Model Fantasy (15 page)

“Getting out of here could be difficult,” Francine swallowed, staring out at the swarm of bodies.

“I don’t think so,” Heather smiled, rolling her window down. “Okay, folks,” she called out. “Two choices here. You can get out of my way or I can run you over.”

Several people stared at her. Francine grimaced.

“Yeah, right!” one jeered.

“Count of three,” Heather said easily, moving her foot to the gas pedal. “One, two…”

The car started moving forward and there was a scramble to get out of the way.

“And to think I was glad you were driving instead of Jasmine,” Francine muttered.

In the backseat, Jasmine whooped and slapped Francine’s shoulder.

“She gave them a warning. You think I would have?”

“Not hardly,” Heather grinned, going around the corner. “You look perfect, Frannie. Now, Bronson agrees with our PR plan of going out tonight and you coming to the ball on Friday. No hiding. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Truth doesn’t matter these days,” Francine shook her head. “Everything is perception. And who gets their story out first.”

“The public is a lot smarter than given credit,” corrected Heather. “As soon as Gerry started talking about what he overheard, things started to change.”

“Hey!” Jasmine protested. “I helped.”

Francine listened to their banter as they left the car and rode the elevator. Her mind was trying to focus on the meeting, but kept going to the previous weekend. All she wanted was a pair of strong arms around her. Her memories went to when he’d tied her to the St. Andrew’s cross. Closing her eyes, she remembered that feeling of safety and security. Nothing could have hurt her in that moment. The world would have had to go through his strong body and she’d known he would never let that happen. Desperately, she wanted to feel that again. Despair filled her as she thought of his reaction to the day’s events. Given the little he’d said, he’d been avoiding any sort of publicity for years. Any hope of him sending her another card had evaporated into thin air when Kevin and Delilah’s lies hit the press.

She moaned softly.

“Frannie?” Jasmine whispered, concern all over her usually wild, live for the moment features. “Is there anything else we can do?” The elevator doors slid open. “I mean, we can spread some wild stories about them. Hey, I know.” Her eyes lit up. “We could geld him.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Jazzy.” Francine choked out a short laugh.

“Just a little bit?” she coaxed, wanting more of a smile.

“Heather,” a deep voice started. “I hope you don’t have anything sharper than plastic knives in your apartment.”

She knew that voice! Memory flooded her—the dimly lit bar, two men on either side of her,.. and a phone. Lifting her head, Francine opened her eyes and stared at the knowing eyes from the bar. On either side of the broad-shouldered man were Rose Custis and Lily Lexington. But all Francine could think of was that this man knew more about her than anyone but Master. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or glad that someone knew that secret.

Chapter Nine

At Bronson’s insistence the other women waited outside so they were alone in his office. Uncertain of how to broach the subject, she let him guide her to a large wingback chair of buttery soft burgundy leather. Going to the side credenza, he got her a cup of tea and then stood behind his desk, looking out the window at the Manhattan skyline. Suddenly filled with nervous energy, she put the teacup back in the saucer with a clatter.

“Have you told anyone?” she asked bluntly.

“I’m not likely to do that,” he replied with a brief shake of his head. “I’m surprised you’re not pissed. We practically pimped you out.”

“Not quite.” She shook her head. “If my memory is correct, and I’ll admit it’s a bit hazy, I told you my fantasies. You simply passed those on to someone who made them come true.”

He cleared his throat as if not wanting to go any further, but she had to push. She had to ask questions while she had the chance. Before the others returned to join them.

“Do you know him well? What will he say about all this? Does he know? Of course he knows,” she muttered. “I think the whole world knows. He’ll never want anything to do with me, will he? He…he didn’t say much, but from what he did tell me, I know he doesn’t like anything to do with publicity or the paparazzi.”

She struggled to control the tears. She hated crying, hated being emotional. The tears slid down her cheeks anyway. Bowing her head, she tried to regain control. She heard him moving and then a box of tissues appeared on her lap. Gratefully, she pulled several free and dabbed at her face. After a few minutes, she lifted her face, back to normal.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“You’ve been on a bit of a rollercoaster the last few days,” he said quietly. “It’s understandable. And as to your questions,” he leaned against the desk, stretching his long legs out beside her chair, “yes, I know him well. I admire him greatly, as a man, as a businessman, as someone who has mentored me in business and…” There was a slight hesitation. “As a Dom.”

He nodded at her startled look. “Yes, and I’m trusting you not to say anything about that either. I haven’t talked to him since that night in the bar, so I’ve no idea what he thinks about this. I will not presume to guess his thoughts or reaction to this.”

“You won’t tell me his name, will you? Or how to contact him? Even to just get a message to him?”

“No.” He shook his head. “And this situation has nothing to do with why I won’t. If he wants you to know who he is, then he will tell you. If he wants to contact you, then he will. It is his decision.”

“And because of all this, he won’t,” she stated simply, her shoulders slumping. For a long moment, she stared at the crumpled tissue in her hands as they rested on her lap. “Well, let’s take care of this, shall we?”

Meeting his gaze, she saw respect she hadn’t expected.

