Beloved Enemy. Terri Reed
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the steps. The man shifted forward. His warm hand cupped her elbow as she descended. She drew back slightly.
“Do I know you?” she asked over the din of excited voices.
With a slight pressure to her elbow, he propelled her through the throng of people to the back edge of the crowd where the noise level dropped significantly.
“No, you don’t know me. But I know who you are, Juliet. And I’m very impressed with your designs.”
The combination of his deep voice and his praise sent pleasure and pride sliding over her skin. “Thank you. Can I ask what brings you here?”
He gave her a boyish grin that set her heart pounding. “You can. And I’d love to tell you about the connections I have in Paris. But I’d like to tell you over dinner.”
Dinner? With a stranger? She could just hear her eldest sister, Miranda’s, shocked tsk echoing in her head.
“I really don’t think that would be appropriate, considering I don’t even know your name,” Juliet replied.
Mr. Tall, Blond and Yummy stuck out his hand. “Brandon De Witte.”
She shook his hand, setting off a firestorm of sparks shooting up her arm. “Juliet Blanchard. But you already know that. So, why me?”
One side of his generous mouth curved upward. “Come to dinner with me and I’ll tell you.”
She extracted her hand and shook her head, ready again to explain why that was impossible.
He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “We’ll be in a public restaurant. What can happen?”
“People might talk,” she countered, even though the excuse sounded lame.
He made a face. “Who and to whom?”
Obviously he didn’t really know who the Blanchards were or he wouldn’t ask. She’d chosen a school far enough away from anyone remotely connected to her family that gossip very rarely reached her sisters’ or her father’s ears. Unlike when Juliet was in high school.
Back then she couldn’t make a move, no matter how innocent or rebellious, without someone informing her siblings. Being the youngest of five successful sisters, Juliet had a lot to live up to. Striving to prove herself capable in a family of overachievers kept Juliet busy most of the time.
But here was this handsome—she glanced at his ring finger and was glad to see no shiny gold band—seemingly unattached man asking to take her to dinner in a public setting. What harm could come from accepting the invitation?
And while working in Paris had to stay a dream for now, getting to know someone with connections there wasn’t a bad idea. As she’d heard her father say often, look ahead to the future if you want to accomplish anything.
“All right,” she said, deciding that tonight she’d let the untamed streak inside her rule. “Let me grab my purse.”
She hurried backstage to locate her purse and coat. On the way back out, Giles stopped her. His rotund body blocked the exit.
“Where are we off to?” her instructor asked.
“Dinner with a…friend.”
A sly gleam entered Giles’s gray eyes. “With the man I saw you talking to? Hmm. Interesting.”
Heat crept up Juliet’s neck. “It’s just dinner. Nothing romantic.”
“Right.” Giles nodded sagely.
“The show went great,” Juliet said to change the focus.
Giles clapped his hands together. “Exceptionally! Your designs specifically were touted as the best. I really wish you’d reconsider taking that job at your family’s factory. Darling, you are so much better than a factory worker.”
Juliet refrained from rolling her eyes. “I’ll be heading the marketing department.”
“Honey, you’re a designer, not some pencil pusher!”
“I have a minor in marketing, Giles,” she pointed out for the umpteenth time.
He made a scoffing sound.
She laughed. “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Have fun,” he called out to her as she hurried back to where she’d left Mr. De Witte.
“Ready?” He held out his arm.
She linked hers through, conscious of the strong muscles beneath his sleeve. “Where are we going?”
“Do you like Italian food?”
“Love it.”
“Great. Fratelli’s right next door it is then.”
A few minutes later, they were seated by a large plate glass window overlooking Lake Champlain. The moon hung low in the clear fall night sky and cast a luminescent glow across the water’s surface. Twinkling lights marked the homes along the shoreline.
A waiter approached, took their orders and left. In the background above the soft clinking of dinnerware and low conversations, the music of Vivaldi played.
Juliet twirled the mineral water in her goblet. “Are you a local?”
“No. I’m in town to study a few companies that I’m interested in.”
“Companies? What do you do?” She took a sip of the water.
“I find companies that are struggling and either buy them or revitalize them.”
“Ah, a corporate raider.”
He gave a careless shrug. “That’s a misnomer.”
“So you said you’d tell me what brought you to our fashion show. And about your connections in Paris.”
“Your designs brought me to the show.”
She blinked, flattered. “How did you—”
“I saw the spread in the Vermont News about the school and the show listings.”
The article that had appeared at the beginning of the fall term had featured two of her earlier pieces as well as a picture of the graduating class. Her father had been less than pleased. He didn’t like having the Blanchard name bandied about in such a way. His reaction still stung.
“I have a strong contact in the House of Roan in Paris. I would be more than willing to introduce you. You have heard of Roan, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Of course. Who hasn’t? He’s only the leading, most over-the-top designer in the world.” Even the suggestion that she could set a foot in the House of Roan would be beyond her wildest imaginations.
“You would love working in Paris,” he continued. “The Seine and the Louvre. The cafés and the history.”
She stifled a sigh. Her dream of one day living and working in the City of Lights would have to wait until she fulfilled her promise to her family. She didn’t want to let herself entertain the crazy thought of designing for Roan. Better to face her reality and be content than set herself up for disappointment. “That is so kind of you to offer. What do you get out of it?”
“Wow. You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
He didn’t look offended, which she found refreshing. Too often people didn’t take well to the direct approach. Her family surely didn’t. She’d learned to filter her thoughts growing up. But in the real world, she found straightforwardness more effective. “I have to wonder why the interest. You seem to be a man who wouldn’t offer to help for purely altruistic purposes.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
The twinkle in his eye contradicted his words.
“I think not,” she replied with