Claire let him keep the hand. She sighed. “We did have a lot of fun, Frank. We grew up together in a way.”
He gave her hand a little yank, trying to pull her into a hug. The spicy scent of his cologne was so familiar, but today it overwhelmed her nose. She pushed back.
“I appreciate your concern. But I’m not twenty-two any more. I’ve given you too much energy, too many years. And too many chances already. Move on, Frank.”
“Claire, I miss you.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed. His hands were close to her thighs, and Claire wriggled away.
Once, Claire had been thrilled with the way Frank had clung to her. He thrived on her company, sought out her attentions. And her advice. After years of indifference from her father, and leers from other men, it was intoxicating to be wanted for more than her body. She couldn’t remember when the constant need grew old. When she started wanting him to grow a spine of his own. To have his own opinion, and quit leeching on hers.
And when she’d withdrawn, he’d responded by fucking every moderately attractive female in his company.
“I appreciate your worry, Frank. But it’s over between us. It has been for a long time now. I’ve moved on. You should, too.”
His eyebrows narrowed and his eyes flashed. “Moved on? You call Helmut Forrester ‘moving on?’”
“What I do or don’t call Helmut Forrester is none of your business.” Claire swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed and strode to the door. She flung it open. The noise and hustle of the hall washed over Claire. “Out. Now.”
Frank stood his ground. “I can’t believe you’re defending a man who’s done nothing but take advantage of you. Claire—”
“Conversation over. Out.” As he pointed her index finger out into the hall, it struck something warm and soft, and totally unexpected. Ben Lackey’s chest.
“Nice to see you again, Burwell. Is this a bad time?” the newcomer asked, looking with amusement from Claire to Frank and back again.
“Yes,” said Frank.
“No,” said Claire. “Frank here was just leaving.”
Ben ran one hand through his already ruffled hair and then over his chin, where Claire could see a faint trace of stubble. His suit from earlier in the day was wrinkled, and his tie gone. “Were you talking about Helmut?”
Clare stammered for a moment, then collected herself. Ben Lackey was known to be friendly with Helmut, though she hadn’t failed to notice their hostility this morning. Understandable, given that Helmut had arrived just in time for Lackey’s pet project to fall to pieces, along with the remains of her company’s reputation.
Besides CNN, Claire couldn’t think of anyone she’d like to talk to less right this moment. “This is a personal matter between the two of us. I will touch base with you later, Lackey.”
“Sure, sure. I just wanted to let you know what was going on with Helmut.”
Claire froze. Was he hurt?
Helmut had shoved her to the ground, covered her body with his while shrapnel rained from the sky. She had been ushered off the tarmac so quickly, she had completely lost track of everyone else. And the damned doctor hadn’t released her to go wandering the halls.
“What happened to him?” she asked, her voice wavering.
His lips quirked into a smirk. “Helmut’s not hurt. Not yet, anyway. But after those news reports hit yesterday about your affair, I though you should know...”
Claire exhaled. Helmut was not hurt. Wait, what did he mean “not yet?”
“I didn’t think it was my place to intrude, you know. Helmut’s always been my buddy. But he’s really gone off the deep end this time,” Ben rambled.
“Get to the point, Lackey,” Claire demanded.
He glanced over her shoulder at Frank, who was watching the entire exchange with great interest.
Claire frowned at the two men. “Frank, do you mind?”
“No, not at all. I’m quite enjoying the show. Do go on, Ben.”
Ben shrugged his shoulders and gave Claire a sly grin. “Well, like I said, Helmut’s always been a friend of mine. I know he was upset about not getting the CEO appointment. And then losing his job... I think the guy is out for revenge against you Claire. He even bet me a thousand bucks he could get you into bed. I tried to talk him out of it...”
Claire felt the air rush out of her lungs. Revenge. A thousand bucks.
Lackey was still talking, but she quit hearing his words. They stopped making any sense. The photos.
Helmut had screwed her over. Professionally. Personally. And she had practically begged him to do it.
She had to get out of here. Now.
She ignored Frank’s voice calling her from the exam room as she left. She walked past the nurses' station without saying a word and headed straight for the exit without looking back.
