Nights In Black Lace (13 page)

“But what?” she asked defensively. “Are we so very different?”

“Well, yeah. Hell, yeah. I'm nobody.”

“Not to me.”

He studied her face. Her beautiful, changeable, moody, one-of-a-kind face. All he wanted right now was one good photograph of her so he could look at it back in California and remind himself that this three-day dream had actually happened when it was over.

“If you want my picture, then take it,” she said. “So long as I can take one of you.”

Without asking her to smile, he lifted the camera and looked into the viewscreen. Her eyes were compelling enough to belong to a movie actress from long ago, her lips sensually full. She did remind him of a famous French actress, but which one?

He tried to recall the hours he'd spent slumped in the UCSC campus theater, watching classic movies for a buck. Someone from a while ago. Not Catherine Deneuve. Too perfect. No, the other one, the actress with the world-weary beauty that shone with intelligence. She'd been in a great black-and-white movie he'd rented from Netflix.
Jules et Jim.
Yeah. Jeanne Moreau. Odette looked a lot like her.

He pressed the shutter button and looked up at the real woman. Odette Gaillard was impossible to capture.

“Happy now?” she asked.

“You don't seem to be. Sorry if you don't like having your picture taken. I wanted one that wasn't official. You as you are.”

“Hmm. But that is why I brought you here to my atelier. Yes, yes”—she waved away the words that weren't quite out of his mouth—“you wanted to tour the place to get a few souvenir pictures for your
maman
and I didn't mind—oh, Bryan. She must be a very nice lady to have raised a son like you and all by herself too.”

“I'll tell her you said so. She won't believe me. Let's get back to what you were saying before that. I think I missed something important.”

Odette stared down at the bulging ring binder that held too much.

“I wanted to show you that I worked for a living. That I am not a stupid slave to fashion—it just happens to be what I do.”

“I'm not following you.”

“I don't know how to say this without sounding like a fool.”

He gave her a level look, but he was hella curious. “Just say it.”

“I was—because I am—in love with you. I think.”

Bryan sucked in a sharp breath. “You think?”

“I have never been in love before. In lust, yes,” she said honestly. “And I am in lust with you too.”

“Good.”

“So what do you think?” she asked him. “I expect complete honesty. Nothing less.”

“About you loving me?”

“Yes.” She smiled slowly. “It sounds nice when you say it.”

“I—I'm honored. But also freaked out.”

“Why?”

“Women like you don't fall in love with guys like me. And—and I can't say I'm
completely
sure I love you.”

She gave a very Gallic shrug. “
Tant pis
, eh? That's how it goes. Oh, well. You leave tomorrow.”

He could see tears shimmering in her eyes.

“But I'm ninety percent sure I do. Love you, I mean.”

“You are?”

“And I'm absolutely positive I'm in lust with you, Odette. The lust is no problem at all for me.”

She fell silent. “Hmm. It could work.”

“Not if I'm leaving tomorrow.”

L
ucie chose that moment to burst in. “Odette! The worst has happened! You must come quickly!”

Go fuck Johan, Bryan thought angrily.

“What is it, Lucie? Is the building on fire?” She got up quickly and went to her assistant.

“No, of course not!” Lucie didn't even seem to notice that Bryan was in the room. “Come look on my computer!
Merde!
I am so angry!”

Bryan looked around the office. He hadn't even realized until then that Odette had no computer on her desk or anywhere. No laptop, either. She really was a hands-on designer.

Odette let Lucie drag her away, casting an alarmed look over her shoulder at Bryan.

Should he stay here or wait for the women to come back? He settled down for what he hoped would be a short wait. Something major must have happened. Lucie wasn't the excitable type.

Half an hour later, they hadn't returned. He stood, and went out, heading for Lucie's office. It had to be her office, there were a lot of people clustered around the door and probably more inside, chattering angrily.

He translated a few key phrases in his mind.
Copies made. For sale now. The new line is not out yet. There are not even prototypes.
Bryan could see over the heads of the small crowd. Odette was in Lucie's office, her face illuminated by the faint bluish light coming from the screen.

She glanced up briefly at Bryan, then issued instructions in a rapid-fire, low voice to key members of her staff. She shooed the others away.

He didn't know whether to stay or go. Whatever had happened, it was serious. Odette looked down at the laptop again, hit a few keys, then motioned him over.

“My latest designs have been copied.”

