We'll Always Have Paris

All she had to do was pretend to be in love with Simon.

And how hard could that be?

Years earlier, when she had still been dreaming of making it to Broadway, Clara had done a drama course. Her acting career had been humiliatingly short, but she could still pull out the stops when she tried.

Putting on a bright smile, she stepped just a little closer to Simon and stuck out her hand to Astrid. ‘Hello, I’m Clara.’

It was pretty clear that Astrid hadn’t registered Clara’s presence up to that point. Clara wasn’t offended. If she had Paolo on her arm, she wouldn’t notice anyone else either, and it wasn’t as if Clara was a likely rival for his interest, more was the pity.

Still, Astrid’s perfect brows drew together as she took in Clara’s appearance, and when her perfect green eyes reached the hem of Clara’s mini-dress, the perfect mouth definitely tightened.

‘Hello,’ she said with marked coolness.

Clara pretended not to notice. ‘Simon was brilliant, wasn’t he?’ She threw Simon an adoring look.

The feedback at the end of her drama course had been succinct: stick to dancing. If only her tutors could see her now! They might change their minds about her acting abilities. She deserved a gleaming statuette at least for convincing Astrid that she was starstruck by Simon Valentine, Clara decided.

‘I’ve just felt so inspired about the economy since meeting Simon,’ she cooed. ‘I’ve learnt so much, haven’t you?’

Simon unfolded his lips. ‘Astrid is a hedge fund manager.’

Clara didn’t have a clue what a hedge fund manager was, but she gathered from Simon’s tone and Astrid’s expression that there was little the other woman had to learn about economics.

‘How exciting,’ she said, bestowing a kind smile on Astrid. ‘Did you enjoy Simon’s lecture anyway?’

‘Of course,’ said Astrid. She glanced from Clara to Simon. ‘I’ve heard him talk before, obviously.’

Obviously.

‘It’s still a thrill for me every time.’ Clara thought that was a clever touch, hinting that she had sat through hours of economic lectures just for the pleasure of listening to Simon’s voice. Talk about devoted!

Astrid hesitated. ‘I just thought it would be a good idea for you and Paolo to meet, Simon,’ she said, effectively cutting Clara out of the conversation.

It was Clara’s cue to make an excuse and leave, but instead she put a hand on Simon’s arm and beamed at the other two, not budging. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she assured them, very aware of Simon, who had gone rigid at her touch.

Baulked of the tête-à-tête she so plainly desired, Astrid had to concede defeat. ‘Well, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow,’ she said to Simon, pointedly ignoring Clara. ‘Paolo, we’d better go.’

‘Whenever you want, cara.’ The smirk Paolo sent Simon was a classic, and Simon glowered after the Italian as he sauntered off with Astrid.

‘Did you see that?’ he demanded. ‘She’s actually with a man who carries a handbag!’

She had got that right, anyway. ‘I think you’ll find they’re called carry-alls,’ said Clara.

‘It looked like a handbag to me,’ snarled Simon. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and rounded on her.

‘And what did you think you were doing barging in on a private conversation, anyway?’

The brown eyes looked guilelessly back at him. ‘I thought you’d be glad of my help.’

‘Help?’ He glowered at her. ‘What for?’

‘You want Astrid back, don’t you?’

‘What?’ Simon was completely thrown. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked involuntarily and then glowered some more, furious with himself for such a revealing remark.

‘Well, you could have hung a sign saying “jealous loser” round your neck,’ said Clara, evidently quite undaunted by his thunderous expression, ‘but otherwise it’s hard to see how you could have made it more obvious!’

Feeling his mouth fall open in a gape, Simon snapped it shut. Who was this girl? She had some nerve, he had to give her that! Nobody else he knew—apart from his mother, perhaps—would think of talking to him that way.

‘Astrid didn’t like me being with you, you know,’ she went on knowledgeably.

‘You’re not with me!’

‘But she doesn’t know that, does she?’

Simon was beginning to wonder if he was having a particularly vivid and unsettling dream. His life was black and white and firmly under control. He didn’t talk about relationships. He didn’t let himself get trapped into bizarre conversations with young women who wore vibrant colours and inappropriately short skirts and who appeared to have no compunction about barging in on other people’s conversations or offering unsolicited advice.

‘Any fool can see why Astrid is with Paolo—I mean, he’s seriously hot—but she’s clearly still got a thing about you.’ Clara couldn’t quite manage to keep the bafflement from her voice, Simon noted. ‘Instead of you glaring at Paolo, you need to make her jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ echoed Simon, even as he wondered why he was even having this conversation.

Clara nodded encouragingly. ‘Make her wonder what she’s missing,’ she said.

‘And this is any of your business because …?’

‘Like I say, I can help you. I don’t mind hanging around and simpering at you whenever you’re likely to meet Astrid. She won’t like the idea that you’re with me at all, and if you can’t make the most of the situation when she tells you how jealous she is, I wash my hands of you.’

Unbelievable. What kind of world was Clara Sterne living in? Simon regarded her with his most sardonic expression.

‘And in return for this sacrifice on your part? Or can I guess?’

‘Well, you’re not stupid,’ said Clara, ‘so yes, you probably can. All you’d have to do in return is present a one-hour film.’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘Well? Do we have a deal?’

She didn’t seriously expect him to agree to that nonsense, did she? Ruin his reputation as a serious economist by taking part in some sentimental twaddle?

‘Not exactly,’ said Simon, ‘but I do have a deal to offer you.’

He crooked a finger in conspiratorial fashion and her face lit up. ‘Really?’ she said, leaning closer. Simon got a whiff of a fresh citrusy scent.

‘Really,’ he said.

‘What’s the deal?’

‘It’s a very simple one. You go away and leave me alone, and I won’t call Security to throw you out. How’s that for an offer?’

Clara recoiled in disappointment. ‘Oh, but please …’

Unmoved by the pleading brown eyes, Simon looked at his watch. ‘I’ll count to ten, then I’m calling Security.’