Helmut paced his hotel room for the hundredth time. Claire hadn’t been at the police station, and after he’d been released, it had taken half a dozen phone calls before someone told him where she was. The hospital. Holy shit, if she was hurt... He couldn’t even finish the thought. He had no idea what he would do.
He headed out of his hotel room and into the elevator. He should be able to catch a cab to the hospital from the lobby. Whether he could talk any of the staff to letting him see her, he didn’t care.
The elevator doors opened into the marble and gilt lobby, and Helmut found himself facing Claire’s shell-shocked expression.
He drank in the sight of her. Her suit jacket was off, and her hair looked wild. Another woman might look like a victim, but Claire carried off the tousled look like a woman who’d just rolled from his bed.
She recovered first. “Not now, Helmut.” Her voice was ice, and she glanced over her shoulder as if expecting an ambush.
He grabbed her by the hand, pulled her back into the elevator, and punched the button for their floor. She struggled lightly against his hand, but he held firm until the shiny gold doors closed on them.
“Let go of me.”
Helmut released her hand and she fled to the opposite corner.
“Claire, they told me you were at the hospital. How are you? I’ve been worried shitless all afternoon.”
Her eyes widened and she stared at him, mouth agape. “I sincerely doubt that.”
He took a step closer, trying to bridge the gap. His arms itched to hold her and soothe away the fear and chaos of the afternoon.
The elevator stopped on a lower floor and the doors whooshed open. Claire practically jumped out.
Helmut followed, nearly running over a bellhop with a huge round tray laden with empty plates. “Sorry,” he said as he helped the young man catch his careening tray. “Claire, wait.”
He glanced down the empty hall and saw the door to the stairwell just clicking closed. He ran after her.
Hurried small footsteps echoed from above him. Helmut leaned gently over the rail and looked up. “Claire, can we talk for a moment.”
“No. We can’t.” The footsteps sped up.
Helmut followed, taking the steps two at a time. She was fast, but he had longer legs, and he started gaining right away.
“I’m as pissed by the photos as you are. This isn’t exactly going to help my job hunt, you know.” He knew he’d passed two floors already, and was beginning to breath heavily.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Helmut swore to himself. He thought he would have gained ground, but she was still a full story above him.
“This will blow over, Claire. I’m not an employee anymore. No one will even remember it by next week.”
Her footsteps stopped. Thankfully. Helmut slowed his pace, still taking the steps two at a time, but no longer sprinting them. “Man you’re in good shape,” he said with a grin.
He climbed another story to where he’d last heard her voice, but she wasn’t there. Helmut stopped and rested his palms on his knees, breathing deeply. “Where’d you go, Claire?”
He listened and heard nothing. Wait, not nothing. A soft slapping sound. Damnit, she’d taken off her shoes and continued upwards. Helmut glanced at the door behind him. Eighth floor. Their rooms were on the fourteenth.
He began sprinting in earnest, but he was too late. Just as he passed door number twelve, he heard her leave the stairwell.
A minute later, he pounded on the door to her suite. “I’m not leaving until you answer, Claire.”
Silence.
“If I keep yelling like this, someone will call security. Wouldn’t you rather avoid another scene?”
Bingo. That got a reaction. Her door cracked, and he went to push it open, but she’d left it chained from the inside.
“Just go away, Helmut. You’ve done enough.” Her voice sounded muffled.
Helmut scanned the inside of the room, but she stood behind the door out of his view. He leaned against the wall. “What, exactly have I done that you didn’t ask me to? I didn’t give the reporters those photos, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Ben told me.”
Helmut’s heart froze in his chest. “Told you what?”
“About the bet,” she continued, her voice growing quieter but firmer. “About how you were being groomed for CEO. You couldn’t be the boss, so you screwed the boss instead.”
“It wasn’t like that—” Helmut hesitated. Wasn’t it just like that? He’d pursued her in Chicago, and followed her to Paris. He’d drunk a toast to her seduction with Ben after he’d been fired.
“I hope you enjoyed your revenge. Now just go. Neither I, nor Sheffield & Fox, are your concern any longer.”
Claire sat back against the cold metal door of the hotel room door, clasping knees to her chest as hot tears ran down her face.
Where did she get such wonderful taste in men? Claire swiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her designer jacket, not caring about the peach and black smears of makeup that trailed across the costly fabric.
