The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition

Lucille was Sheri’s counterpart at the publishing company’s Paris office. Though they’d never met, Sheri always pictured Lucille as a chic Parisian. Partly because of the way she sounded over the phone and partly because their boss, publisher Tristan Sabina, had said that Lucille was nothing like her when she’d asked what his other assistant looked like.

“No, why?”

“I sent you the latest copy of
Le Figaro.
” Lucille was a devoted reader of all tabloid magazines. She often sent Sheri the French tabloids and loved to receive the gossip rags from the U.S.

“Tristan hates it when you do that.”

“He doesn’t have to know. And he’s on the cover with a gorgeous woman.”

“I might be interested in it,” Sheri said. Tristan had become kind of an obsession with her. Not anything unhealthy that bordered on stalking, but more of an unquenchable curiosity. She wanted to know all about him. So far, she’d learned that he was demanding but gave praise easily. Plus he was extremely cute. And a widower.

“I thought you would be.”

Sheri grimaced. Was she that transparent, even over the phone? “Was there anything else?”

“Yes. I want to know about the woman. She’s a blond American actress, Kate or Jennifer or something. Do you know if he is seeing her?”

An actress? She’d been jealous of the coffee girl from downstairs whom Tristan flirted with every morning. No way could she compete with a beautiful blond actress. Sheri personified plain and dowdy, two things she knew about herself but had never been able to change.

“I don’t have any details,” Sheri said, smiling at the office mail guy as he dropped off the pouch. Now she was curious to see exactly what was in there.

“See what you can find out when he gets in to the office. You have the inside scoop on this one.”

“I’m pretty sure that Tristan will fire me if I start gossiping about his personal life.”

“You are right about that.” The deep, velvety cadence of Tristan Sabina’s voice made her start guiltily.

She gulped and looked up into his steel-gray eyes. “I’ve got to go, Lucille.” She hurriedly said goodbye and hung up the phone, still holding Tristan’s gaze.

His thick brown hair was longer in the front than in the back and his face had the healthy glow that came from spending time outdoors and not on a tanning bed. This morning he wore a blue pin-striped shirt, open at the collar, and a tailored navy suit. The sight of him made her want to stare dreamily, which was
so
not like her.

“Talking about me again?”

“Lucille and I have to talk about you,” she said, trying for the cheeky tone she usually pulled off easily. “We’re your assistants.”

“True, but that did not sound like work.”

She shrugged, unable to stop her speculative thoughts. Was he dating a Hollywood starlet? And when had it happened?

“What was Lucille calling you about?” he asked as he reached for his messages, and began thumbing through them.

“Oh, you know how she is, always thinking there’s something exciting going on here in New York,” Sheri said, looking down at her computer screen and hoping he’d just go into his office. She couldn’t look at him and not tell him the truth.

“Ms. Donnelly?”

“Hmm…?” she said, still not looking up. Her computer screen was infinitely fascinating at this moment.
Please let him go away.

“Look at me.” She finally did. “What did Lucille ask you about?”

“I told you,” she said, dropping her gaze to his open collar.

“Why will you not look me in the eye?” he asked, his accent very pronounced.

“Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then do not lie to me.”

She shrugged again. The last thing she wanted to talk about was his personal life.
Liar.
“It was something she saw in
Le Figaro.
”

“About me and a woman?” he asked.

She nodded.

He didn’t say anything else, just stared down at her, and she started to feel really self-conscious. What if, somehow, he could read on her face that she was attracted to him? What if he picked up on that and it made working for him awkward? What if…?

“You have a conference call with Rene in fifteen minutes, and he just sent a lengthy e-mail that you should at least glance at before you talk to him,” she said, holding out a copy of the e-mail, which she’d printed out for him.

For a moment she didn’t think he was going to let her steer the conversation back to business.

“You are right, of course,” he said, taking the papers.

“I highlighted the topics for you and jotted down the information I had on each one.”

“Thank you, Ms. Donnelly. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

She flushed at the compliment. “You’re welcome.”

She watched until he walked into his office. She was going to kill Lucille. Not that the other woman could have known that Tristan would arrive while they were talking about him, but still….

She reached for the interoffice pouch and opened it. The magazine spilled out. The cover featured Tristan’s publicity shot but inset was another picture. The paparazzi hadn’t gotten a very good photo, but he looked very amorous, as did the woman wrapped around him. Sheri traced her finger over the line of his eyebrows, ignoring the headline and just concentrating on Tristan.

She was careful never to stare at him at work, that wouldn’t be appropriate, but—

“Ms. Donnelly?”

“Yes.”

“Put that magazine away.”

She blanched and opened her bottom desk drawer, tossing the tabloid in there. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I need the book for the
Global Traveler.
”

“Yes, sir. I think that Maurice has it down the hall,” she said, standing and leaving the office before he could say anything else to her.

Oh, man, this was so not good. Twice in less than ten minutes, he’d caught her slacking on the clock. One of his big no-nos. To be honest, she didn’t do a lot of it. But she had a feeling that wasn’t going to matter. If she wanted to move up the managerial ladder, perhaps someday become an associate publisher, she’d better not get fired.

She grabbed the book, the big mock-up binder of the issue they were currently working on for their
Global Traveler
magazine, and hurried back to Tristan’s office. He was on the speakerphone with his brother, Rene. The conversation was in French and she understood only about every third word they said. Tristan gestured for the book and she handed it to him before leaving the room.

She got back to her desk and saw an instant message from Lucille.

[S.Donnelly] Yes.

[L.Dumont] Did you tell him what we were talking about?

[L.Dumont] OK. Ping me when you can.

[S.Donnelly] Later.

Tristan glanced up from his phone, which he’d been staring at in…amazement? His bangs fell over his forehead, making him look devilishly handsome.

