The Prentice mansion buzzed with preparations. “Are
you ready?” he asked his young driver.
“Yes, sir. I’m leaving to pick up Miss Vestey as
we speak.”
“Good. You do that.” Peter patted Bradley’s
shoulder and walked off to take a call.
Fifteen minutes later, Victoire’s heels clicked
on the marble entrance into Peter’s palatial house like heat seeking missiles
poised to annex with the cerebral chief once and for all. In spite of the
chilly summer night, she wore nothing under her body hugging crimson satin
dress.
The most important guests were the three Electra
partners and their wives fresh from Chicago plus key Bassadai executives from each
division.
Social events were not Willy’s forte. He was
overwhelmed by what he saw. He had heard Artemis describe Prentice’s place, but
to be in it was quite another. Thanks to colleague and friend Julie’s frantic
last-minute help, he turned up in a navy suit, white shirt and a clean knit
tie. The new lace up shoes pinched his feet, but there was nothing he could do
about it.
Willy nearly swallowed his olive when the Victoire
floated onto the scene. His heart broke into a mad gallop. He had no idea how
he was going to string coherent sentences with the goddess dressed to kill in
such close proximity.
Victoire soaked in the lofty atmosphere and felt very much at
home. She fantasized about Peter’s house and what her friends would say if it
belonged to her; one-upmanship was de
riguer in her snobby circles.
That evening Peter behaved unusually more
attentive than ever before. He kept her near and placed his hand on her bare
shoulder and arm on more than one occasion. Even his cologne smelled different,
spicier, masculine.
Maybe
it’s the champagne going to my head, she
thought, seeking out the nearest bathroom to touch up her lipstick.
“Victoire!”
Recognizing the voice, she spun round to see if Artemis
had come with Willy.
“How are you?” she asked before she air kissed
his cheek. “Have you guys come together?” She looked over his head with eager
eyes.
“Gee, no,” he said apologetically. “That’s the
reason I was sent here.” Victoire cocked her head to the side looking confused.
“Artemis went home with the flu and asked that I take his place at the last
minute. He looked like hell, poor guy.”
Whatever else Willy said, Victoire didn’t hear.
She bit back her frustration and tried not to throttle to nerd.
“There you are,” Peter said before putting his
arm over her shoulder and steering her away. “I was beginning to wonder where
you disappeared to.”
Victoire’s eyes double in size. The host’s tone sounded
unmistakably possessive.
# # # #
Peter wined and dined Victoire from Chez-Panisse to Fleur de
Lys during the entire run-up to CES, much to her surprise. He whisked her off
for a romantic weekend in Big Sur via helicopter and played the part of lover
boy turning Victoire’s plans to ensnare Artemis upside down.
“A man in his position does not romance an
employee unless he has marriage on his mind, chérie,” her mother announced proudly.
Victoire smiled back coyly. He was much older and
not as attractive as she wanted, but he was a very ambitious catch nonetheless.
“And you thought I had lost my edge,” she replied
pointedly.
“Well, I guess the fruit does not fall far from
the tree, chérie.”
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