Today, however, her charms weren’t working.
“I was just taking a mental inventory of all that we have left to do before the exhibit opens.”
Her gaze locked with his and her mouth turned down into a slight frown. Arching a brow that seemed to convey that she didn’t believe him, she said. “Oh, you mean all those things we discussed in the meeting? I took excellent notes. I’ll send you a copy, so you don’t have to worry.”
He’d always found her attractive, and most of the time he found her no-holds-barred approach appealing. But for some reason, today, it was off-putting, too much for the workplace. The closer she got, the more claustrophobic he felt. It was as if she were backing him into a corner. He fought the urge to step back, to put some space between them. Instead, he turned back to the painting and studied it.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Do we want to keep it here or should we move it across the way?”
He pointed toward the shorter wall on the other side of the room.
“So, you’re not going to tell me,” she said.
“Tell you what?” Henri asked.
“Who this person is who has shanghaied your thoughts?”
Henri crossed his arms.
“It’s a family matter. I don’t want to discuss it at work.”
Sydney’s green eyes darkened a shade, and she shrugged.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was simply concerned about you.”
She reached up to touch his hand, but he uncrossed his arms and shoved his fists into his trouser pockets, dodging the contact.
Sydney flinched. “Henri?”
He lowered his voice. “That’s not what we should do here.”
She blinked once. Twice.
“What I mean is we agreed to keep matters strictly platonic at work.”
“Yes, of course we did.” Suddenly all business, she was the one who took a step backward. Henri sensed the transformation immediately. “I’ll be in my office reviewing the PDF of the show catalogue.” With that, she turned and walked away. He was amazed at how fast her demeanor could change. One minute the flirt, the next the serious businesswoman.
Henri felt that old familiar inner riptide of uncertainty, which should’ve been reason enough to let her keep walking. Even if Sydney had been pushing the bounds of what was appropriate in the workplace, at least she knew when to rein it in.
Unlike Margeaux, who had created a reputation for herself as a socialite run amok. She seemed to take pleasure in embarrassing her father with her headline-grabbing antics. Even if she had been lying low for the past couple of years, her reputation preceded her. Fille sauvage, her father had called her for as far back as Henri could remember. As if living up to the label her father had slapped on her, Margeaux Broussard had, indeed, proven herself every bit the wild child.
Not the type of woman he needed to get involved with if the Crown Council was ever going to take him seriously.
“Sydney, wait.”
She stopped underneath the archway that led into the main gallery, but she didn’t turn around.
Henri knew he’d hurt her feelings. He hadn’t meant to. He was simply skittish about public displays of affection at work, even if it was simply the brush of a hand or an I-want-you pucker of lips. He expected no less of his other employees. He had to lead by example.
“Please let me know when you hear about the missing pieces for the catalogue,” she said, without looking back at him. “If we don’t get this to the printer by Wednesday, we won’t have the catalogue in time for the opening.”
He glanced around. They were the only ones in the gallery.
“If you’re free tonight, perhaps we could have some dinner and proof them…together. Two sets of eyes are always better than one.”
This time she turned around and faced him, that devilishly sexy left brow of hers rising, a question mark. She crossed her arms over her chest, creating a barrier between them.
“A business meeting?” she asked. “After hours?”
She wasn’t going to make this easy.
Still, he nodded.
“I suppose that might work,” she said. “But I have one stipulation. I want to go out—to Le Coeur Bleu in the Hotel de St. Michel.”
The Hotel de St. Michel. Where Margeaux was staying. No doubt she’d read his notes about the Hotel St. Michel. It was too much of a coincidence otherwise.
It was a bad idea to bring Sydney there, even though the chance they’d run into Margeaux and her friends was remote. He should go there alone. He should contact Margeaux and arrange a private meeting….
Even so, as he opened his mouth to suggest a different restaurant, he heard himself agreeing, “Le Coeur Bleu it is.”
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