Claimed by the Millionaire: The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition

“Look at me.” She finally did. “What did Lucille ask you about?”

“I told you,” she said, dropping her gaze to his open collar.

“Why will you not look me in the eye?” he asked, his accent very pronounced.

“Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then do not lie to me.”

She shrugged again. The last thing she wanted to talk about was his personal life. Liar. “It was something she saw in Le Figaro.”

“About me and a woman?” he asked.

She nodded.

He didn’t say anything else, just stared down at her, and she started to feel really self-conscious. What if, somehow, he could read on her face that she was attracted to him? What if he picked up on that and it made working for him awkward? What if…?

“You have a conference call with Rene in fifteen minutes, and he just sent a lengthy e-mail that you should at least glance at before you talk to him,” she said, holding out a copy of the e-mail, which she’d printed out for him.

For a moment she didn’t think he was going to let her steer the conversation back to business.

“You are right, of course,” he said, taking the papers.

“I highlighted the topics for you and jotted down the information I had on each one.”

“Thank you, Ms. Donnelly. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

She flushed at the compliment. “You’re welcome.”

She watched until he walked into his office. She was going to kill Lucille. Not that the other woman could have known that Tristan would arrive while they were talking about him, but still….

She reached for the interoffice pouch and opened it. The magazine spilled out. The cover featured Tristan’s publicity shot but inset was another picture. The paparazzi hadn’t gotten a very good photo, but he looked very amorous, as did the woman wrapped around him. Sheri traced her finger over the line of his eyebrows, ignoring the headline and just concentrating on Tristan.

She was careful never to stare at him at work, that wouldn’t be appropriate, but—

“Ms. Donnelly?”

“Yes.”

“Put that magazine away.”

She blanched and opened her bottom desk drawer, tossing the tabloid in there. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I need the book for the Global Traveler.”

“Yes, sir. I think that Maurice has it down the hall,” she said, standing and leaving the office before he could say anything else to her.

Oh, man, this was so not good. Twice in less than ten minutes, he’d caught her slacking on the clock. One of his big no-nos. To be honest, she didn’t do a lot of it. But she had a feeling that wasn’t going to matter. If she wanted to move up the managerial ladder, perhaps someday become an associate publisher, she’d better not get fired.

She grabbed the book, the big mock-up binder of the issue they were currently working on for their Global Traveler magazine, and hurried back to Tristan’s office. He was on the speakerphone with his brother, Rene. The conversation was in French and she understood only about every third word they said. Tristan gestured for the book and she handed it to him before leaving the room.

She got back to her desk and saw an instant message from Lucille.

[L.Dumont] Did T walk in while we were talking?

[S.Donnelly] Yes.

[L.Dumont] Did you tell him what we were talking

about?

She thought about filling Lucille in but then decided better of it.

[S.Donnelly] I really can’t IM right now.

[L.Dumont] OK. Ping me when you can.

[S.Donnelly] Later.

Later, she thought. If she still had a job. She doubted that Tristan would fire her for talking on the phone, especially to Lucille, but she knew he wouldn’t hesitate if she gave him enough reason to believe she was more interested in his personal life than in her job.

“Do you need anything else before I go, Mr. Sabina?” Sheri asked right at five o’clock. Not that she had anything really interesting to go home to. But she’d made it a point not to stay late since Tristan had become her boss. She found she liked the office a little too much when only the two of them were still there.

Tristan glanced up from his phone, which he’d been staring at in…amazement? His bangs fell over his forehead, making him look devilishly handsome.

He looked at her assessingly, making her more nervous. “Actually I do have one more thing to discuss with you, something that has just come to my attention. Please come in and shut the door.”

Sheri tried to school her features as she entered the office but guessed she’d failed when he gave her another odd look. Was the tabloid conversation going to come up again?

She walked across the Italian marble floor to the thick Arabian carpet that lined the area in front of his desk. The Sabina Group was a first-class outfit all the way. No cheaply made faux-wood desks or cubicles for their offices. And Tristan’s office was a lush as they came. She took a seat on one of the leather wingback chairs that he had for guests.

“Before you say anything, let me apologize for looking at that magazine earlier. Sorry about that. I couldn’t resist seeing what Lucille was talking about.”

He shook his head. “No need` to apologize. I think I let my temper slip a bit when I saw what you were reading.”

“Why?”

“The paparazzi are always following me around. They can be a real nuisance,” he said.

He sounded almost bored, an air she knew he used to hide his anger. “You’ve been making the headlines a lot, lately,” she said.

“Our family always has. My grandmother was a famous actress in France, and my grandfather was a director. My family always generates a lot of interest.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Well, actually, there is.”

“What?” She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to be some kind of paparazzi lookout. “I’m not sure the celebrity photographers who follow you are going to disappear if I ask them to.”