of the masses. Now she was the one who handled all the decisions. At least she would handle all of them, alone, once he had gone. But being alone had been her curse all her life, and now he had sealed her fate. He knew what that place at the top could be like. It could make good people do bad things. It could doom a person to a loveless life.
Etienne swore softly in French. But that didn’t change things. Meg was and might always be alone.
Except for her pets.
Except for her child.
Except for any man who might—finally—win her over, a man who would stay and be there for her, night and day. She said she didn’t want a man. Would she ever change her mind? And what man would ever be good enough for her?
No man, Etienne thought. Not one. Lightning might turn out to be the perfect companion for Meg, after all. But no man as a husband didn’t mean that there would never be a man in Meg’s bed.
Etienne frowned. Where had that thought come from?
He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. And he darn well wasn’t going to pursue that line of thought, because the only thing he did know was that he wouldn’t be the man in Meg’s life.
A woman had loved him once. Her whole life she had loved him, but in the end, he had failed her.
He wouldn’t do that to Meg, too.
So, what would he do?
Keep working for her, keep trying to save this place and these people she loved. Keep trying to make a difference in her life so that when he left she and her child and her world would be better off.
What was the next step?
Touch her, taste her. The thought leaped right in there. Meg Leighton was doing serious damage to his sanity. He wanted what Alan had thrown away. If he had needed any more proof that Alan had been a fool, that was it. Alan had walked away from the woman who made Etienne break out in night sweats.
What had she done, Meg wondered a few hours later. Paula Avery was young, blond, curvy and petite. A total cutie pie. The woman Alan Fieldman had chosen when he had gone looking for a hot, attractive, intelligent woman. The woman he had thrown Meg over for.
And Paula would be right there in front of Etienne every day of the week. He said he didn’t want a woman, couldn’t have one, but there was no way a man like Etienne was celibate. His kisses were too hot and demanding. He was most definitely a man who enjoyed women. And Meg had just hired a tasty dessert of a single woman who would be in the office every day.
Maybe she was doing it to punish herself for wanting him. “And maybe the stress of constantly striving to do better, to be better, to be different is starting to get to me,” she muttered to herself.
Still, one thing was certain. Etienne had said he would leave. Other women had surely tried to get him to stay, and all of them had failed.
So, please, get Etienne out of your thoughts, she told herself. Don’t even dare to remember his kisses.
But she woke in the middle of the night, remembering. She was going to have to do more to bring this relationship back into the realm of business partners and friends.
What could she do?
Something drastic.
“WHAT are you doing, Meg?” Etienne asked the next day.
Meg looked up at him. He was eyeing the green canvas bag she was carrying with curiosity.
“I’m planning something,” she said, not hesitating lest she lose her nerve. “The thing is that everyone has been a bit stressed lately. With the way things are taking off with Fieldman’s, it’s kind of like watching an airplane trying to take off over a mountain range. You hope it will make it, but you’re not completely sure that it can clear the upper peaks.”
He grinned.
“Okay, I know why you’re looking at me like that. The mountain analogy didn’t quite cut it, but what I’m saying is still true in its own way, isn’t it?”
“Absolument,Meg. C’est vrai. Of course. You’re right.”
Meg’s breathing kicked up and she wanted to groan. She hated when he spoke French even though he was always careful to translate for her. No, that was so wrong. She totally loved it when he spoke French, but it made her shake and burn inside so much that it scared her. French should be illegal or it should at least come with a warning label.
“But I still don’t understand,” he said, nodding toward the bag.
“It’s simple,” she explained, dropping her bag of objects with a clatter. “Everyone is tense. We’re beginning to snap at each other.”
“I haven’t heard you snapping at anyone.”
She blushed. Okay, she was lying just a little. And she might even lie a little more. “On the inside I was snapping,” she explained, and she quickly raised one hand. “Do not, under any circumstances, raise that eyebrow.”
So, he didn’t. He grinned, with those darn dimples that made her shiver.
“All right, Meg. What were you snapping about on the inside?”
She thought. Long. Hard. Trying to come up with a plausible answer. “I can’t think of what it was right now, but there was something, and anyway, the whys and wherefores are beside the point. The point is that we’re all under a lot of pressure. The expo is coming up in just two weeks and we need some way to let off steam. Hence, this.”
She gestured toward the canvas bag she had been carrying.
“I see,” he said. “And what is this?”
Meg pulled out a bat. “We’re going to do something to help us get back to bonding and away from snapping. Something we can all do together as…as friends, but also as business partners. I understand that lots of businesses have teams of one sort or another and since there’s a big field right outside our door, I thought that tomorrow at lunchtime, we could have a very short game of…of baseball.”
“Of course. Do you play a lot of baseball, Meg?”
“Not a lot, no.” In fact she had been horrible at all sports in school, but at least she knew the basics of baseball. And the equipment was simple, the field was there and she’d heard Jeff and some of the other men discussing the sport. This could be a good thing. It could take some of the edge she’d been feeling around Etienne off and bring her thoughts back to mere friendship. She hoped. “I thought you might captain one team and I would captain the other. I checked on the Internet and I know this isn’t a very popular game in France but they do play it, don’t they? There were eight major league baseball players in America who were born there, although…not for a while and not all even in the twentieth century. I would have chosen something else, like soccer…I mean your football…except I thought it would be best to have a low contact sport so that everyone could feel comfortable and not self-conscious. Not much touching