“You truly are a woman of strength and grace,” he observed. “It’s an honor to represent you.”

“Thank you,” she managed, surprised by his words.

****

Grant tried to focus on the conversation. His German was slightly rusty, but he had the gist of it. Flipping to the page in question, he studied the clause. How to find a compromise? There had to be a way. What could he do to reach an agreement they both wanted? He smiled. It would be like a relationship with Francine. She was very much in the public eye and, as much as he’d been avoiding it, if he contacted her again, then he’d been stepping back into it.

“Mr. Franklin? What do you think?” He looked and smiled, but had no idea what Zach was talking about. The younger man swallowed and continued, “Six months and then reassessing the situation?”

He smiled. His German equivalent seemed to be waiting expectantly.

“Excellent idea.” He nodded, hoping like hell he hadn’t just sold his company out for a couple hundred euros.

Of course! Duh, idiot! He nearly smacked himself on the forehead. They could start out quietly, maybe meeting at the Club, see how compatible they were and then slowly go out in public together. She’d probably like the ballet. Or the opera. Or quiet walks on the beach. He remembered what she’d said about that and could just picture the two of them. He could fly them to the Bahamas where the family had part ownership in an island. He realized she wasn’t always in the tabloids, so maybe they could build a relationship outside the spotlight and see where things went.

With a jolt, he realized everyone else was standing and got to his feet.

“Wonderful negotiations.” Franz Von Gellin’s deep voice startled him, shaking his hand. “Always good to work with someone willing to take a chance on new ventures.”

“New is good,” Grant replied, wondering what the hell else he’d missed. “Our companies are based on certain core values of honor and dedication to producing the best product. That won’t change and that’s what is important.”

The German beamed and turned to talk to his assistant. Grant smiled and chatted with the others in the room.

Back in the hotel, he glanced at Zach. “Okay, what did I miss?”

“I thought you were a bit out of it,” grinned the younger man. “Nothing much. Even on auto-pilot, you do pretty good. Von Gellin thought you were in deep thought over how to make sure you were both happy with the contract. He said he’ll see about sending more business our way.”

“Really?” Grant murmured. “Maybe I should go on auto-pilot more often.”

“Don’t, please. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to watch.” Zach nodded at Grant’s surprised look. “I’m serious. I mean, you’re always so absolutely in control of everything that I wasn’t sure how to react at first.” He seemed a bit embarrassed. “I think Von Gellin also saw your general silence as you supporting what I’d been trying to work out.

“Sounds like you did just fine.” Grant smiled as they walked down the corridor. “We’ll have to get you more involved with these negotiations.”

“Really? That would be great!”

Glancing at his watch, Grant swore. “I missed my flight,” he muttered.

“I’ll call Jessica and see if she can get you on the next flight available,” Zach said, pulling out his cell phone. “Jess? Negotiations ran late and Mr. Franklin missed his flight. Can you—” He grinned. “You really are trying to get a bigger bonus, aren’t you? Yeah, have it waiting for him at the counter.”

Hanging up, he looked at Grant. “She’s already got you booked on the Lufthansa flight that leaves in two hours. First class, window seat, medium-rare steak, salad, and potato.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “Double her bonus,” he replied. “And yours.”

“Thanks,” stammered Zach, stunned. “I’ll call for the car.”

Once settled on the plane, Grant tucked his briefcase under the seat and leaned back. Arrival would be about eight that night, New York time. He wondered if he dare try to send for Francine to meet him at the club. Would she even want to see him? Women could be temperamental about little things. Like not calling within a few days. And for him, it had been nearly a week. It couldn’t have been helped.

When Zach had called first thing Monday saying Von Gellin was waffling on the contracts and nothing he said seemed to be calming him down, Grant had known he would have to go. His assistant had arranged his flight before he’d even finished the conversation. As he kept a bag packed at all times for just such emergencies, all he’d had to do was take the elevator up to his apartment, leave a note for his housekeeper and walk out with his suitcase.

Closing his eyes as the plane taxied into position, Grant wondered what Francine had done that week. She’d mentioned an ad layout for Monday and a commercial on Tuesday. Probably hinting for him to call her later that week. And he’d been so knee-deep in German that he hadn’t dared to let himself hear her voice. Twice, he’d nearly picked up the phone to ask her to join him. The third time, he’d been in mid-dial before he hung up. He knew damn well that, if she was in Berlin with him, then he’d never focus. At least, not on the contract. His thoughts would have been completely on her.

Which they had been to a great extent, he sighed. Thank God for young Zach!

Once the plane had leveled off, the steward came around to check on his passengers. “Newspaper or magazine, Mr. Franklin?”

“No, thank you.” He shook his head. “Just a bottle of water, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

Grant drained the bottle and watched the lights of Europe faded into a haze beneath him. How had she gotten to him so quickly? He’d been around beautiful women all his life, but none of them had ever gotten to him the way Francine had. Was it the sensuality of her body? The richness of her laughter? The warmth of her smile? Or the way she had stood toe-to-toe with him when they’d stumbled into the argument about Brody, Lily and Rose?