A Vengeful Affair Page 8

  If he’s the lion, what am I? Dinner?

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Educate me.” Javier crossed his arms.

  For a moment, she wished she could. Her conversation with Roger had left her with a nagging feeling that wouldn’t go away. Something didn’t add up. After Molly’s funeral, Vivian hadn’t had time to talk to Molly’s mother, Laura. She was a reserved woman, distant. Vivian had never felt a connection to her, and Molly and Laura weren’t close. But Laura hadn’t deserved to lose her daughter.

  Vivian had felt such sympathy for Laura, forced to cope with her daughter’s death and to pay the unexpected costs of the funeral. Roger had played on that sympathy—and now it seemed he’d been lying to her.

  What else might he have lied about?

  But the facts remained. Molly had fallen for Javier. He’d broken it off, left her a threatening message, and then Molly had ended up dead. Vivian couldn’t believe Molly would have killed herself.

  She couldn’t believe Javier was an innocent party in what had happened to her best friend.

  Vivian swallowed the stubborn lump in her throat. “The French paintings are up ahead.”

  A couple minutes later, she was drawn to the famous painting of Napoleon crowning Josephine, and she viewed the huge oil canvas on the dark red wall with a sad smile. There it was in all its glory in front of her—rich colors, precise details. The blushing woman receiving the title of empress as a man held up the crown, high and proud, before the gathered monarchs.

  She looked over her shoulder and saw Javier checking his phone.

  The painting drew her back. Josephine had been dishonest to Napoleon before starting to love him. And when she had finally been ready for honesty, it was too late. Once Napoleon found out about the way she’d misbehaved in Paris while he was away at war, his feelings for her changed. Later, they divorced.

  Relationships based on lies never survived.

  “She betrayed him,” Javier said from behind her, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

  “Maybe at first, but at the end it was different.”

  “The end is never different.” His voice was cold.

  “Is that one of the mottos you live by?” Vivian glanced at him over her shoulder. “That all women are the same? That must make it easy when you break their hearts.” Or worse.

  “I don’t think they’re all the same. Take you, for instance, Vivian Foster.” He spoke her name with a drawl, long and drawn-out, as if it were some difficult mathematical equation. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

  “Why is that?”

  He stepped forward, and although the spacious section where they stood was virtually empty, she felt as though the whole room had filled with his presence.

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  “Javier…is there any chance your investigator hired the men to follow Molly?” she asked. “Do you know him well?” Do you know what he’s capable of?

  “I’ve used him a couple of times in the past, when I needed background information on high-profile business associates. I doubt he would do such thing. His name is Matt Smith.”

  “Where was he when she died?” Vivian asked.

  “Eating noodle soup,” he said sarcastically. “Watching television. With a woman. I don’t know, Vivian.”

  She parted her lips to respond—and then hesitated. She had to consider all the possibilities. Molly had been very attractive. What if this Matt fellow had been involved with Molly, or had wanted to be? What if he’d become obsessed with her? There were all sorts of lunatics in the world.

  She stared at the painting in silence.

  Javier’s phone rang, and he stepped away to take the call.

  …

  Javier glanced at the caller ID and shook his head. He’d been waiting for Matt to call him back with more information, but no luck.

  “Hello?”

  “Javier, hello.” Edouard greeted him. “I’m calling to ask you about your friend, Vivian. I wondered if she’d be available to join us for dinner tonight.”

  Javier’s blood pounded thick in his veins. He’s calling me to ask Vivian out?

  Had it been any man other than Edouard, his answer would have been far less diplomatic. However, he was less than a day away from signing the merger, and with that in mind, he managed to say lightly, “I’m afraid she already has plans.”

  “Oh, but I meant for all of us to have dinner. Mind you, I will have some company myself.” The Frenchman chuckled.

  “Perhaps we can arrange something for next week?” Javier suggested.

  By next week, he would have his merger complete, and what Vivian thought of him would no longer matter. By then, he would either have found out more about her or convinced her he hadn’t killed Molly. His chest tightened.

  Vivian would no longer be his concern. Why did the thought bring him no relief?

  “But it would be a great opportunity for us to meet one more time before the big signing tomorrow. It will of course be an intimate gathering, not a business affair. I just need your strong presence to give this old man peace of mind before signing my life away tomorrow.”

  It didn’t take a genius to read between the lines. Javier’s presence was mandatory—and so was Vivian’s.

  He breathed out carefully, rubbing his hand over his forehead.

  Vivian looked as still as a statue in front of the painting.

  She hadn’t known who Edouard was when they danced. There was no connection between her and the Broussard merger. And apparently Edouard would be busy with a companion of his own.

  This could hardly be a trap. But Javier didn’t trust it.

  “We’ll cancel our plans for tonight and meet you for dinner,” he said.

  “Wonderful. I will wait for you at my house, at seven.”

  He hung up the phone and walked over to Vivian. “We have dinner plans.”

  Chapter Six

  Vivian looked out the window as the limousine made its way through tall wrought iron gates and passed by a seemingly endless stretch of manicured gardens and century-old trees.

