The Billionaire's Desire (5 page)

“Shall we?” he asked, when Ally was dressed once more. She was smoothing down the collar of sapphires which had, thankfully, survived their passionate lovemaking.

I’ll have to send Renard a note congratulating him on the exquisite and sturdy workmanship of his pieces
, he thought with a wry smile.

“You go,” Ally responded, hanging back. “It’s better if we don’t reappear together.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Better for whom?”

“For you,” Ally said, too quickly.

Luc stared at her in disbelief.
She doesn’t want to be seen with me
, he realized, stunned. That was novel, to say the least.

Ally watched, containing her bemusement as the shock transformed Luc’s handsome face. It was satisfying but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, either.

“I’m here for work,” she tried to explain. “Tonight is about my career. I’m not an actual guest, Luc. This is work for me.”

“I see.”

“My boss is probably livid, wondering where I have been.”
Actually, he probably is
.

“Then I shall not keep you any longer,” Luc said with a dignified sniff. “But trust that I will find you again, Ah-
lee
.”

I don’t know what I trust about him
, Ally thought as she slipped from the wing and headed back toward the brittle laughter and cynical gossip of the party. She didn’t see Luc again for the remainder of the evening.

Chapter 5

“Have you seen this?” Mr. Roberts said first thing Monday morning. He flung the Tattle Tale onto Ally’s desk. She picked it up, wary, scanning the front page, and gasped.

“It’s me.” Ally glanced up at her boss. He didn’t sound angry, necessarily. Just concerned.

“It’s you,” he responded, crossing his arms.

Ally looked back down at the glossy front page and could scarcely believe her eyes.

Jenaus’ New Dessert?
the headline queried. The accompanying photo was taken from some distance away, and it was relatively blurry; Luc’s famous face was easy to discern but Ally’s was more difficult to make out, as it was partially obscured by the Milanese art dealers and it appeared that she was looking over her shoulder.

At what, though
? Ally wondered.
We’re standing with our backs against the wall and – oh
.

The photograph had been snapped just as she’d been sneaking a scandalized peak over her shoulder at Luc’s hand, which cupped her ass, a gesture also lost in the picture, but the knowledge was enough to make Ally flush bright red.

“I had no idea there was paparazzi inside the Met Ball,” she managed lamely.

“There are paps
everywhere
. You should be warned.”

“You can’t tell it’s me unless you know me.”

“Well now every major and minor magazine and newspaper in the world is going to want to know you thanks to this goddamn trash.” Mr. Roberts’s tone was almost that of a protective father. “Look. You can date who you want, and if you want Luc Jeneau, fine. Your personal life is your own. I hope you know that I take care of my own, though. And I do not want you to get hurt by all this.” His sharp face managed what Ally suspected was the closest thing to a smile she had ever seen.

“I know,” she said. “We were just…talking.”

Mr. Roberts lifted his eyebrows, a gesture which implied he knew much, much better. Ally wished the floor would open up and swallow her away from this situation. This was worse than The Talk with her mother when she was 10.

There was a discreet cough behind Mr. Robert. He turned in time to see a floral delivery man with an enormous bouquet of fragrant lilacs.

“For Miss Elizabeth?” he asked. He set the bouquet on her desk and held out a clipboard. “Sign here, please?”

Under Mr. Roberts’ hawk eye she signed; he glared the deliveryman from the room. The bouquet sat between them as the silence stretched.

“This is all very exciting, Ally. I get it. I may not understand that Justin Beeder or Lady Gargoyle but I see the stars in your eyes. I just don’t want you to lose your focus. Ally…I’m done in the next five years. This job has wiped me out and I look forward to a long, peaceful retirement in Barbados. Do you know who is going to take over for me when I’m gone?”

Ally could barely breathe. “I…hadn’t thought…”

“Of course you have. And you’re right. I’ve been grooming you for this. You’re half-way there. In the next couple of years, I will be shifting even more responsibility to you. We’re going to get you enrolled in some advanced business and management courses to build on your already stellar education. And by the time I’m done, the gallery and museum is yours. They’ll call me crazy for giving it to a girl that’s not even 30, but it’s my choice. And you’re my choice. I knew it from the day we hired you.”

Her mouth dropped open but she quickly closed it. Mr. Roberts had nothing more to add. He simply glanced at the lilacs, as if to say
Your career for a bouquet of flowers
? And then he turned on his heel and walked out.

“Hey Ally, can you get the files from the Mason direc – ” an intern began, bursting into her office. He saw the colorless expression on her face and stopped dead. “I’ll, uh, come back in a bit.”

She picked up the bouquet of lilacs and inhaled their sweet scent. It was the fifth bouquet of flowers she’d received that weekend from Luc. He’d sent over more gifts, trinkets and perfumes and jewelry, and texted her for hours at night. Thankfully he’d had informal meetings and dinners to keep him tied up most of the weekend, but there was no denying that, at least sexually and conversationally, there was a spark there, perhaps even a true connection. Ally felt ridiculous; she felt as if she might be falling for him. But after what Mr. Roberts had just told her…

*

Catherine Fedoroff adjusted her shoulder and pursed her lips into a pout.

“Beautiful,” the photographer said, snapping away. He was an old friend that she’d known since she started modeling a decade earlier
, and one of the few people in the industry who didn’t react to her temper tantrums. “Try it with your head tilted back a little…just…there! Yes. Gorgeous.”

