A Very French Affair. Эбби Грин
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on. Please.’ Her voice sounded slightly strangled, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the intensity left his face.
‘Your past would never be mentioned, never alluded to. What I’m talking about is a…subliminal message, if you will. Counting on the fact that people will see you and may remember, or not, where you came from, what happened…That will elevate the campaign beyond the ordinary, because they will empathise with you.’
‘This must be some campaign if you’re putting this much thought into it,’ she said, somewhat shakily.
He nodded. ‘It is very special. Like I said, it is to showcase a selection of luxury goods and clothes supplied by my various companies, but it’s also going to promote a way of living. It’s a move away from the vigorous advertising that is common now—this will be much more…dreamlike…evocative. It centres on two people—a man and a woman—who we follow as they travel all across the world in a romantic game of cat and mouse…’
Sorcha felt for a very uncanny moment as if he might be talking about them—but that was ridiculous.
Interested despite herself, she shrugged minutely. ‘That does sound…intriguing.’
‘And is it killing you to say that?’ he asked with a mocking smile.
She shook her head, eyes flashing.
He sat forward then, making her nervous. ‘Lisa also mentioned something else to me.’
Now Sorcha was really nervous. Her mind raced…Surely Lisa wouldn’t have told him about—?
‘The youth outreach centre?’
Sorcha blanched, and Romain saw her reaction. Her eyes were two huge pools of liquid blue, and that damned vulnerability was back.
Sorcha couldn’t believe it. How could Lisa have done that? Although, after sitting with the man for less than an hour, Sorcha knew what a physical struggle it was to resist him.
‘What did she tell you?’ She asked tightly, every line of her body screaming with tension.
‘Just that you’ve been working on it for the past few years, and it’s due to open a couple of weeks after we finish shooting…’
Every ounce of self-protection in Sorcha rose up. This was so close to the heart of her, such a treasured secret, that even to be discussing it with him was overwhelming. And worse, if he decided to delve any deeper…Sorcha started to shake inwardly. ‘Yes. It is. But it’s no concern of yours—’
‘Or yours either, apparently. Lisa said that you’ve only been back periodically to oversee the building in the past year.’
The unfairness of his attack made Sorcha reel slightly. She saw spots before her eyes. But she realised quickly that if he thought that, then she could in fact use it.
She lifted one slim shoulder and glanced away, but try as she might she couldn’t totally disguise her turmoil. She looked back at Romain and steeled herself. ‘Like I said, it’s none of your business what my involvement is in the outreach centre…’ She faltered. She felt as if she was jinxing it just talking about it with him. ‘So I’d appreciate it if you don’t bring it up again.’
He ignored her. ‘Tell me, Sorcha, is it all part of the façade? To make people think you’ve changed? Did you see someone else, another celebrity, do something similar and think that you’d do the same?’ Cynicism twisted his beautiful mouth. ‘After all, you can’t beat the publicity you’ll get on the day. Tell me have you already picked out what you’re going to wear as you cut the ribbon?’
Sorcha sat back. A wave of hurt, stunning in its intensity, made her chest tighten. It was as if he had gone inside, to her most inner, secret part and slowly ripped it out to examine. He had no idea. And he mustn’t. With superhuman effort she drummed up the brittle shell of her composure, and said, ‘Why not? I may as well get as much out of it as I can.’
When she saw his look of supreme…righteousness, her anger rose, swift and potent. She leant forward again.
‘Tell me, did you walk into that agency and deduct a few noughts from my pay cheque once you saw how easy it would be?’ She shook her head, unbelievably hurt and stung, but determined not to show it. ‘Men like you disgust me. You don’t know when to stop. When it’s enough. Like when someone says no they mean no.’
He reached across the table so fast she couldn’t escape, and he caught her hand in his. His grip was harsh, and Sorcha gasped as she felt her pulse jump straight to triple time.
‘Just as you say about yourself, you know nothing about me. So don’t presume anything.’
He looked genuinely angry, and Sorcha quailed under his fierce gaze.
‘Where I come from it would be unthinkably brutal to force anyone to do anything against their will. This is a job, Sorcha—that’s all. I’ve merely used a little leverage to get what I want. Tell me, is it really going to be so hard to pout and pose for a couple of weeks all around the world? To live in luxury and walk away with a few hundred thousand in your back pocket? To see a small agency benefit from the kind of exposure and money only you can bring them?’
She snatched her hand back, shaken to the core. His opinion of her was poisonous. It was tainted. She had to go—get away. She was feeling overwhelmed and seriously out of her depth. Couldn’t think straight.
‘I…I’ve lost my appetite.’ The thought of eating now was making her feel sick. She stood up, picking up her jacket. Manners ingrained over years meant she couldn’t just run out of the door, much as she wanted to. ‘Please excuse me.’
And she turned and walked out, an awful urge to cry made her clench her jaw, lips tight together. She knew her reaction was vastly disproportionate to what had just happened. He was right. She knew that it was just a job, that in the end of course she could weather anything for a couple of weeks—especially if it meant her good friend got a cut. But that man—
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder just as she reached the doors. She whirled around jerkily, her reaction not from surprise but to his touch.
‘Sorcha, I—’
‘Look, I’ll do your job.’ She avoided looking him in the eye, tried to make her voice light to distract him from the fact that she was a quivering mass of confusion and hurt. And to feel so hurt when she barely even knew this man? It just didn’t make sense. ‘I’ve no choice, and of course you’re right. How can I turn down such a lucrative offer? After all, that is what I’m interested in isn’t it?’
She couldn’t help but look up then, but couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Not being able to read it made her feel even more panicky.
‘Sorcha, look, I think we’ve got off to a bad—’
‘Oh, don’t say it—please. How could we ever have got off to a good start? You’re the man who judged me on the basis of little more than hearsay and a grainy photograph eight years ago, who still assumes I’m walking around with track marks hidden on my body. I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I’ve never touched a drug in my life?’ She answered herself with a short harsh laugh. ‘Don’t bother answering. Of course not.’
She shrugged out from under his hand and moved away, closer to the door. He grabbed her wrist and, loath as she was to leave it there, because that same burning sensation was making her tingle all over, she didn’t want him to see how his touch affected her. He was only trying to smooth over turbulent waters. He was a manipulator. There to make sure she toed the line, did as she was told.
She looked at him unflinchingly and her eyes were huge. The glasses were giving her a potent air of subdued sexiness that she was oblivious to. ‘Just tell me where and when.’
He didn’t speak for a long moment. She fought to appear cool, in control. The past was something that represented her own private hell. She knew there