Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress: Transformed Into the Frenchman's Mistress. Barbara Dunlop
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enough,” Kiefer mused.
“The plan’s off the table. I had a hard enough time getting her to stay at the château for the shoot.”
Kiefer came alert. “She’s staying at the château?”
“Don’t touch it.” Alec’s tone was flat.
“I’m just sayin’—”
“You are not leaking her to the press.”
“Well, somebody’s going to ‘leak’ something. Better it’s her than Isabella.”
“In whose opinion?”
“Mine.”
“You don’t count. You’re the hired help.” Alec snapped one foot back onto the pedal and pushed off.
Kiefer quickly followed suit. “Will you at least ask her?”
“I will not.”
“If she says no, she says no. But she might—”
“She’ll never agree.”
“How do you know?”
Alec pulled onto the rough road for the return trip. “It’s like this,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “You’re executive assistant to an ambassador. You like your job. In fact, the ambassador is your own grandfather. A man with a public reputation like mine asks you to pretend to date him in order to protect his reputation. You say…what, exactly?”
“Point taken,” Kiefer admitted.
They rode in silence to the crest of the hill, where Alec’s thoughts turned to the croissants his cook had been putting in the oven when they left the château.
“Still,” Kiefer continued, as their speed picked up and the morning air whipped past, “the worst she can do is say no.”
“No, no, no,” Charlotte emphasized into the cordless telephone. “You can’t put Syria next to Bulgaria. Put them next to Canada, or the Swiss—”
The telephone handset was summarily tugged out of Charlotte’s hand.
“Hey!” She twisted her head to Raine, who was lying back in the next deck lounger.
“Charlotte has to go now, Emily,” Raine said into the handset. “She’s in the middle of a pedicure.”
“You can’t do that,” Charlotte protested.
But Raine calmly hit the off button.
“You need to hold still,” warned the esthetician working on Charlotte’s toes. “Or you’ll have purple passion streaked halfway to your ankle.”
“You listen to her.” Raine gestured with the phone.
“You hung up on Emily.”
“You’ve been on the phone with her for half an hour.”
“It’s the summit dinner. She was about to put Syria next to Bulgaria.”
“Will it cause a war?”
“Maybe,” said Charlotte, glancing down at her toes. The purple passion sparkled in the sunshine. She’d borrowed a sea-blue two-piece bathing suit from Raine, and they were lounging on thickly padded lounge chairs next to the Montcalm pool. An emerald lawn stretched out in front of them, while lush cypress trees and flowering shrubs screened them from the house, offering dappled shade.
“They’re cultural attachés,” Raine pointed out. “I doubt they have the launch codes.”
“Maybe not. But I can’t just walk away from my responsibilities on a moment’s notice.” Charlotte had spoken with her grandfather this morning, and he’d been more than gracious in giving her the time off, telling her not to worry. But there were about a thousand details she had to make sure were passed on to other staff members.
“I did,” said Raine. “When I heard you were here, I walked right off the shoot in Malta and onto the corporate jet.”
“Is that a problem?” Charlotte quickly asked.
“I guess we’ll find out when the October issue hits the stands, won’t we?”
“No, seriously—”
“The magazine will survive, and so will the ambassador. You need to relax.”
“You should not move for at least half an hour,” Charlotte’s esthetician advised, admiring Charlotte’s toes as she rose from her chair.
“Thank you,” said Charlotte, raising her newly polished fingernails and fluttering them to compare to her matching toes.
Raine’s esthetician finished a final topcoat, and the two women began to pack their things.
Charlotte leaned over to whisper to Raine. “Do we tip or something?”
“All taken care of,” Raine whispered back. “Shall I ring for strawberries and champagne?”
“It’s still morning.”
“You’re on vacation. And you’re in Provence.” Raine grinned and hit a speed-dial button on the phone.
“At this rate, I may never leave,” Charlotte muttered, sighing and relaxing back into the soft lounger.
While Raine talked to the kitchen, Charlotte closed her eyes, letting the soft breeze caress her face and listening to the gentle hum of the cicadas fill in the background.
“Quick!” Raine’s elbow jolted Charlotte back to reality. “Take a look.”
Charlotte blinked against the bright sunshine, scanning the lawn beyond the pool and coming to two male figures.
Alec. And he was dressed in bicycle shorts and a spandex shirt that clung to every sculpted muscle.
“Isn’t he the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?” asked Raine.
He was, but it seemed an odd thing for Raine to notice. “Alec?”
“Nooo.” Raine grimaced. “Kiefer. The guy with him.”
“Oh.” Charlotte hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to the slightly shorter man with short, sandy-blond hair striding down the brick pathway next to Alec.
“He’s our vice president,” Raine elaborated. “The girls in the office go ga-ga over him.”
“Sounds like you do, too.” Charlotte chuckled, watching the man named Kiefer saunter closer. He was probably six foot two. Though a slighter build than Alec, he was well muscled with an angular face, square jaw and an easy, self-confident stride.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” Raine warned.
“You don’t want to date an employee?” Charlotte asked, her gaze moving involuntarily to Alec. Now that was a gorgeous man. Everything about him moved in perfect symmetry.
“I don’t want him to think I’m one of his groupies,” Raine corrected.
“It’s that bad?”
“Just look at him,” Raine scoffed.
Charlotte glanced back for a split second. Sure, he was attractive enough. But she wasn’t sensing the animal magnetism she saw in Alec. If the girls in the office were going to go ga-ga, she would have thought Alec would be their target.
The two women halted their conversation as the men came within earshot. They stopped in front of the two loungers. Kiefer’s gaze swept Charlotte without sparing a single glance for Raine.
“This is your plain Jane?” Kiefer asked Alec, astonishment clear in his tone.
Charlotte shot Alec an exaggerated expression of offense. “I’m your what?”
Alec’s