His Ransom 5(16)

“Are you sure that you’re in the right place?” the waitress asked. Her face grew even more tense in the polite smile she was holding.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yes. He said to meet him here.”

“Why don’t you wait here?” the waitress asked, only it was more of an order than a question. “And I’ll go find your friend.”

I could tell she didn’t believe me, so I tiptoed again to peer into the room. Instead of finding Jean-Luc there, I felt a touch on my back. I spun around to find Jean-Luc standing behind me, his dark eyes sparking with pleasure. He leaned down to kiss me on the cheeks, and I smelled his cologne.

The waitress’s smile faltered only for a second, and then she snapped back into a curt smile.

“Monsieur, s’il vous—”

“We’ll be in one of the private booths in the back,” he said. He held out a bill to the waitress that looked like a hundred euros.

The waitress almost tripped over her heels to take the tip. She led us quickly back through the throngs of well-dressed people conversing over their glasses of wine. We slid into a plush booth. My knees knocked into Jean-Luc’s and I pulled myself back. It was a small booth, the lamp dim overhead to give the table an intimate glow that only enveloped the two of us.

“A bottle of the Chantelais Merlot,” he said, after a single glance at the menu. He turned to me. “Does that sound good?”

“Sure!” I said brightly. I had no idea what he had ordered, but I think it was red.

“And two glasses,” Jean-Luc said, handing the menu back to the waitress.

“Thank you, sir,” the waitress said. She was studiously ignoring me. “I’ll be right back with that bottle.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, her slim pert body swaying through the tables.

I felt a touch on my wrist and jerked back. Jean-Luc had tapped me with his fingers. I breathed out to try and get a sense of calm back. His dark eyes bored into me and again I thought that there was something familiar about him that I couldn’t place.

“Where is your…ah, friend?” he asked. “Jake Carville, is it?”

“That’s right,” I said. “He’s at a business meeting. That’s why we’re here, actually,” I continued on, flustered. “For him to do a negotiation.”

“Ah,” he said. Then he was silent, staring at me. The waitress came back over and poured us both a glass of wine. Red. It was red. She left the bottle with us.

I looked down at the tablecloth, then around at the room. Nobody was nearby. When I turned back to Jean-Luc, he was stroking the side of his chin idly with his fingertips. I let my gaze drift down his fingers, down to his muscled hand.

“Then we should talk between us, just the two of us, yes?”

“About what?” I could feel my eyes growing wider as I watched his mouth move. His slight accent was strange enough that I had to keep my attention on every syllable to make sure I knew what he had said.

“Business, of course,” he said. “What else?”

I flushed.

“Nothing,” I stammered. Immediately my mind was going other places, thinking about what might happen if Jean-Luc wanted me for more than business. Pressed up against a wall, pinned down onto silk sheets the way Jake did. Silly fantasies, especially during a meeting where I was supposed to be professional. “I mean, I don’t know. Business, right.”

He smiled, as though he had caught me with the thoughts printed on the front of my face. I bit my lip and tried to seem normal. He raised his glass and clinked it lightly against mine.

“To business,” he said. “Now, about this mural…”



We finished the bottle. Well, I finished the bottle. Jean-Luc sipped at his glass lightly, asking me questions about my art and about Jake. Mostly about Jake. I didn’t know why he was probing so much into Jake’s business—maybe to see if he would help to fund his art studio? I wasn’t sure.

As we left the wine bar and walked down to the sidewalk together, Jean-Luc held my arm for balance. I thought he was walking me to the corner to call for a cab, but before we reached the end of the side street, he pulled me into a doorway instead.

His hand gripped my shoulder, and I felt a vague sense of panic. I was definitely a little bit drunk, and there weren’t a lot of people on the street. The Champs-Elysees was visible down at the end of the street, but the people down there were too far away to pay any attention.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I didn’t want to embarrass myself, but I wasn’t going to let him touch me like that.

“Nothing, dear,” he said. As he spoke, he leaned in toward me. I smelled the sweet scent of red wine on his breath as he brushed his lips against my temple. I stepped back and my feet hit the doorway.