Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (29 page)

“Volatile isn’t the word,” he retorted.

His irritation had her asking a question she should have left until later, especially after the lightening of the mood by the humor they’d found in the weird interview between mother, son, and lover. But she had to know. It was imperative.

“Alex…,” Devvy started, and then broke off. At his cocked brow urging her to continue, she whispered, “She didn’t hurt you? As a child, I mean.”

“Hurt?” he asked with a frown that slowly cleared as he understood her meaning, as well as her complete discomfort at asking the question. “Did she abuse me?”

Devvy licked her lips, feeling her nerves flutter through her with a speed that made her feel sick. “Yes.”

His face had smoothed out. All tension releasing. All humor and the earlier traces of anger disappearing. He turned his head away to stare at the traffic. “No. She did not.”

Somehow, that answer didn’t reassure her. He said the right thing, but he wasn’t
saying
it right. If that made sense.

Devvy didn’t push it, though. Aside from the clearing of his features, he hadn’t moved, but a brick wall was suddenly between them. Invisible, but there, nonetheless.

“Okay,” she murmured and squeezed the hand they’d clasped moments before, leaving the subject for a future time. Knowing that she wouldn’t be the one to raise the topic…because there was something here. Something that had that awful stillness appearing about him. And that said a lot.

Too much.

* * * *

The migraines were getting worse.

It was a sign, and Sebastien wasn’t too foolish to take it as anything less than a warning.

With Alex’s urging, he’d already been to the doctors. He’d been through CAT and MRI scans, blood tests and screens…if the preventative measure existed, he’d had it done to him.

The result was that he had the all-clear.

There was nothing there. No reason for fear or concern as to why the migraines were occurring or why they were causing him more and more pain. He didn’t have a brain tumor, malignant or otherwise. He was healthy, just with debilitating migraines.

He still felt guilty about having undertaken hospital treatment without Devvy’s knowledge. It was hardly a respectful way to treat his wife, by hiding the truth of his wellbeing from her. If she had done the same, he’d be furious, and when she found out, because he had no doubt the truth would eventually make an appearance, he deserved to be railed at. He’d accept her fury with grace. But he’d done so for one reason and one reason only.

Pride.

At forty-five he was closer to middle-age than his youth. He wasn’t a sensitive man. His years didn’t disturb him. All of his experiences had turned him into the creature that stood here now, a success.

But where his wife and his partner were concerned, the age gap was an issue.

One that only existed on his side.

Nearly twenty years older than Devvy, he hadn’t wanted to unduly concern her over his health. She was young. He didn’t want to barrage her with hospital visits before her time. If the result hadn’t been positive news, then he’d have had to share it with her. Considering the results he’d received a day ago, he was glad he’d refrained from telling her about the tests.

Being married to a woman nearly half his age was good for the ego, but not for the soul. He didn’t understand why anyone would put themselves through the agony of it if they didn’t love their younger partner. Only love made it all tolerable, bearable.

As it was, he felt very old most of the time. Unless he was actually with her. Then the torment made sense.

He’d made a decision around four weeks before Devvy had questioned his fidelity. Hickle Corp, the muscle behind five of the biggest cosmetic brands on the planet, was looking for an in on the organic, free-from-animal-testing market. They’d approached the situation in a manner that Sebastien had recognized as the beginnings of a hostile takeover.

At forty-five, in the business world, he was still at the top of his game. He was considered young, in his prime at the head of a cosmetics brand that globally turned over ten billion a year. That put
La Belle sans la Bête
up with some of the biggest boys in the market.

No corporation in their right mind would believe the head of
La Belle sans la Bête
was ready to retire.

That is, until he’d contacted Hickle Corp and set them straight.

He’d played his cards close to his chest, not wanting them to realize he wanted out, merely that he was open to persuasion.

Their lawyers had arrived at the end of last week and they’d already started the negotiations.

In the middle of talks with the company, Bastien was attempting to tie them up in so many legal loopholes that they’d never be able to stray from the core beliefs he’d set down in stone at the very beginning of this venture…all those years ago.

He had demands and he’d only hand over his baby if they were legally obliged—with no sign of a way out—to continue with his methods.

As he’d grown ever more successful, it would have been easy to stray and settle on a business path that would have undoubtedly doubled the company’s profits. Choosing chemicals over organic plants and herbs. Or settling for substandard ingredients in the lines. By maintaining strict regimes of quality control, the brand had grown steadily.

He would not have it sink upon his departure from the fray.

All he and Alex had wanted for the last thirteen years had been to find that elusive third. The women who would complete them. When he phrased it like that, Sebastien knew it sounded almost corny. Devvy, however, filled in all his and Alex’s gaps. And there were many, for they were both complicated men.

Finding that one woman had taken a hellishly long time. Longer than either of them had imagined. Devvy was definitely worth the wait.

Would he cope without the hustle and bustle, the frenetic pace of his current life?

He’d have to. He was leaving to enjoy this new world before his health quit on him.

The migraines were a sign from whatever benevolent being gave a damn about him. They were telling him to get the hell out before his health really caved in. Bastien had too much ahead of him to waste his time on business. He couldn’t get any richer. Didn’t expect or want any more success. He’d done it all, and now, he had other goals.

He wanted children.

He’d wanted a family for a long time, and while the three of them had some fun times ahead of them, a few years down the line, he wanted to be settled.