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap
. This was Catherine’s life, the click of the camera mingled with tumultuous praise for her ageless beauty, riches and power and glamour. She was on top the world.

So why was Terry’s staff either giggling behind their hands or avoiding her gaze completely? She was too much of a professional to let the consternation show on her exquisite face as she spread her miles-long legs shoulder-width apart, put her hands on her hips and shook back her long mane of blonde hair, letting the wind machine catch the tousled tendrils; but she was definitely going to say something to him after this shoot, an ad campaign for an up-and-coming Italian designer’s new swimsuit line.

As soon as Terry snapped the last frame Catherine pounced.

“Your staff is grown unprofessional,” she whined in her sultry voice. “They all look at me like I have new head.”

Terry carefully broke down his camera and tripod, concentrating on it like it was a world championship chess match.

“A few of them are new. I’ll talk to them,” he said shortly.

Catherine bristled. “I mean it, Terry. I didn’t fly all the way to New York for this shoot to get treated like a commoner.”

“No, of course not, you did it for the enormous paycheck,” Terry retorted.

“Which I
earn
,” she insisted.

“So it all works out. Quit whining.”

“What are you doing tonight? Let’s get a drink.” There was no budging Terry from one of his annoyed moods that he always seemed to have when they worked together. Best to just change the subject.

“I have a dinner with the creative director of Elle. Look, it was great seeing you, Cate. Tell Luc I said hi.”

He grabbed up his camera case and swaggered off, leaving Catherine standing there in her tiny bikini.

A burst of laughter erupted behind her. She turned her fiery stare on a pair of crew members who were holding a magazine between them.

“What?” she demanded. “What is so fucking amusing?”

They were shocked into silence. One contritely offered her the magazine, Tattle Tale. The other ran off
, muttering something about helping pack up in the beauty department.

“What is this?” she asked. Then she saw the cover.

*

Ally was munching on a grilled chicken salad from the cafeteria when the tornado hit. It had been relatively calm all morning, no major uproars to speak of, and she had become nicely caught up with work that had lain dormant all weekend.
She had given the flowers to one of the lesser interns and had them cut down the stems to fit into one of the coffee mugs from the break room.

There might not be a future in gallery administration for him, but he shouldn’t rule out floral arrangement
, Ally mused with a stifled giggle as she took another bite of salad. Then there was a thud and a smash as the door to the offices was flung open, accompanied by what sounded like general melee as staffers protested.

“Hey!”

“Watch it!”

“Who the hell are
you
?” someone yelled.

It was coming closer. Ally’s stomach sank; she glanced up at her office doorway in time to see the door fly open and smash off the wall.

“
You little bitch
!” Catherine screamed, lunging after her, pushing the florist/intern who had been ready to politely open the door for her, out of the way.

Ally shrank back, scooting her rolling chair away from the desk. Catherine was a sweaty mess, a spectacle, her avant-garde make-up smeared and melting, her fake eyelashes starting to stick together, top to bottom. She wore a tiny bikini topped off with a sheer white cover-up and no
shoes. Her hair, which had been full of body and volume at the shoot, was going limp without the aid of a wind machine and tendrils were sticking to Catherine’s sweaty face.

How did she find me
?

“I found you! Did you think you could hide? Sweetheart, I know
everyone
in this city,” Catherine spat at her, sweeping her hand over Ally’s desk and sending piles of paper flying.

“You fuck with me and I will fuck with you!”
Whoosh
. She sent another pile to the floor, five hundred carefully organized papers and applications fluttering to the floor.

“You slut! You little whore! You don’t know who you are messing with! I am going to ruin you, do you hear me? I am going to
fucking ruin you
!” Catherine glimpsed the lilacs sitting on a table at the side of the office. She stormed over to them with a shriek, knocking over anything that got in her way. “Did he give you these?
Are these from Luc
?”

“Yes,” Ally said, standing. “Catherine, I don’t –”

“
Raaaaaaaarrrrr
!” the crazed woman screamed, hurling the mug of flowers at the window. The cup shattered and the flowers fell in a wet puddle to the floor. Catherine jerked the window open, scooped up fistfuls of lilacs and flung them out. She strode back to the other side of Ally’s desk and glared down at her from her six foot height.

“You are nothing and you never will be,” Catherine said with deadly calm. She turned and stalked out to the limo awaiting her at the entrance of the building.

Mr. Roberts forbade any of the other staff to enter the office. He slipped in and closed the door softly behind him. Ally sat on the floor, her back against the front of great wooden desk, her knees pulled up to her chin, her high heels on the carpet next to her. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he approached. “I’m sorry.”

“This cannot be,” he said simply. “This is out of control.”

“I know.” She wiped her cheeks dry.

“Take care of this, Ally. You have to take care of this. What is important to you? What will be there for you in five years? This charming Frenchman you’ve met twice?”

Ally nodded. “I understand.”

“I hope you do. Take the rest of the day. Go home. Worry about this tomorrow; it’ll still be here.”

Ally’s phone lit up with a text from Luc as she sat in the cab on the ride home.

Dinner tonight? Say oui.

We have to talk
, she responded.

Parfait. I’ll pick you up around 7
.

Thankfully there were no flowers at the door this time. Ally shut her apartment door behind her, tossed her keys onto the dish in the entranceway and collapsed onto her couch.

Her phone went off, ringing.
Already
?