She’d never seen a room like this outside a movie. She glanced at the paintings and did a double take when she saw that they were abstract nudes. “This isn’t an office. It’s a bordello.”
“Didier will love that you think so,” Jamie said in a wry tone.
“I will love what?” a man said as he walked in carrying a silver tray. He was about the same size as Jamie, dark where Jamie was light, with black curly hair styled just so and the deeply bronzed skin of someone born with the desert in their soul. The way he was dressed, with slacks and an open-collared shirt under a sweater, the sleeves rolled up, and a scarf arranged around his neck, should have looked insipid—not to mention the purple velvet loafers—but somehow it looked elegant.
The way Jamie just reclined on the couch told her that this was normal for his colleague. “Jules said that your office looks like a bordello.”
The man shrugged as he set the tray in his hands down on the table. “It is an honest mistake, as I am very sensual.”
“Jules, this is Didier Pascal.” Jamie gestured to the extravagant man. “Didier, this is our new client, Julianne Emory.”
Watching her with a piercing gaze, Didier came and took her hand. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her cheek, but he just said, “Enchantée, Julianne.”
His eyes, though, were what stood out. They were sharp, like he saw past a person’s layers to what they tried to hide.
He said something more in French, and she didn’t understand it except that he gestured to the couch, so she supposed that he invited her to sit. “You’re French?” she asked as she set her bag and coat on a chair and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Jamie.
“Half French, half Moroccan.” He picked up a cup by its saucer and held it out to her.
She looked at it, for the first time smelling the aroma that emanated from it—something dark and rich and spicy. Mysterious. “What is it?”
“Coffee,” he said simply.
She’d never smelled coffee like this. Knowing this was some sort of initiation or test, she took the saucer and lifted the cup to her lips. “Thank you,” she said, meeting his gaze as she took a sip.
She paused as the flavor hit her tongue. She’d never tasted anything like it. She took another sip, focusing on it. “This isn’t like any coffee I’ve ever had.”
“It’s Moroccan coffee,” Didier said as he handed one to Jamie. He picked up a cup for himself and sat on a zebra chair, arranging his pants just so. “Mymamantaught me. It is good,non?”
“It’s delicious,” she murmured, taking another sip.
Thiswas what the bad boy’s kisses would taste like, she realized suddenly.
She choked.
“You all right?” Jamie asked.
She waved off his concern, setting the cup on the table next to her. “Fine,” she said, getting herself under control. She cleared her throat and then focused on the Frenchman. “I didn’t see you listed on the company website.”
Didier shrugged. “I am, how you say, a secret weapon.”
“Didier and I played football together for a long time, and he only recently retired.”
“I retired when you did,” Didier replied mildly.
“We’re grateful that he’s working with us while he takes this break from football,” Jamie continued, staring at his colleague.
The man arched his eyebrow. “I am not going back, if that is what you’re asking.”
“I’m more askingwhyyou aren’t going back,” he shot back.
“You can retire, but it makes no sense for me?” Didier asked calmly, looking at his friend over the rim of his little cup.
She looked between the two of them. They cared about each other, like she and Louisa did. She relaxed for the first time all morning. “Do you two need a moment?”
The two men looked at each other and came to some sort of silent agreement. Then they turned their attention completely to her. “You should tell Didier why you’re here, Jules,” Jamie said, relaxing against the back of the couch as he sipped his coffee.
She raised her brow. “You want me to believe that you haven’t briefed him?”