Bastien wanted Alex to integrate into a family environment. He accepted his lover’s quirks and foibles, but it was time to change. If Bastien’s health was emitting a warning sign, Alex’s was as well and the cure was Madame Devina Jacques.

She was the glue.

She just didn’t realize it yet.

She was in the dark where her importance in his life was concerned, something he was slowly rectifying. Maybe that was his fault. After all, hiding his trips to the hospital undermined that to a certain extent, even if he hadn’t intended for that to be the case. Things would change when he was no longer the head of
La Belle sans la Bête. He
would change to be whatever Devvy needed. It was nothing more than she deserved for being the miracle that would take him and Alex out of themselves, and set them on the path to a rich and fulfilling life.

He sighed at the very thought of the future ahead of him, and a pleased smile settled on his lips as he rocked back in his chair. Ignoring the clean lines of his boardroom, he swung around to stare out of the windows onto the world class view of the city.

Few people realized it but he hated heights. It was an irrational and pathetic fear, one whose power over him caused him nothing but irritation. Its strength was such that when the company had transferred into its own high-rise, he’d manipulated the layout. Rather than have the Presidential offices at the top of the building, with the VIPs and other executives underneath, he’d put the labs on the top floor, and he himself had taken a story essentially in the middle but above the other executives. He shared the floor only with a PA, her assistants, and the boardroom.

Regardless, the views of the Seine were unsurpassable. Mostly because had he stood on the fiftieth floor, looking down at the river, he’d probably have been unable to appreciate the beauty of his adopted city.

As it was, here, he could see the
Tour Eiffel
, catch glimpses of the to and fro of this vibrant place. It was enough. Usually, it calmed him, and today was no different. His mind was wandering, and it shouldn’t have been.

Hickle Corps’s execs were here trying to hash out a deal. Bastien’s lawyers were doing most of the talking and his presence wasn’t exactly necessary, so he needn’t have felt guilty about his failure to listen and digest the business chatter going on around him. He disliked wasting time, however, so he pushed his thoughts of the future to the background, ceased to ponder the view of Paris from his boardroom, and started to concentrate on the droning voices of his American visitors.

“…you can’t seriously believe we’ll allow you to monitor the business,” Derek Wickham snapped.

Bastien’s head attorney and longtime friend, Louis Rozen, merely settled deeper into his chair. His expression gave nothing away. Not by one twitch of the brow or pucker of his lips did he display any emotion at the other man’s irritation.

It was why Rozen was one of the highest paid members of staff on the
La Belle sans la Bête
payroll. He was a bitch to play poker with, too.

“If you want the business, then you’ll have to do more than consider the possibility. Gentlemen, your company has a reputation for using substandard ingredients.”

“I resent that. Our products are all tested and meet international standards.”

“That they might do, but they wouldn’t reach
our
standards,” Bastien inserted, voice silky. He usually refrained from speaking during these occasions, preferring to listen and leave Rozen in charge, but temptation to muddy the waters had overtaken him.

It was best to approach these situations with confidence. If he betrayed his eagerness to part with the company, it was almost guaranteed that Hickle’s interest would dry up.

These relationships were very similar to those between man and woman.

A little play of hard to get worked wonders on recalcitrant partners.

Because he was who he was, Wickham bit his tongue rather than snap at him. His anger was quite evident. In fact, Bastien was shocked that this was Hickle’s negotiator—he’d seen few men in such a role betray themselves so exuberantly.

“Why should we invest in a company where the previous owners still want to keep their feet dipped into the waters?”

“It’s hardly an unusual request.”

“It’s very unusual. Ordinarily, honorary roles can be created to portray the idea the old management is still keeping in touch with the new, but there’s little real interaction between the two sides. I’m afraid if you can’t negotiate on this point, we might have to call a day on the talks.”

At Wickham’s statement, Rozen’s eyes flickered over to Bastien’s. A silence thrummed overhead as he processed the words the American made, and watched the smugness overtake the executive’s face as the belief he’d cowed Bastien made itself known.

He smiled. “That is fine by me. Good day, Mr. Wickham. Ms. Roberts.”

Bastien made to stand, when the other negotiator, Emma Roberts, spoke, “I’m afraid Derek has given you an ultimatum that goes against our company’s better interests.”

“Emma!” Wickham snarled under his breath but she slashed her hand in front of her, making the other man sit back in his chair like a chastened school boy.

Considering it was the first time the woman had spoken, she exuded a position of authority Wickham did not. It was interesting, therefore, that he had been acting as lead spokesman, when it was, in fact, Emma Roberts in charge.

“Indeed?” Bastien asked, settling himself back in his chair with an air of boredom about his person.

It wasn’t feigned.

He
was
bored.

He wanted to go home, be with his partners. Not waste time here.

It was amazing how he was gradually changing. His decision, now cast in concrete, didn’t have him meandering back and forth with regrets. He’d made his choice and now, more than anything, he wanted to act on it.

The very fact that he had to remain patient was a chore, but one he’d succeed at. While the company was coming to mean less and less to him, that didn’t mean he would hand over years of his hard work to an undeserving corporation who would rape it of all its assets and leave behind an empty shell.

“We would still like to continue our talks with yourself, Monsieur Jacques.”

“Please, formalities aren’t required. I’m Sebastien.” He smiled winningly, knowing Wickham was pissed that he hadn’t extended such an invitation to him. “I understand that my terms might be considered unusual, but it’s vital to me that I retain some control here. I do not wish to make changes. I wish to monitor the alterations you make to the company’s running.