Mistress for Hire Read Free Page A

neighborhood as the dessert queen, as Mimi urged visitors to sample Nikki’s creations. Her biggest problem had been finding ingredients more exotic than the basics of flour, butter, and sugar. But none of it mattered now.
    The sun broke through the morning mist as the sidewalks grew more crowded. A young lady jostled against her, splashing a cardboard cup of coffee down the front of her cape. “Stupid tourist,” the woman muttered as she flung her scarf around her neck.
    She cringed, wiping ineffectually at the stain. She longed to sit down at a café and rest her feet, but felt compelled to keep moving. If she didn’t find a job, she’d be sleeping on a park bench come nightfall, and one night of sleeping in public at the train station had been quite enough. Now she understood what people meant when they talked about sleeping with one eye open. A man slid up the gate of a corner grocery and gave her a smile. Feeling a bit of courage from his friendliness, she stopped to inquire about job possibilities. Fifteen minutes later, she had only an apple to show for her efforts as she’d felt compelled to buy something in return for the man’s time. With a sigh, she stuffed it in her backpack for lunch.
    She pulled out her cell phone and called her sister. Again, no answer. A tingle of fear traveled her spine. She pushed up her glasses and leaned against a black iron lamp post feeling utterly defeated. How could she have been fool enough to trust Jessica? She stood up straight and stalked down the street, no destination in mind.
    Nikki stopped short at the stone wall overlooking the Seine. A chill wind ruffled the water and stung her cheeks. The thought of throwing herself on the mercy of the American embassy embarrassed her. She pushed her cell phone back into her knapsack and Gérard Beauvais’s card scraped against her hand. He had offered her a job, even if his kindness had been prompted by Madame. In her spare time she could continue job hunting at bakeries. She chewed on her lip as she stood on the street corner and studied the elegant lettering. Even if she had money, going back home wouldn’t solve anything. Her father was dead and last she’d heard her mother was living with her fifth husband in a Florida trailer park. At least if she went to see Beauvais, it could lead to something. If she went back to Loray, she might as well resign herself to working at the factory the rest of her life and baking pastries for neighbors who didn’t appreciate the difference between a sour dough baguette and a phyllo napoleon.
    With a pounding heart, Nikki pulled out the city map she’d bought at the train station. Gérard Beauvais’ offices were only a few blocks away. Her tense fingers bent the business card.
    She would simply ignore the jolt of instant attraction for Beauvais that had hit like a hammer to her gut. It had probably been the ache of hunger.
    In no time, she stood in front of the glass door. Beauvais Investments swirled in gold script like filigree. Nikki pulled out her ponytail elastic and smoothed her hair back, redoing it into a bun at the back of her head. She fished around in her backpack for her one concession to feminine vanity—her Hint of Berry lipstick—and hoped she applied it straight.
    Taking a deep breath, she went through the entrance only to find an empty office with two desks, a visitor’s couch, and a closed door. A deep, muffled voice could be heard behind the door. His voice . She stepped onto the plush cream carpet and surveyed the clean-topped, modern wooden desks. The click of high heels sounded in the corridor outside. Secretaries were there to keep the public out, not let strangers in. Without a second thought, she shed her backpack and second-hand cape and marched into Gérard Beauvais’s office.
    She closed the door behind her. Monsieur Beauvais glanced up, no apparent surprise showing on his face. He covered the phone with his hand.
    “It’s a little early for lunch,