his mind, it was more important than ever that he simplify everything else. Plus, while in Cannes he planned to devote himself to chairing the APCF gala and making it the event of the season, and he needed as much time as possible to do so.
In fact, he’d be leaving the penthouse soon to go to the APCF office to meet with the event manager there. The agency’s director, Felice, had informed him that the previous manager had suddenly left. Zander hoped his replacement would be up to the task of creating the kind of spectacular evening he had in mind.
If there was one thing Zander knew about, it was raising money. He made a great deal of public appearances to support good works all over the world. He gave his time and his notability freely, making it his life’s work in fact. Now it was payback time. He expected many of his wealthy friends and acquaintances to donate generously to the APCF gala.
“I’ll wear the white-jacketed tux for the Clean Water for Africa fund-raiser,” he began. Most of the tuxedos were all black. One had traditional notch lapels, another a thin shawl collar that gave it a retro look. “This one for the cocktail reception with the film festival judges.”
Another was made of velvet, a fabric that was considered very chic right now although Zander wasn’t convinced it suited him. He didn’t assign that one to an evening. There was the two-button he’d wear with a black shirt. Then the charcoal with the double-breasted jacket, the navy with the black lapels that he quite liked, the all-navy one and the peak-lapel gunmetal gray.
“White shirt with everything but the two-button.”
Finally, he inspected the unusual tuxedo for the Mexican-themed gala that his stylist had ordered. With heavy black embroidery atop the shinier black fabric of the jacket’s lapels, it was a unique piece that would fit well with the evening.
After rattling off instructions for everything from cuff links to socks, Zander turned to the second closet. There were a dozen suits with coordinating shirts, ties and shoes. Casual clothes suitable for boating or country drives. Golf and tennis wear. Beach attire. Everything was in order.
Except his mind. Thoughts of the constant socializing and the superficial women who gravitated toward him, who cared only about what they could get from him, all felt so stale. Maybe it was the baby, but a longing was starting to grow in him. For something different. Something new.
He’d RSVP’d for all the season’s events as a party of two, not willing to face the firing squad alone, but really having no idea whom he’d bring along as his plus one. He’d planned to think of a platonic friend he could make easy chitchat with. Who wouldn’t immediately misread his invitation to accompany him as a proposal into his world.
Misjudging a woman’s intentions had only too recently stung him hard.
Frankly, he couldn’t think of a woman who would fit the bill, but he’d deal with that later.
Zander left his bedroom suite. Although he told himself he’d only poke his head in to see if she was fully awake, he instead gently pushed open the door and slipped into baby Abella’s bedroom.
“Well, look at you, Bell-bell.” She was sitting upright in her crib, her curly blond hair tousled this way and that. “You’re all the way awake already.”
“Up time,” she said, having only recently begun attempts at true conversation. “Up.”
“Yes, Bell-bell. Up.”
No further prompting was required. Zander hurried to the side of her crib to reach in, put each of his hands under the baby’s arms and lift her out. He brought her against his left shoulder, as had become his routine after Iris had taught him the proper way to securely hold a baby. Zander could never figure out what the gaga noise Abella made was meant to signify, but she always did it when he picked her up.
She twisted herself sideways a bit to stare at Zander’s face.
His eyes met hers. It was like looking in a mirror. Those dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped eyes that they had in common. The same almond eyes that his sister, Elise, had had. He could never look at Abella without thinking of his sister, his heart shattering at missing her so. Wishing he could rewrite the past so that Elise could be here right now and see how much Abella was growing and developing.
Zander and Abella continued the eye lock that they did frequently. Which he took as some kind of unspoken declaration of mutual love.
“Da,” Abella said.
Da. As in Daddy.
“No, Bell-bell. Uncle Zander. Can you say Zander?”
“Da.”
“Zan. How about you say Zan?”
“Da.”
Each time she uttered that syllable it was with more determination and certainty than the time before, despite his protests. The word filled Zander with confusion about the decisions that were going to have to be made. Maybe not today, but soon.
He held the baby closer, inhaling the lovely smell of that fruity, organic and toxin-free shampoo Iris used on her hair.
As Zander carried Abella into the living room, a grocer arrived with food. Iris came toward him to take Abella if that was what he so desired.
Not ready to let go just yet he said, “I’ll hold her for a while.”
With all the comings and goings, the front door was left open. Three quick knocks against the doorjamb brought Zander’s attention. It was the penthouse’s rental agent, who upon spotting Zander, folded one arm rigidly across his waist and bowed forward. He sputtered in a nervous voice, “Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?”
* * *
Four hours passed before Marie looked up from her laptop. Having combed through every single file her predecessor, Jic, had left, she finally had a grasp of what information there was and what more was required for her to move forward with the APCF events calendar.
She hadn’t been privy to why Jic abruptly up and left his position, only that he’d had some personal problems to attend to. The fact that some of the files were in decent shape and others were an indecipherable hodgepodge told her that Jic’s departure had been hasty and unplanned. He hadn’t left clear instructions for whoever was to take over. Marie had made as many notes as she could and jotted down questions to ask Felice at the end of the day.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something dark beyond the glass separating her office from the main work floor. As she lifted her face from the computer screen, what met her gaze was quite a surprise.
A man had his arm up, hand making a fist as if he was just about to knock on the glass to get her attention. But it wasn’t just any man. It was, without question, the most attractive man Marie had ever seen in her life. At least six feet three inches tall, he wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a brown belt, topped by a brown jacket. She thought the combination of the black and brown was impossibly tasteful.
The color palette didn’t stop with the clothes. His unusually shaped eyes were the darkest of browns, practically black, with his defined bone structure forming an unforgettable face. The crowning touch was a full head of thick, straight blond hair, expertly cut so that some fell forward from his forehead and the rest stayed put around his ears. Marie was sure there was never a hair out