He knew just when she checked out of the hotel. He heard the bellhop pushing a luggage cart down the hall, and caught a glimpse of bare calf as she stepped into the elevator. He had paced his room so long last night there was probably a groove in the carpet between the phone and the door.
He hoped she would call. Or knock. Or he should call. Or knock. Or call the concierge and have a dozen red roses delivered. Maybe a thousand roses. Did she even like roses?
Finally, sometime after three in the morning, he sat in an armchair and fell asleep. It was the sound of Cathedral bells from some nearby church that had awakened him. That, and the bustle of elevator buttons and shuffling feet in the hall as the other guests prepared to leave for the morning. Or to leave for good.
As the bellhop disappeared into the elevator behind Claire, Helmut closed his hotel room door softly.
What the hell did he do now? He had no job, had just insulted the daughter of the one man who’d offered business connections, and he had an expensive and empty suite in a posh Paris hotel for two more nights. Nights he had hoped to spend with Claire.
The growling of his stomach answered his dilemma for the short term. He quickly showered off the grime and sweat from yesterday’s exertions and changed into a pair of jeans. He didn’t bother to shave, but just grabbed his wallet and room key and made for the café across the street.
It was empty. Too early for tourists and too close to church time for the locals, he supposed. Helmut claimed a small table inside, away from the angry glare of the sun, ordered an espresso, and opened a two-day old
Wall Street Journal
he’d brought from the hotel. He flipped the pages absently, not paying much attention to the waiters bustling back and forth across the small room.
One stopped in front of his table. “
Au lait, si vous plais
,” Helmut said, hoping that his high-school French was adequate for ordering cream.
“Sorry, fresh out,” drawled the reply.
Helmut lowered the paper and looked up to find Ben looming over his table, not a waiter. Without asking, Ben pulled out a chair and sat down.
“You look like shit,” Helmut said.
Ben had looked a bit messy on Friday, but today he looked like he’d been hit by a bus. One full of alcohol and wearing cherry-red lipstick.
“Same to you,” said Ben, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a roll of bills and tossed them on the table in front of Helmut. “There you are, all square.”
Helmut shoved the money away. “Keep it.”
Ben sneered. “Now don’t get all high and mighty on me. I don’t need a pair of wet panties to believe that you screwed Claire Sheffield. That little show you put on for the cameras was good enough for me.”
“No thanks. Besides, you might want to watch your spending for a while,” Helmut said evenly. “Until you get back on your feet.”
The sneer turned into a grimace. “Don’t fucking start with all your financial advice. I have a plan. I’ve been in talks for weeks with Arachnava. They don’t give a rat’s ass about the toy airplane problem.”
Helmut set down his paper and frowned. “Arachnava? You’re going to work for Frank Burwell?”
Ben grinned and picked up a sugar shaker. “You’re looking at the new Chief Operating Officer, starting Wednesday. At about twice your, ahem, previous salary.”
Helmut looked. And he saw his old friend, unshaven, unwashed, hair a mess and smelling like a cheap hooker. He shook his head sadly. “Do you have that in writing, Ben?”
“Can’t you just be happy for me for once? Holy shit, what would it take for you to say ‘Congratulations.’ Or are you jealous of me this time?” Ben slammed the sugar dish down so hard the table rattled. Helmut cringed as the few other diners all stared their way.
“Ben, do you think Frank might have had ulterior motives in recruiting you?”
Ben shoved his chair back and stood up. He steadied himself briefly with one hand before glaring murderously down at Helmut. “Like trying to screw your girlfriend? What’s the woman got in her pants anyway? A hoo-ha made of diamonds? Shit, I’m so wasted. See you around, loser.”
Ben staggered out of the café, nearly tripping over a chair on the way. Helmut almost went after him. But in his present mood, there was nothing Helmut could say that wouldn’t get flung back in his face. And he’d had more than enough of flying shit lately. Let Ben pick up the pieces of his own mistakes for once.
He contemplated the stack of bills. Even if he needed the money, he wouldn’t keep it.
He heard church bells ringing as he drained the last few sips of harsh dense coffee from his cup. A thousand bucks was a hell of a lot more than twenty pieces of silver, but he knew where it might go to good use. And he left a generous tip behind him.