He looked at her assessingly, making her more nervous. “Actually I do have one more thing to discuss with you, something that has just come to my attention. Please come in and shut the door.”

Sheri tried to school her features as she entered the office but guessed she’d failed when he gave her another odd look. Was the tabloid conversation going to come up again?

She walked across the Italian marble floor to the thick Arabian carpet that lined the area in front of his desk. The Sabina Group was a first-class outfit all the way. No cheaply made faux-wood desks or cubicles for their offices. And Tristan’s office was a lush as they came. She took a seat on one of the leather wingback chairs that he had for guests.

“Before you say anything, let me apologize for looking at that magazine earlier. Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist seeing what Lucille was talking about.”

He shook his head. “No need to apologize. I think I let my temper slip a bit when I saw what you were reading.”

“Why?”

“The paparazzi are always following me around. They can be a real nuisance,” he said.

He sounded almost bored, an air she knew he used to hide his anger. “You’ve been making the headlines a lot, lately,” she said.

“Our family always has. My grandmother was a famous actress in France, and my grandfather was a director. My family always generates a lot of interest.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Well, actually, there is.”

“What?” She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to be some kind of paparazzi lookout. “I’m not sure the celebrity photographers who follow you are going to disappear if I ask them to.”

“No?” He arched one eyebrow at her in a totally arrogant way, giving her a half smile that melted her brain.

“Maybe you should stop partying,” she said before she thought better of it.

His lips twitched and he shrugged one of his shoulders in a very Gallic way. “Unfortunately it is too late for that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a proposition for you, Ms. Donnelly.”

“And that is?”

“A personal one.”

“How personal?”

“Pretty personal.”

“I thought it was important to you to keep things strictly business among everyone at the office,” she said.

“Well, this is personal business. What would you say to an all-expenses-paid trip to the island of Mykonos in Greece?”

Her breath caught. “Tell me more,” she said.

“One of my best friends is getting married there next week.”

She stared at him, confused. “Do you want me to go in your stead?”

“No. I’m asking you to come with me and be part of the bridal party.”

Come. With. Him. Oh, God, she wanted to jump up, say yes and leave before he changed his mind. Maybe he had noticed the real Sheri beneath the plain clothing. But she wasn’t that naive. There had to be more to this than any kind of latent attraction.

“Why me?”

“The bride, Ava Monroe, is American.”

“You know other Americans,” she said, thinking of the actress.

“It’s short notice and I want to bring someone I am comfortable with. Someone who won’t be nosing around in Christos’s business.”

This wasn’t the most flattering invitation she’d ever had. It reinforced something she knew but hated to face. That she wasn’t a forever kind of girl. That men moved on, always leaving her behind. Starting with her father, the pattern had repeated again and again over the course of her life. She tried not to dwell on it or mope around, but sometimes she forgot and hoped…hoped that those little-girl dreams of a white knight would become reality.

She still wanted to say yes.

“Christos Theakis?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Only what I’ve read about Christos and the Theakis heir in the papers.” The Greek shipping tycoon had recently come to America and been photographed with a lovely woman and a young boy. The tabloids had speculated that the child was his secret son.

“What did the scandal rags say?”

“Not too much,” she said, taken aback by the vehemence in his tone. She should change the subject. “What exactly does this proposition entail?”

He pushed to his feet and walked around his desk. He leaned back against the polished walnut surface, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“I want you to be my date for the week during the wedding activities. They need a few women to round out the bridal party. The bride has one close friend she has asked, and she and Christos would like the groomsmen to invite the other attendants.”

She stared at him for a minute, unsure she’d heard him right. She shook her head and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then she closed her eyes. “Okay, did you say
date?
”

“That is correct.”

Her eyes popped open. “Are you crazy?”

“Maybe. But I am serious about this.”

“Serious about taking me to Greece for a week.” She crossed her arms over her chest and settled back into the chair.

“Actually, ten days. And I already told Christos that you will be there.”

“Shouldn’t you have asked me before you started announcing that?” she asked, not even trying to keep the surprise from her voice.

He lifted one eyebrow at her. “I apologize. There wasn’t time to discuss it with you. Christos just called to ask me and wanted a name to include in the wedding program. As my assistant, you were the first suitable woman to come to mind.”

“Mr. Sabina—”

“Call me Tristan.”

She stared at him. “Are you asking me because one of your lovers might get to thinking that marriage to you might be in the cards?”

He shrugged.

“Don’t you care for any of them?”

“I care for all of them, but that isn’t the point. I’ve had my once-in-a-lifetime love. Marriage is something I won’t share with anyone else.”

She’d heard through Lucille that he’d deeply loved his first wife, and that she’d died, but knew few other details. “Why not?”

“That’s irrelevant. The only fact that concerns you is that I’d like you to accompany me to Greece for this wedding. It is a proposition, Sheri,” he said in that low-toned voice of his. It was the first time he’d said her first name. He always addressed her as Ms. Donnelly.

“Like a business deal?” she asked.

“Yes, exactly. You do this for me and then I do something for you in return.”

“What kind of favor?” she asked.

“Any. Your choice.”

He seemed to have given this some thought. “I don’t know. I’m not really that good at social stuff.”

“I’ll show you. That will be part of my favor to you.”

“I’m still not sure…I can’t make a decision like this so quickly.”

“There is not much time. I’m leaving at 8:00 a.m. tomorrow on my jet.

“Sheri, I need you,” he said, walking over to her and putting his hands on the arms of the chair. He leaned in close, and she shut her eyes as she breathed in the delicious scent of his aftershave.

He needed her.
Oh, man, there was no way she was going to say no. Ten days of just her and Tristan…She couldn’t resist the opportunity to get him to see her as more than just his assistant.