The Billionaire's Desire (3 page)

Ally sat back in the cushioned chair, drawing her knees up and resting her chin on them. She closed the laptop and stared off, out the glass doors which led to a small balcony with a sea view.

Luc
…

Her phone was silent, dark. She plugged it in to charge overnight, brushed her teeth, splashed some water on her face and slipped into the king-size bed. She stared up at the ceiling, wistful.

It’s for the best, anyway. I’ll have the museum director contact the artist directly about buying a piece.

She rolled over, on her side, looking out the glass doors, where the Mediterranean shimmered under the moonlight.

The sooner I get back to New York the better.

Chapter 4

“Mr. Roberts
has the reports on his desk for you,” one of the interns remarked, not stopping to say anything else.

Ally looked up from her desk, where files, folders and stacks of paper rose toward the ceiling like skyscrapers.

“Great. Thanks.”

It was business as usual, back in the office on Monday morning after the tranced weekend in St. Tropez. Ally had been given Friday off to pack and prepare; it seemed that in her absence for one day the entire senior administration staff had opted to drop their
paperwork, reports and studies into her lap. It would take a week to catch up. Ally knew she’d have to dig her heels in tonight.

She rose from the desk and padded down the hall to the museum and gallery head director’s office. Thanks to a few favors she’d been able to call in, the artist Alec Albert had been happy to arrange a sale, which was fortunate for two reasons: that was the sole purpose of the trip and Luc definitely had not come through for her, despite his grandiose gesture. The painting which had been acquired was, sadly, not the same one Ally had been so closely inspecting (
the one where I met him
…) but it was still an exciting piece that would cause a sensation on the NYC art scene.

“Ally,” her boss barked
, looking up from his desk. He was a short man, balding on top, with a stern but handsome face even into his 60s, and he had been the director of the gallery for over 20 years.

“Yes, Mr. Roberts,” she replied politely. “Brenda said you had the Manchester reports ready for me.”

“Yes yes, of course.” He handed the file over. “The St. Tropez trip was good? No issues? I like the piece you chose, and the price was good, too. You spoke to Alec yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We’re hoping to forge a relationship with him, so it’s very important that we maintain contact.”

“He certainly seemed amenable to that; I know he was looking forward to having more of an American exposure. He’s ambitious, he’s flashy…he doesn’t want to remain in the shadows like other artists sometimes do.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Roberts sat back in his desk chair and studied his assistant. “You did well. I’m going to have you accompany me and some of the other staff to the Met Ball this year. It’s in two weeks. Alec just emailed here and said he’ll be attending, so you can introduce yourself.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Miranda said Cecily has a play tomorrow evening at school, so I’ll need you to arrange a car for me from here. The Baker pieces are going to be coming in tonight of all nights, and you’ll have to be here to handle that. Oh, and make an appointment for Rufus at the vet’s for sometime next week and then let the dog sitter know.”

He paused, sighed. “Anything else? No, that’s it.
Now go get started on all that paperwork.”

Mr. Roberts
looked back down at his own mound of work and Ally knew she was dismissed.

As she trod back to her office she wondered how he did it. The gallery demanded at least 80 hours a week from him, he was always on-call and since she’d begun working for him as his administrative and oftentimes personal assistant three years ago, he’d gone through two divorces.

Is this what my future holds?
Ally wondered, forlorn. Getting the position under Ben Roberts was a coup; she’d come to him with almost no experience, save for an internship at The Whitney during her junior year at NYU. She had started as one of four assistants to the director. Gradually the other three had quit or been fired, and in her determination to prove herself, she’d simply absorbed their work as her own and Mr. Roberts hadn’t bothered to rehire. Now she was practically his right hand. She had almost worried about what would happen to him while she was in France for the weekend.

Lately he had been open to discussing her
future, maybe placing her as an upper-level administrator at another gallery or promoting her here, making her the assistant director, grooming her for the top spot. Ally fully intended to reap what she had sown and nothing,
nothing
was going to get in her way when the time for advancement arrived.

Just as she was about to sit down at her desk, another intern popped his head into her office.

“Ally? I’m so sorry, but there’s a crisis in the sculpture garden and Mr. Roberts said he didn’t want to be disturbed…”

She gave him a tight smile from behind the mountains of paperwork. “I’ll be right there.”

I’ll be right here, all night.

*

When she finally arrived in front of her apartment building it was after 11.

“Late night, miss?” the doorman asked politely, holding the entranceway open for her.

“You have no idea, Bruce,” she said, making a face. They both laughed.

Ding
. The elevator doors sprung open at the eighth floor and Ally tossed her phone into her purse as she moved toward her apartment, room 820. She stopped a few feet short of the door.

Beautifully wrapped gift boxes
sat piled up at the entrance in the form of a pyramid, with three bouquets – each one a different tropical flower she didn’t recognize – propped up against them. Their fragrance filled the entire hall, it was a wonder she hadn’t smelled it the moment she’d stepped off the elevator. Ally approached them cautiously, like a lion tamer in the den, not daring to hope. A little note card was sitting on the topmost box.

For Ally. I didn’t forget. Did you?

“He didn’t forget,” she breathed.
Neither did I
.

It took two trips to get everything inside her apartment and once there, it was like Christmas in the middle of the
year. It was almost embarrassing for Ally, she was stunned by how generous Luc was in his gifting. She undid each bow, a work of art in themselves, flung the rich, silky ribbon off and lifted the lid off the boxes with unconcealed pleasure. Inside were treasures, the very best and finest lacy lingerie, jeweled flats and heels and, more incredibly, a necklace with a sapphire pendant with matching earrings. She had a fortune in her living room, a fortune in intimate gifts from a near-stranger.

