A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“I don’t remember dreaming about India. What exactly did I say?”

“You said…don’t go. You said,” I took a deep breath, “love you…don’t leave me.”

His brow furrowed. Then he flushed as a spark of recollection entered his eyes. “Vera––that was the night you ran from me. I was dreaming about you. It was a nightmare actually, you kept running and I couldn’t reach you.”

I inhaled sharply. And all this time I thought…

“I love you,” I said, much louder this time. And he proceeded to convince me with his words and his body that he felt the same way.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

François came in to pick up his dinner after one of his long bicycle rides. The rest of the staff had already eaten. I sensed that he was lonely, needed someone to talk to, so I poured him a tall glass of water and invited him to sit on the kitchen stool while I peeled green apples for Mrs. Arnaud’s famous apple tarte tatin.

“How’s the training going, Lance Armstrong?” I teased.

“Mon Dieu, don’t mention that name to a cyclist. You know they are considering stripping him of his championship titles.”

“Really?”

“He was doping. His entire career apparently. Bloody shame––do you ever watch television?” he replied, teasing me for a change.

“No––medical school and life in general.”

“Good excuse.” His friendly face split with a broad grin. “Training is going well. I’m up to riding 50 km’s a work out and taking three days off in between.”

I looked up in the silent pause and found him staring at my lips. He quickly averted his eyes, but it still managed to embarrass me, a faint flush prickling my collarbone. François had always been a gentlemen and I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, lead him on in any way. I cherished his friendship.

Of course Mr. Impeccable Timing walked in, took in the scene, and came to an abrupt halt. His gaze turned glacial when it settled on poor, unsuspecting François. Recognizing the death stare for what it was, François stood up quickly. Sebastian’s attention slid to me. “Vera, you can bring my dinner to my office.”

“Yes, sir.” Had to keep up appearances, although it galled me to address him in that manner. The awkwardness increased times ten when Sebastian didn’t leave the kitchen right away, as he should have. Instead, he stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at François, and bullied him into leaving first. It didn’t take much. François needed the job. He had a three year old daughter to support and, as a good father, he wouldn’t jeopardize his salary for the sake of a pissing contest. After thanking me profusely for packing up his dinner, François left through the kitchen door. As soon as the door shut behind him, I turned towards Sebastian with a withering scowl.

“What?” The innocent expression that followed the query made my blood boil.

“You know what.”

“You’re mad?”

“I’m not having this discussion when anybody can walk in. I’ll be in you office in twenty minutes.”

In no mood for a debate, I turned away, essentially dismissing him. He stood there for a while, lingering––certainly unaccustomed to being told what to do. But eventually he left, albeit reluctantly. His answer to any problem was bully it, buy it, or run it over and I wasn’t going to allow him to do any of those things to me.

Once the Scottish salmon was done baking, I arranged it on a dish with some grilled vegetables from the garden and roasted potatoes, and headed to his office.

The door was wide open.

“…twelve million––” The voice belonged to a woman. “and there’s more, look at this…” It was booming, and held a hard edge; this woman would whisper under any circumstance. On the contrary, she sounded like the type to flaunt rather than apologize for anything. “I knew there was something irregular about these deposits but…well, I figured you already knew about them and had okayed it with accounting,” she continued. An employee of the bank apparently.

“I didn’t know shit about this. When are the auditors coming in?” Sebastian’s worry was palpable. Whatever was being discussed must have been significant to get him so distressed.

“In ten days. There’s time. Don’t freak out yet––that’s my job. You’re the one that’s supposed to play it cool, ride in and fix this if I can’t.”

“This isn’t funny, Shay. Where did the wires originate from?”

“That’s the shady part…a Panamanian bank. They keep taking messages and not calling me back. I haven’t been able to get any information out of them.”

“Fuck!! Fuck, how long has this has been going on? Have you spoken to Charles?”

“No way. I figured you would want to do that.”

Realizing that his food was getting cold, I knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He stood with his fists planted on the desk, hovering over some papers while she looked over his shoulder. They both glanced up when I entered. She was very tall with a sleek mane of red hair that looked natural, and wore a sophisticated, camel colored suit with a feminine cut that accentuated her voluptuous figure. Her porcelain skin was line free, even though she was probably around forty. Her intelligent, brown eyes followed me as I crossed the room.