“The ones from the runway show? That was less than two days ago.”

“Not those. Already old news. No, the very latest.” She pointed to the screen. “Look.”

He leaned in and saw flower-petal undies and a bra on a white plastic dummy with no head, no arms, and no legs.

“You just did those!”

“Yes, I know,” she said acidly. “And that's not all.” She clicked on several thumbnails. Designs he hadn't seen, just as imaginative, bloomed and faded away.

“That can't be. You created that design right on Grischenka.” He stopped for a second. “Wait a minute. Could she—”

“I had sketched them before I worked with the actual materials. But I keep things like that in my binder.”

“Not on a computer?”

“Not until the final stages of design, no. We've been hacked before.”

Bryan shook his head. “So what happens now?”

“We go after these thieves. File suit for trademark infringement.”

He nodded, and then something else occurred to him. “But don't fashions get copied all the time?”

“Yes,” she said. Exasperation tightened her features. “There actually isn't that much we can ultimately do. But these designs were meant for my Japanese clients. If they aren't assured of an exclusive line, they won't buy.”

He was getting an idea of why Lucie said the worst had happened. “How much money is involved?”

“Millions.”

“If you can't stop this, will the company go under?”

“No. But my credibility as a designer who can deliver is going to be very shaky, though.”

“But you own the company, right? So it's not like you're going to get fired and replaced.”

Odette shook her head and pressed her lips together, fighting back emotions. He knew her well enough by now to read them.

Fury. Helplessness. Sorrow.

Hell, she was up against it. And there was nothing he could do to help her.

“If our earnings drop too low, I might have to sell. And Oh! Oh! Odette could be the object of a hostile takeover. And then, yes—I could be fired.”

What she was saying was unthinkable. But Bryan knew it could happen.

“Let's think this through.” He looked around at the other people in the room, who'd been listening to Odette with solemn expressions. “Just you and me.”

“You have no expertise in this, Bryan.” She chewed her bottom lip.

“Maybe that's good,” he said. “As an outsider…”

She glanced up at him, understanding what he didn't want to say. As an outsider, he couldn't possibly be the culprit. Anyone, including the onlookers, who worked for her, could be the one who'd sold her out.

“All right. Gaston, Cherie, will you download these and call the legal department?” A man and a woman stepped forward, but Lucie didn't move away from her desk.

“I'll send the link to you and to legal,” Lucie said. “Odette, what do you want me to do?”

“Just monitor the site for now. Note the keywords and check them on Google at least once an hour. The designs are probably all over the world by now.”

“What does that mean?”

“That they are worthless, at least to me. Whoever is manufacturing them will get them into stores in countries with no meaningful trademark protection. With my name on the label.”

“Panty pirates,” Bryan said without thinking.

Odette slapped him. “That's not funny!”

Bryan put a hand to his stinging cheek. “Sorry. Jesus, I really am.”

She stormed out of the room and he went after her. “Odette, please—”

The low walls of the cubicles and workstations made it easy to follow her, even though she was moving fast.

He nodded to the employees who stood up, looking after her curiously and looking at him with narrowed eyes.

If nothing else, most of her staff was loyal to her, Bryan thought. He didn't want to run. They'd probably call security and he'd get the bum's rush to the sidewalk outside the atelier. He heard a door bang in the corridor ahead.

He smiled politely as he walked a little faster. When he got to her office door, it was shut.

Not quite, he saw on a second look. She'd banged it so hard, the latch had let go. He put a hand on it and eased it open a little. Christ. If he poked his head in, she might throw something heavy at him.

“Mind if I come in?” he said from the other side.

He heard an angry sob being swallowed back and then a somewhat more controlled, “No.”

“I really am sorry, Odette.”

“So am I. It's not your fault, what happened. I lost my temper in front of my staff—I didn't want to do that.”

“Can't be the first time.”

She looked at him indignantly. “How would you know?”

“Designer temperament. You have it.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “You happen to be right, but I am the CEO. It's one thing to lose your temper over creative problems, but not something like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those people depend on me. I pay their salaries. Someone is in charge around here and it happens to be me.”

“I'm sure they understand,” he said soothingly.

“Maybe.” Her voice was dull. She looked up at the clouds passing over her skyhigh windows. “What am I going to do?”

“Calm down, first of all. Deep breaths.”

She tried one, and started to cough.

“Again. C'mon.”