  All through the drive to the elegant mansion on the outskirts of Paris, she had alternated among shifting in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and running her fingers nervously through her loose hair. She looked across at Javier. He wore black pants and a black shirt, which enhanced the color of his eyes and his deep olive skin.

  Had Edouard called him—summoned them to this dinner—to tell Javier what she had said? What would happen?

  “Interesting how he remembered you,” Javier said. “He even remembered your name. Why?”

  Vivian straightened her shoulders. “If you must know, he told me I resemble his daughter.”

  “You are saying he’s not interested in you?”

  “I’m confident he’s not interested in me the way you think.”

  “In the way that I am,” he challenged, spacing out the words. His eyes swept over her figure, and his lips turned upward in a slow, indecent smile.

  “Most definitely in no such way.” She managed to say it matter-of-factly, wrapping her black scarf around her neck and wishing she’d worn something with more coverage than the dark red halter dress with a V neckline.

  The limousine parked at the entrance of a luxurious house. “We’re here,” she said.

  A tall man dressed in a butler’s uniform opened the door before they even rang the bell and ushered them into the living room.

  Edouard appeared behind the butler, smiling. “Javier. Vivian. How nice to see you both.”

  Javier and Edouard shared an amicable handshake, and then the old man greeted Vivian with a smile and a kiss on both cheeks. “I appreciate you two indulging this older man for some company.” He signaled for them to sit on the L-shaped sofa.

  “Thank you for having us. Your place is quite beautiful.” Vivian’s eyes took in the hardwood floors, the Persian rugs, the oversized fireplace, and the imperi
al art pieces hanging on the beige stone walls. His house was luxurious and tastefully decorated.

  The butler reappeared with a bottle of wine and a beautiful crystal tray of cheeses, pâtés, caviars, and pastries. As he poured wine in their flutes, the doorbell rang, and Edouard chose to open the door himself.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve asked someone else join us,” Edouard said as he walked to the hallway.

  “Is that your companion for the evening?” Javier asked, sneaking his arm around Vivian’s waist. His fingers tapped nervously against her side, and her dress proved no protection against the scorching sensation. His obviously possessive gesture left her confused. Did he still think she was somehow interested in a man old enough to be her father? And why would he care?

  “She’s a dear friend, and we both know her,” Edouard answered casually. He greeted the newcomer and brought her into the living room. “Dominique, I am so pleased you could join us.”

  Vivian turned her head to see a petite blond woman wearing a dark pink dress that complemented every single curve. Dominique greeted Javier with delight, kissing both his cheeks and saying something in French with a teasing look. Javier didn’t appear happy to see her. Then her eyes met Vivian’s, and if for a moment the Frenchwoman was surprised, she hid it very well, offering a brief “hello” before continuing to bat her long eyelashes at Javier.

  Vivian had no idea what to make of it. She looked at Edouard, who sent her an amused wink.

  For the next hour, Vivian watched, her stomach in knots, as Javier kept his temper. Barely. He responded with sympathy to Edouard, smoothly avoided Dominique’s advances, and often rested his eyes on Vivian, tracking her every move.

  Why did he dislike Dominique so much? Was she his lover or a former lover he didn’t want Vivian to meet? Vivian looked across the table at her. Of course, she had to be petite and slim, with blond hair that cascaded down her shoulders.

  She also had a shrewd awareness to her. This woman was no blond bimbo, Vivian was certain of that.

  “So, Vivienne…” Dominique said after they’d been seated for dinner.

  “It’s Vivian.”

  “Mais oui…Vivian. You and Javier are business-related, I gather?”

  “Vivian is someone who’s made it impossible for me not to want to know more about her,” Javier said.

  Vivian was grateful for the rescue, although she didn’t feel the least bit safe with his dark eyes raking over her.

  “There you go.” Vivian turned to Dominique. “Are you and Edouard longtime acquaintances?”

  “I’m remodeling his house in Saint-Tropez. I’ve also remodeled Javier’s penthouse in Monaco.” Dominique looked at Javier, who simply nodded. “And what do you do, Vivian?”

  “Most of the time, I do as I please,” Vivian replied. She knew the woman would laugh if she mentioned she worked as a receptionist, and she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

  Javier bestowed Vivian with an admiring smile.

  For the rest of dinner, Javier paid little attention to Dominique, and Dominique became increasingly upset. Edouard smoothed the atmosphere with light jokes and good-spirited comments. After dinner, they returned to the living room for coffee and dessert wine.

  Dominique cornered Javier near a large window, talking to him quietly in French. She appeared to be angry. Vivian was now certain the French woman had had an affair with Javier and that it had ended badly—at least for Dominique. She could tell by the woman’s body language that she wanted another chance with Javier.

  Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Edouard, who looked at her with amusement. He must have been watching her as she observed the interaction across the room.

  Vivian looked down, feeling ashamed. She had reached a new low: speculating about Javier’s love life. What a stupid waste of time…

  I have to regroup.

  She needed to splash some cold water on her face to cool her down and bring her to her senses.

  “Where is the restroom?” Vivian asked.

  “I’ll show you, Mademoiselle Foster.” The butler gestured for her to follow him, and as she walked from the room, she was aware of Javier’s gaze fixed on her.

