“Thanks for listening,” he said. “Even though you have every reason not to.”
She waited until he’d picked up the beer and stepped down to the sidewalk. “Why do you think I’m listening?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “If it were me, I’d have kicked my ass to the curb when you opened the dressing room door on Jade. Maybe you like the fantasy.”
The thought intrigued her. “What do you fantasize about?”
“You, Simone.” His voice was clear, direct, flexing like a blade through the sultry Manhattan night air. “I fantasize about you. God knows I want you. Every time I see you I want more of you. I want to have all of you.”
The temptation to kiss him and ignite the naked yearning in his voice nearly overpowered her. She was a grown woman with multiple affairs and relationships behind her, and no qualms about casual sex. But the hope of something more than a casual affair stopped her.
“You can have me. All you have to do is tell me the truth,” she said.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t. I can’t, and I can’t talk about why I can’t.”
“I’m not intrigued by mysterious, tortured men,” she said.
“Now who’s lying?” he said, but he tempered the words with a rueful smile. “You’re tempted. You’re just too smart to fall for it. And I’m too much of a jerk to make it easy on you.”
“I don’t want easy. The truth is anything but simple or easy or free of pain.”
“I can’t,” he said again.
“I won’t give in,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ll be back.”
She didn’t have a response to that. Don’t come back wasn’t an option, but neither was come to bed with me. Frustrated, she got the last word. “The truth, Ryan. That’s all I ask.” Then she got to her feet in silence, and left him sitting on her stoop.
***
On the night of her dinner date with Stéphane, the host guided her through Bouley to a quiet table. Stéphane watched her the whole way. His heavy-lidded, amused gaze raised her hackles a little, but she let it go. While he wasn’t in the fashion industry, he spent enough time on its periphery and possessed a Frenchman’s love of fine things. Tonight she wore a design that combined elements of her brother’s work with her own: a teal silk pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees, and a fitted jacket in a teal brocade with a wide folded shawl collar that revealed her collarbone almost to her shoulders. The brocade pattern was inspired by Japanese design elements—koi, dragons, the symbol for fire. She and her brother had traveled to Japan together several years prior. Simone had gone on to design a line of Japanese–inspired loungewear and lingerie, while her brother worked elements into an extremely successful couture line. Underneath, a matching teal silk full-coverage corset laced her tight, transforming what could be stodgy into sheer seduction. The color glowed in the candlelit restaurant. Her hair was confined in a smooth French twist, the better to show off the jacket’s design and her own bone structure.
When she reached the table Stéphane rose and quietly shooed away the host to kiss Simone on either cheek and seat her himself. “Bonsoir, Stéphane,” she said, keeping her back straight as she eased into the chair.
“Bonsoir, Simone,” he replied. The hovering host placed her serviette across her lap, then handed her the wine list. “Have you chosen wine?” she said.
“I ordered a Francois Raveneau. Would you like to start with the oysters?”
The waiter appeared with a bottle of wine, which Stéphane sampled and approved while Simone studied the specials, and gave them a few minutes to look over the menu. When she’d chosen the chilled Wellfleet oysters and the lamb, she sipped her wine.
“First, a little business,” Stéphane said, and slid a folio of papers across the table to her. “You’re doing well, a little ahead of projections. You could easily repay your business loan early.”
“Good,” she said, scanning the balance sheets and summary statement before tucking them away in her bag. “Just as I anticipated.”
“And how is your family? Your father? Is he well?”
“They’re all very well, thank you for asking. Papa has had to give up some of his travel schedule, but Julian’s more than ready to step in. He’ll be back in the fall for Fashion Week, and I know he’d love to see you.”
“And I him.”
The waiter arrived and took their orders. “And how is your mother?” Simone asked when he’d left. “Still distraught over you leaving Paris?”