“Fuck off, Bryan!”

“No. You have to get a grip. Forgive me for getting all California on you, but deep breathing does help.”

“What's next?” she snarled. “Sitting in the lotus position? Will that help?”

“Okay, okay.” He held up in his hands. “Time out. You can calm down later. Maybe frantic is the way to go right now.”

“Arggghhh!” With a cry of despair, she put her hands over her face.

Well, he could stay calm and let her vent for a while. She didn't make any more anguished noises and she was breathing a little more slowly. Through her fingers.

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Once. When I first started. But the label was new and not worth copying. We got a cease-and-desist order through our contact at the Ministry of Trade and that was the end of it.”

“So now what?”

She rubbed her eyes. “I suck it up, as you Americans say. And hire a detective to find the culprit.”

“Wouldn't you rather investigate in-house?”

Odette snorted. “I don't have anyone on staff like that. No, someone from outside would be better. There are specialists, although I am sure they are incredibly expensive.”

“Cheaper than the company going under.”

“Would you please not point out the obvious?” she asked with a pained expression. “Even if it is true.”

“Sorry.”

“I will make some calls and find out who takes cases like these. Paris is still the design capital of the world. I am sure it is a lucrative specialty.”

She unzipped her purse, looking in an inside pocket for something, and came up with keys. Then she unlocked a drawer in her desk and pulled out a laptop.

“You do have one. I thought it was kind of weird that you didn't—”

She'd opened it before he finished the sentence. “Of course I do,” she said, booting it up. She stared into the screen, but he had the feeling she was aware of every move he made and every breath he took at this charged moment. “Not on the company network and encrypted up the kazoo. What is a kazoo, by the way?”

“A musical instrument for kids. It honks. And it's a nasty metaphor for—”

“I get the idea. Another wonderful American expression.”

“Whoa,” he said. “Are you in an anti-U.S. mood all of a sudden? Yankee Go Home and all that?”

“No. I am just being a bitch and taking it out on you.”

That stopped him. “Thanks for being honest,” he said dryly.

“I want you to stay longer,” she said, still not looking at him. “You can't leave tomorrow. I need you here.”

“Odette, I don't know the first thing about—corporate espionage or trademark infringement or anything like that.”

“I need you,” she repeated vehemently.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said. He wasn't sure if he had enough money in his account to cover a ticket change and he was damned if he'd ask her. Even if she offered, he wouldn't accept.

Being footloose and fancy-free was just another way of saying you were fucked in the money department.

Bryan looked around her spare office, thinking that few pieces of furniture in it probably cost around what he made in a year taking assistant gigs in the biology department.

The university parceled out the jobs to broke grad students like him, but that didn't mean he could cover his expenses or had an emergency fund.

Did her problems qualify as an emergency? Hell, yes. But she was the one with the deep pockets, not him.

More than anything, he wanted to be her knight in shining armor. It was too damn bad he didn't have a bag of golden ducats hanging off his freaking chain mail. When you wanted to man up, and didn't have the money to do it, life sucked.

“Okay. I'm going to leave for a bit,” he said. “Try not to jump out the window, okay?”

She was clicking away on the laptop, but she looked up. “Are you coming back? Are you staying?”

“Yes. And yes, I think so. I want to take care of that first. You know how it is with last-minute ticket changes.”

“Do you need money?”

“No.”

 

Just that she'd asked that question rankled him. Bryan walked through the streets of the neighborhood around her atelier, looking for a cheap place to eat.

The internet café he'd stopped into before didn't serve sandwiches, so that was out. He needed protein before he tackled the airline reservation problem. As in round, ground cow slathered in ketchup, topped and bottomed with a toasted bun.

Where was the diner he'd been to with her?

Somewhere east of the river and west of his hotel. Meaning he had no idea. And speaking of the hotel, he was going to have to check out of it.

They could hold his duffel and backpack hostage if they wanted to. He hadn't brought a laptop or anything of value. Bryan was a big believer in traveling light.

He'd blown it. Getting involved with a woman like Odette Gaillard meant
beaucoup de
emotional baggage he wasn't sure he wanted to claim.

The sound of running feet behind him made him turn his head to get out of the jogger's way. But it wasn't a jogger. It was Marc, Odette's male assistant.

“You walk fast,” Marc panted.

“Yeah, I do. You all right? I didn't know you were trying to catch up with me.”