  After using the facilities, she stepped into the wide hall, closing the bathroom door behind her. A sudden shadow in the hall startled her, making her gasp.

  Edouard quickly stepped into the light. “Shh…” The older man approached her silently, finger to his lips. “I want to ask you about Molly Richardson.”

  Vivian nodded without speaking.

  “I’ve tried calling you at the hotel, but it was impossible to contact you.”

  “So you came up with the dinner idea.” Vivian smiled. The presence of Dominique now made complete sense. Edouard had invited one of Javier’s former flames to make sure he’d be kept busy enough that Edouard could whisk her away for a talk.

  “Yes. Vivian, I take requests seriously. People who are in trouble often have a hard time admitting it.” His expression grew serious. “Are you in trouble, my dear?”

  Vivian took a deep breath. “Molly Richardson was Javier’s project manager in London. They had an affair that ended badly. She died two weeks afterward. The police ruled it a suicide, but I have my doubts.”

  Edouard grimaced.

  “After the end of the affair, Molly was hurting. She tried to sabotage an important business deal by sharing information with an opponent. Javier couldn’t afford any bad press. He fired her and tried to buy her off, but she refused to take his money.” Vivian glanced behind Edouard to make sure they remained alone and unheard.

  Edouard scratched his chin, his expression enigmatic.

  “She told me a couple of men began to follow her every move. One day, she came home to find her flat turned upside down. Molly said one of the men manhandled her. She concluded that Javier had hired them to bully her into not selling any information she got her hands on.” Vivian’s voice trembled with emotion.

  “Did she look for help?”

  Vivian shook her head. “She said he threatened that if she went to the police, he would also sue her for having tried to sell insider information.” Vivian could still hear Molly sobbing when she told the story.

  “Who else knows about this?”

  “She only told me about the whole thing after she couldn’t take it anymore, shortly before her death. Maybe her mother knows, although they were estranged. And there’s someone else involved—someone I can’t tell you about. He knows it and may use it in his favor.” Vivian clenched her hands, slippery with sweat.

  This was what she had hoped for, wasn’t it? To tell Edouard her story…so why didn’t it feel like a victory?

  “If this goes to the media, it won’t be good for my foundation.” Edouard sighed. “I will have this investigated. I have to be ready, in case anyone uses the press. I must find out the truth.”

  Vivian nodded.

  “I must ask you, though…do you really believe Javier would kill someone and make it look like a suicide?”

  Edouard’s question hit her with the force of a thousand bricks. Not because it was unexpected, but because it was the question that had been nagging at her conscience. The question she’d been ignoring all day.

  Did she really think Javier was a killer?

  Did she really believe she was doing the right thing?

  “I’ve brought it up to him, and he denied any wrongdoing. During the time I’ve spent with him, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me.” Vivian’s voice wavered. She had to be fair to Javier, but she had to be fair to Molly, too. “But I knew Molly for fourteen years, and I swear she didn’t kill herself. Maybe the man Javier hired to investigate Molly would have some more information. His name is Matt Smith.” Vivian glanced at Edouard. His face showed concern, but she couldn’t read anything else.

  “This may sound crazy,” she said, “but in the beginning I wanted to make Javier pay.”

  “And take away his merger?” Edouard concluded.


  “I’m a horrible person, I know.” She closed her eyes tightly.

  “You are either a horrible person or a great friend.” He smiled with compassion. “And I will find out soon.”

  “How?”

  “I have my ways. I might have to delay my business transactions with him, though.” He took a business card out of his pocket. “Call me if you need anything.”

  When Vivian rejoined the others a couple of minutes later, she could tell by Dominique’s unpleasant expression that the Frenchwoman hadn’t liked her chat with Javier at all.

  Vivian sympathized. She hadn’t enjoyed her chat with Edouard, either.

  …

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Javier said as the car cut through the streets of Paris.

  It was the first time he’d spoken since leaving Edouard’s mansion. He gave a quick order in French, and the driver stopped the limousine. Javier got out first, then helped her out. Her hand tingled where his fingers brushed against hers.

  “Why do you want to walk?”

  Vivian’s high heels clicked on the concrete of the sidewalk along the Seine. It was dark, and the streets had emptied. She glanced at the river and thought of how many couples had shared kisses, declarations of love, or lover’s tiffs on its bridges, on the sidewalks surrounding it, and on the cruise boats that navigated its waters.

  “I’d rather do something else, but walking is safer,” he said quietly.

  Safer for whom?

  Javier slowed down his pace and came to a full stop, prompting her to do the same. He leaned down just enough for her to hear him if he were to speak, but not enough so that his breath would whisper over her skin. Vivian held her own breath for as long as she could before inhaling in small gasps.

  “Whatever else you had in mind,” she said, “I’m sure Dominique would love to oblige.”

  He shook his head. “But I don’t want Dominique.”

  His gaze slid over her, dropping to her lips and breasts. Vivian’s nipples hardened, reacting to the command he silently gave. If he had said he wanted her, her reaction would be no less instantaneous.

  “You slept with her, so she’s no longer a novelty?”