The Parisian Playboy. HELEN BROOKS
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her wonder why she’d waited so long to give Jeff his come-uppance! She loathed bullies, and he was one of the sickest kind.
‘It is that bad, yes?’
Her head jerked up from the papers in her hand to see Jacques Querruel standing watching her. One dark eyebrow was quirked mockingly and there was a disturbing gleam in the amber eyes. He had taken off his leather biking jacket, she noticed dazedly, and the plain charcoal T-shirt he was wearing sat on broad, muscled shoulders. He must work out every day to have a physique like that.
She felt her heart thudding against her ribcage and it annoyed her, along with his air of relaxed authority. He’d be fully aware of the effect he had on women, she thought hotly, expecting every female from Margaret’s age down to fall at his feet in worship. For a moment she just sat there, dry-mouthed and silent, but then his arrogance sent the adrenalin flowing fiercely. He might be the sacred head of Querruel International, and drop-dead gorgeous to boot, but he had absolutely no effect on her at all, she told herself vehemently. Added to which she had the distinct feeling she wouldn’t be working here much longer anyway.
She straightened, aware of the hectic colour staining her cheeks but unable to do anything about it. ‘Judge for yourself,’ she said curtly, knowing it wasn’t at all the way to speak to the ultimate kingpin but unable to help herself.
The smile had been wiped off his handsome face, Holly noted with some satisfaction as he walked over to her and took the papers she was holding out. And she didn’t know why but she made very sure their fingers didn’t touch.
She had hoped he would take the report back to his office and read it there, but instead he idly brushed some papers out of the way and perched on the side of her desk. Her little cubby-hole had never been big by any standards, as she’d already made abundantly plain to him, but now it seemed to shrink away to nothing. He was so close she could smell the exclusive, subtle odour of his aftershave, and that, together with the leather trousers stretched tight over lean male thighs, was making her face burn in the most peculiar way.
She forced her eyes upwards a little, where they fell on to his hands. They were powerful, with long, strong fingers and short, clean fingernails. An artist’s hands, or maybe a musician’s… And then she caught the thoughts angrily. He was neither of those things, for goodness’ sake, she told herself irritably. She knew from office gossip that he was a ruthless, hard and inexorable businessman, who gave no favours and asked for none. He liked fast cars and motorbikes, and even faster women—so she had heard—and was a millionaire many times over. Not exactly the type of man to sit painting watercolours!
The chiselled profile was frowning when she looked at his face, and he raked back his hair—as black as a raven’s wing—a couple of times as he read. Even sitting quite still as he was now vitality radiated from him; she had never come across such a disturbing man before. It was probably quite unreasonable, because to date she had to admit he had been pretty fair in the circumstances, but she didn’t think she liked Jacques Querruel one little bit.
He was on the last page of the statement; he’d obviously got to the bit she’d written about the incident that morning, and to her surprise she heard him swear softly under his breath. She didn’t speak French but there was no doubting the content of the muttered expletives. He turned his head, his amber eyes meeting her blue, and his tone was almost an accusation when he said, ‘Why the hell did you not do something about this before? You are not the type who cannot say boo to the goose.’
The fact that his perfect English had let him down just a fraction gave Holly a disproportionate amount of satisfaction as she said coldly, ‘I was hoping to deal with it myself with the minimum of unpleasantness.’
‘Then you have not succeeded.’
‘That’s hardly my fault, is it?’ she snapped back angrily. Hateful man! He’d be blaming her for everything in a moment. ‘I wanted to keep my job; that’s not a crime.’
‘Indeed it is not, Miss Stanton,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘I understand you have only been with Querruel International a few weeks?’
‘Eight,’ she clarified militantly. ‘And if you say Mr Roberts has been with the company for a lot longer without anyone complaining before that’s not because there haven’t been grounds, I assure you.’
‘I see.’ He stared at her consideringly and she made herself stare back without flinching. ‘I was not going to say that, Miss Stanton.’ He lifted the hand holding her statement. ‘I may keep this?’ he enquired softly.
She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s finished.’ Just as she was finished at Querruel International. It might take a week or a month or six months, but sooner or later Jeff’s father would find an excuse to get rid of her, however this thing turned out. And she wouldn’t want to continue working so close to him as his secretary’s assistant now anyway. The job had gone sour.
Jacques Querruel stood up, and once more she found herself pinned by his gaze. ‘For what it is worth, I despise the type of man who threatens a woman in this way,’ he said quietly. ‘I can assure you I will investigate this matter very thoroughly, Miss Stanton, and rest assured Jeff’s position in this company will not affect the outcome.’
Oh, come on, who was he kidding? He flitted here, there and everywhere, but Jeff’s father ran this place for Jacques Querruel, and people were hardly going to slate his son knowing once the big boss left they would have no protection against any comeback from daring to speak the truth.
Holly wasn’t aware her face was speaking volumes, not until the big, dark man in front of her said softly, ‘You do not believe this?’
‘No,’ she said, because there was no point in lying. ‘At least, I believe you’ll do your best to get to the truth, but you won’t. You see, everyone likes Mr Roberts Senior as much as they dislike his son, and they know how much he and his wife think of him. Also…’ She paused, wondering if she should go on.
‘Yes, Miss Stanton?’
‘You are not here most of the time,’ she said baldly.
‘Ah, this I see.’ The beautiful eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Then my enquiries will have to be in confidence and no names mentioned to Jeff’s father, apart from yours, of course.’
Oh, great, wonderful. The sacrificial lamb. Still, it was only what she had expected after all; it just grated doubly that he seemed so unconcerned.
‘That’s all right, then.’ She tried, she really tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum but she was so angry she could spit.
Like before, he read her mind perfectly. The firm, slightly stern mouth suddenly twisted with the nearest thing to genuine amusement she had seen in the last caustic hour or so.
‘You are not in awe of me, Miss Stanton,’ he said softly.
It was a statement, not a question, which was just as well because Holly was beyond speaking at that moment. He had leant forward as he’d spoken, both hands resting on the desk and his body close enough for the warmth and smell of him to surround her. She felt her senses quivering and was furious with herself for being so weak and trembly.
‘And that is unusual,’ he continued thoughtfully, almost as though he was speaking to himself now. ‘I am surrounded by a whole host of sycophantic beings, Miss Stanton. It comes, as they say, with the territory. The people who really speak their mind to me I can count on one hand and I would not use all my fingers.’
She didn’t know what to say and so she said nothing.
‘This was a…novelty at first. Perhaps even satisfying, I am ashamed to admit, in the early days.’
He didn’t look ashamed, Holly thought, and she had no doubt he loved every moment of the power he was able to command so effortlessly, especially where the fairer sex was concerned. She had seen men like him before, men who considered themselves nothing less than demi-gods with the ability to direct and control other people’s lives. Admittedly none of the others had looked as good as Jacques Querruel, but that would