One Night In Provence. Barbara Wallace
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her up at eight, but he hadn’t said where they were going.
All of a sudden, Jenna felt nervous. She was being silly. What did she care whether her wardrobe was appropriate? Wasn’t as though any of the people in the restaurant would see her again. And it wasn’t as if she was trying to impress Philippe. Then again, she didn’t want to embarrass herself, either.
“Clothes, schmothes,” Beatrice had said once. “Like anyone cares.” At the time, she’d been insisting on wearing her silk robe—just her silk robe—to the dining room. “I’ll have you know I ate naked once when I was in Bali.”
Good old Beatrice, feisty and independent until the end. She didn’t care what people thought. Married thirty years to her partner in crime, she’d told Jenna. Until he wasn’t a partner anymore. Then she moved on. “No sense wasting your time on something that’s not working,” she’d said. What she would think of Philippe, Jenna could only imagine.
Never trust a man who’s prettier than you, she immediately thought in Beatrice’s raspy voice.
It was a good rule. Especially since Philippe was prettier than everyone.
* * *
Philippe entered the hotel early. Usually he didn’t pay attention to time, as the women he called on always kept him waiting. Instinct told him Jenna was the kind of woman who appreciated promptness. He chose not to think about the fact that he’d spent the last thirty minutes dressed and watching the clock.
He smoothed the front of his dinner jacket. Funny, but he was actually anxious about the evening going well. He’d spent the entire afternoon planning the perfect dinner, which was one afternoon more than he’d spent planning any of his previous dates. Why bother when a table at the hottest club or restaurant would suffice? Tonight, however, required more. Mademoiselle Brown had a cynical streak, meaning she wouldn’t be easily impressed. That required he put an effort into the evening.
Which was good. Planning kept him from brooding, and he despised brooding. There was nothing he could do about the tragedies life dealt him. He hated that he was forever dodging a shadow of sadness. It was far better to distract oneself with living.
Or a beautiful woman.
Simon and Antoinette greeted him on his way to the elevator. He stopped to say hello, as he always did when visiting. They greeted him with their usual haughty stares.
Did his ancestors approve of how he was running their empire? He’d like to think he was doing a good job, but he was also aware that he was never meant to be the one running D’Usay International. Felix was the one who’d been groomed to walk in their father’s footsteps, and they both left very large shoes. Philippe did the best he could, but there were times when he wondered if they would approve of the changes he’d made. The expansion. The move beyond French flowers. Were they staring down in disdain or relieved their empire would continue even when the company no longer had a d’Usay in charge?
He supposed he wouldn’t know until it was all over for him.
And there he went, thinking maudlin thoughts when he had a beautiful woman waiting upstairs.
Considering what Jenna had worn on their previous two meetings, he expected to see her wearing something bright and touristy. The woman who opened the door, however, was gloriously sophisticated. His eyes skimmed her length appreciatively. The black cocktail dress was classically elegant, modest but revealing in all the right places. Arousal curled through him. “Tu es belle.”
She smiled appreciatively. “I’m going to assume it was a compliment.”
“It was. I said you look beautiful.”
To her credit, she took the compliment in stride, without the faux modesty he’d come to expect from his dates. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
“Where are we going?”
So suspicious. He would definitely need to work if he wanted tonight to end successfully. The challenge was exactly what he needed.
He patted her hand. “Wait and see, Mademoiselle Brown,” he replied. “I promise you will not be disappointed.”
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