Ally set the fiery necklace down and backed away, moving off her seat on the floor to the safety of the couch. Putting distance between these presents and herself was only the first step. She had to find a way to return all of this.

Focus. Think about Catherine. Do you want this in your life? What is important?

“My career,” Ally said, aloud. She looked with regret on the ultra-feminine objects; it was so tempting…they were so beautiful…

“But he is called the art world’s most toxic bachelor.”

She quickly put everything back into its box and moved the parcels near the front door, as if waiting for someone to come pick them up.

Out of sight, out of mind
. But her apartment had already filled with the lush, intoxicating fragrance of the flowers, and there was nothing she could do about that.

*

She spotted Alec Albert and pointed him out to Mr. Roberts.

“There,” she said. “Isn’t that him?”

“It is. Go say hello.”

Ally weaved her way through the crush of people in formal attire, men in tuxes, women in elaborate frocks, their hair coiffed to perfection, jewels glittering round their necks. Alec was wearing a tuxedo but with his shaggy dark hair and crooked, roguish smile, there was no mistaking him for an art snob.

“Mr. Albert? May I introduce myself? My name is Allison Elizabeth, we spoke on the phone a few weeks ago while I was in St. Tropez.”

“Ah, yes, of course, Ally. How lovely to meet you. I was just talking about you with a friend – Luc? Now where did he go…”

Ally visibly blanched.

“Never mind, I don’t know where the old dog has gone off to. I’m sure your boss is craving an introduction, is he not? Well then, let’s, shall we?”

She steered him toward Mr. Roberts, whose eyes lit up like a lamp in a dark room and then excused herself to visit the ladies’ room.

“Not looking for me, are you,
ma petite
?” Luc’s voice breathed into her ear as she reached the perimeter of the gala room.

“You!”
she burst out. Several partygoers glanced their way for a moment, smiled at Luc and then went back to their conversations.

“
C’est moi, ma petite
. Have you missed me?”

“I’m not your petite, Luc. What were you thinking sending me all those gifts? That must have cost a fortune and I’m giving them all back.”

He’d caught her off guard; he was devastating in a tux, infuriatingly nonchalant and her only refuge against the urge to beg him to carry her off was to go on the offense.

“Ah, Ally, don’t be silly,” he said, his accent caressing her name: Ah-
lee
. “They were nothing, just things I had laying about that I thought you would love. And I must have been right – otherwise you would not be wearing that exquisite necklace and those earrings?”

His voice had merriment and laughter in it and Ally held his gaze for a long second before letting herself chuckle. She hadn’t been able to resist, that’s what it all came down to. She’d had a dress, a slim-fitting floor-length strapless gown bought on a whim when she learned she’d gotten the job with Mr. Roberts. It was sumptuous black satin, fit for a duchess, and plenty regal on its own, but when she’d tried on the jewels with it...well, there was no other way. She wouldn’t cheapen it by wearing fake department store baubles. It deserved the sapphires and the diamonds, with its sexy sweetheart neckline, fitted bodice and alluring, just-right A-line mermaid-style skirt that fell from about mid-thigh.

“You…fine. You got me, Luc. But I’m giving them back after tonight, I can’t possibly keep these.”

“Then we’ll discuss it after tonight, yes?” Luc said.

Is there an “after tonight”
? Ally wondered.

“Come, I am badly in need of champagne, as are you. Come, let us chit-chat like all these bozos in penguin suits.”

Mr. Roberts caught her eye and seemed vastly impressed that she was in the company of one of the world’s premier fashion leaders. He left her alone for the next hour while she and Luc stood near the open bar and shared a conversation that surprised her with its honesty and intimacy when she asked about his childhood.

“I was born and raised in Paris, did you know? Have you been?”

“To Paris? No. Only in my dreams.” Ally took a sip of champagne and studied him as he spoke.

“It is a family of great wealth
I come from, descended from old nobility whose fortunes survived the Revolution; a cadet branch who kept their heads down. They passed depression, alcoholism and, in some cases, madness to the following generations. You have my father, a hurricane of a man, who left my mother when she was
enceinte
with me, never to return. My mother was taken in by his family when he disappeared…I suspect they knew where he was and they were secretly funding his adventures. Their constant disapproval of her…their demands that she conform to their ways, made her a wreck, abusive at times, though you would think her as gentle as a fawn, and always, ah, so they tell me…always giving her favors freely among the estate staff.” He made a wry smile and gulped back his champagne. “Her body, in exchange for their kindness, to bribe them into keeping her secrets. The rot of the drink on her soul, I mean. Alcoholism was not such a rare thing, of course, but I think my mother feared the family would turn her out if they knew how deeply she was affected by it.”

Ally’s eyes were wide as saucers as his tale grew more and more sordid. “I…I would never have guessed.”

“No? Then that is for the good.”

“I don’t enjoy a very close relationship with my mother. I know how that is. We haven’t seen each other in years.” Though Luc had opened to her, she couldn’t bear to share as much. “I know what it’s like to want to love someone so much but find the road is difficult.”

“You do,” he agreed. “And then we carry those scars into our adulthood, do we not? And we find it difficult to put down those roots…to…be what people want, give them what they expect…”

Do you
? Ally asked herself.
Is this why the gossips have so much material to crow over where you are concerned?

She tucked the thought away as he seemed to shake it off.