Her Best Match (The Best Girls 1)

“Ms. Best—” Ghe

rring interrupted. But Anne continued in her apology.

“I really am sorry. It was just a waste of time—”

“Anne! You’re not fired.” He continued softly, “And your day at the spa was certainly not a waste of time.” His eyes raked up and down appraisingly with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Not a waste at all.”

Anne felt the blood rush to her face. He’d called her by her first name. And was he complimenting her? Surely not. He must be teasing her.

She searched her mind for a way to control the conversation. “Where’s Ms. Milan?”

Gherring glanced about the room and shrugged. “Oh she’s here somewhere, networking and publicizing.” He turned to Henri who’d been silently on guard. “Henri, can you spare a moment? I need to speak with you… privately.”

Henri caught Anne’s eyes with a silent question. “I’ll be fine,” she said, carefully releasing his arm. She joined back in her former conversation, standing unsupported while watching Gherring and Henri from the corner of her eye. The discussion was earnest, but she was relieved to find neither party seemed agitated. Gherring walked back with Henri who took his place at Anne’s side.

Suddenly, Margo Milan materialized beside Gherring, locking arms with him. The arrival of the beautiful model brought murmurs from the group. Men jockeyed for the opportunity to meet her and shake her hand, while their wives and dates stared at the willowy woman with flawless olive skin and black silky hair that fell in a straight edgy cut, just brushing her shoulders. Henri smiled at Margo, but made no move to meet her, remaining next to Anne as promised. However, Margo recognized Henri and coaxed Gherring to make introductions. “Steven, you haven’t introduced me to this handsome Frenchman.”

Gherring obliged her, with slight irritation edging his voice. “Margo, this is Henri DuBois. Henri… Margo Milan.”

Henri moved toward Margo, pulling Anne with him. “So nice to meet you, Ms. Milan.” Then in a particularly un-Henri move, he grabbed her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Enchanté. Gherring, as always, you find the most beautiful women. Perhaps someday you will learn how to keep them.”

Gherring looked daggers at Henri, while his muscles flexed along his jawline.

Henri continued. “And may I present mon ange from Texas, Ms. Anne Best?”

Anne held out her hand, but Margo ignored her, addressing Henri again. “Henri, you are from Paris, right? Perhaps I’ll run into you next month when we do our shoot in France.”

“Perhaps,” said Henri with no enthusiasm. “S’il vous plaît, if you will excuse us, I am suddenly thirsty.” Henri led Anne away to a table near the bar and snagged two sparkling waters from the waiter’s tray.

“She seemed really interested in you,” Anne said.

Henri rolled his eyes. “Those models, they are too skinny.”

“Ha! I don’t believe you for a moment.”

“Yes, they have sharp bones. The bones, they poke you. Who wants a boney woman?”

“So you must think I’m fat, then,” Anne accused playfully.

“No, you are perfect, as I tell you with the chocolates. Hmmm… There is one thing I can think. One thing is wrong with you.”

“What’s the one thing?”

“You are too far away from me.”

Anne’s face fell at the mention of the ocean that would soon separate them. “Perhaps you could come back and visit—”

“I mean now. You are too far away now. All the way across the table. I like having you stand close to me all night. In fact, I think we should get closer still.”

Anne’s eyes grew wide.

“I think we should dance,” he said.

Anne giggled in relief. “I don’t think I could dance in these shoes.”

“This song is slow, and I will hold you up.”

Anne glanced at the dance floor near the stage. “There’s no one else dancing.”