a crimson silk shirt
that matched the color of her clingy red sheath dress to perfection. Scraggly auburn hair framed a face that was
half obscured by a pair of shades, although she swore she could see a glint of
red behind the dark lenses.
“I take it dis beautiful femme is lookin’ for a certain place not
far from here,” he began again, the charm practically dripping from his voice.
“Maybe Remy LeBeau can help her out.”
Betsy pulled a face, repulsed at the
way this guy was so shamelessly hitting on her. It was obvious to her that he was the kind of guy who’d never
been refused before – his overbearing confidence made that a dead cert. But in the model business she’d met plenty
of men like him, and she knew exactly how to handle them.
“Maybe he can,” she replied dryly.
“I’m looking for the ‘Le Jardin’
club.”
Remy, it seemed, was not so easily
put off.
“Dat a British accent, p’tit?” he
asked smoothly, ignoring her comment. “Remy jus’ loves British accents. Seems we have somet’in’ in common,
cherie. Maybe we could work on our
accents t’gether; or maybe we could teach each other t’ talk in tongues.”
Betsy snorted. Was this guy for real?
“Frankly,” she began coldly. “I
think your attempt at a French accent – intriguing though it is – is the worst
I’ve heard to date. Now if you don’t
mind, I have a date of my own to
keep.”
She stalked off back to her car
without so much as another glance in his direction.
“Hey!” Remy called after her
receding figure. “You wan’ find ‘Le
Jardin’, you gotta turn left off dis road!
Den turn right at de lights, you can’t miss it! Was real nice talkin’ t’ y’, chere!”
But Betsy was already inside the car
and revving up.
Remy shrugged, turned, and passed
the bouncer his trademark dazzling smile.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work on the short and stocky man, who snarled
back at Remy like he was a very bad smell.
Behind them, Betsy did a U-turn and
turned off to the right.
-xXx-
Monet St. Croix had already been
waiting fifteen minutes in ‘The Hideaway’
before Remy finally turned up.
“You’re late again, LeBeau,” she
chided him as he sidled up to join her at the bar.
“You know me an’ bein’ fashionably
late, chere,” he grinned, signaling the bartender to serve him the usual.
“I know you and your obsession with
all that hair of yours, you mean,” she corrected him slyly, yanking his tie and
pulling his face down for a searing kiss.
“I guess you do know me better den
most,” he murmured once they’d broken away, allowing his hand to wander down
familiarly over her shapely butt.
She laughed. “I bet you say that to
all the girls.”
“But wit’ you, Monet, it’s de
truth,” he bantered back.
“And does that scare you?” she
probed. It was a standing joke at
L&L that Remy knew all the girls in the company in all the ways that
mattered, but that he couldn’t tell you a single thing about them. As it was, Remy could only shrug evasively
in reply to her question. Although he
prided himself on being fearless, there was one thing he truly was afraid of,
and that was intimacy. But the reason
behind that was something he wasn’t about to let on to anyone.
Monet merely grinned and sipped
prettily at her snowball.
“It just so happens,” she began,
“that since I’m the one who knows you better than most, I also know that the only reason you suggested this date was because
you wanted to discuss business. Isn’t
that so?”
Remy grinned humorously at her.
“Looks like de day I hide anyt’ing from you, chere, is de day I’m cold an’ in
my grave.”
“Naturally,” she replied coolly. “So
– what’s on your mind?”
“Anna Raven,” he answered simply.
She looked surprised at that.
“The girl we interviewed? What about her? You weren’t really serious about taking her on, were you?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he paused as
he lit up a cigarette. “Jean-Paul seemed to like her, and he’s de bossman,
non? I talked t’ him after de fact, an’
he said she’d do right fine in marketing.”
“But Remy, the girl made a complete
and utter fool of herself, not to mention she obviously lied on her resume
about being bilingual. Why shouldn’t
everything else she wrote down be a lie as well?”
Remy shrugged and downed half his
bourbon in one go. It wasn’t like he
hadn’t lied and faked his way to the top either. Seeing his nonchalance, Monet passed him a narrowed glance.
“You like her, don’t you,” she leveled at him.
“Sure. I like all de girls who
work under me, Monet – as well as de guys,” he replied innocently. “Dat’s what
we do in dis business – we take care of each other, non?”
She wasn’t buying it.
“Did you hear the way she snubbed
you?” she reminded him.
“Sure, I heard de way she snubbed
me.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “De girl’s got brass, Mon. She ain’t afraid t’ speak her mind. An’ I could sure use a girl like dat on my
team.”
“And elsewhere, I should imagine,”
Monet quipped sourly, finishing off the rest of her drink. Dropping a generous tip into the bowl, she
picked up her purse and slid off her seat. “Look, if you and Jean-Paul have
made up your minds, then go ahead – hire her.
I couldn’t care less – she’s not going to be on my staff anyway. But if you’re thinking of screwing with her
LeBeau, trust me, you’re gonna get burned.
She’s not like the other girls. You touch her ass, she’ll bite you right back on yours, I
guarantee you.”
She leaned in and planted a
lingering kiss on his cheek.
“Don’t worry, loverboy. I’ll catch a cab home tonight. See you tomorrow.”
And with that she turned and
sashayed out.
-oOo-
Go to chapter 2 : Go
to chapter 4