Helen Bianchin - The Husband Assignment

‘The need for a clear head?’

‘Of course,’ she returned coolly. ‘The evening’s purpose is focused on discussions about marketing strategies for the movie.’ She turned her attention to Michel. ‘I trust you’ve had an opportunity to examine the paperwork?’

‘Perhaps we could leave any business discussion until after we’ve ordered our starter and main?’ Raoul suggested imperturbably.

Stephanie directed him a studied glance, and met his level gaze. ‘If you’d prefer, Mr. Lanier.’

‘Raoul,’ he insisted silkily.

‘Raoul,’ she conceded, imitating his slightly accented intonation. If he wanted to play a game of verbal thrust and parry, she’d prove she could be his equal.

Her resolve deepened the color of her eyes and lent a slight tilt to her chin.

It amused and intrigued him. Most…no, all, he mentally amended, women of his acquaintance tended to assume a mantle of coquetry, some subtle, others distinctly blatant, in his presence. Cynicism acquired at a young age had taught him that wealth and social status provided the attraction. Experience hadn’t changed his opinion.

A waiter approached their table, conferred over the choice of starters, and at a request from Michel, provided a knowledgeable dissertation regarding the merits of each main dish on the menu before taking their order.

Stephanie lifted her glass and sipped the contents. Despite the apparent social implications, this evening was business, and she intended to relay the pertinent aspects of marketing strategy, outline the precise course it would take for this particular film, then she would leave.

If Raoul, Michel and Sandrine chose to linger or move on to the bar, that was their choice.

She replaced her glass onto the table and directed her attention toward Michel. ‘I’ve already outlined the major facets of film marketing strategy in an appendix among the paperwork handed to you this afternoon,’ she began formally. She was aware of Raoul’s studied gaze, and chose to ignore it.

‘Briefly to recap, when the completed film is delivered to us from the studio, it receives a private viewing by several people, about thirty in all. Various meetings are held to discuss the target market, what age group the film will most appeal to, which segments should be selected for the trailer.’ It was an involved process, and one in which she excelled. ‘We need to determine which shots will appear in press releases to television and the media, overseas and locally.’

Raoul noted the way her skin took on a glow beneath the muted lighting, the small gestures she used to emphasis a point. The liking for her job seemed genuine, and her enthusiasm didn’t appear to be contrived. Unless he was mistaken, this was no hard sell by a corporate executive intent on personal success at any price.

‘In order to heighten public awareness of the film, we’ll organize a fashion shoot with one or more of the prestige fashion magazines, and arrange coverage in at least two of the major national weekly magazines. As well as local and interstate newspapers.’

The waiter approached the table and set down their selected starters, and almost on cue the wine steward appeared to top up their drinks.

‘It would be advantageous to utilize Sandrine’s modeling connections to the fullest extent,’ Stephanie continued as she reached for her cutlery. ‘We’ll also arrange for you to be present at a few social events and organize media coverage. Press interviews will be set up with the main actors and a few of the cast, the release of which appear simultaneously to draw public attention to the film.’

‘Impressive,’ Michel drawled, incurring a sharp glance from his wife.

‘Laudable,’ Raoul inclined in agreement. ‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate—your degree of dedication to this particular project?’

‘Total,’ she responded, then qualified evenly, ‘With one exception. In terms of personal family crisis, my daughter Emma takes precedence.’

‘Not optimum,’ Raoul discounted, employing an edge of ruthlessness.

A deliberate strategy to place her behind the eight ball? ‘You have no obligations whatsoever, Mr. Lanier?’ she posed smoothly. ‘No wife or mistress who has license to your time?’ Her gaze lanced his, level, unwavering, undeterred by the warning glint apparent. ‘Or does business consume your life to the exclusion of all else?’

It was possible to hear a pin drop within the immediate vicinity of their table. No one, she imagined, had dared to confront Raoul Lanier in such a manner.

‘A subtle query on your part?’ Raoul posed with hateful amusement. ‘As to whether I have a wife?’

‘Your marital status is of no interest to me whatsoever,’ she responded evenly. It was the truth. ‘And you didn’t answer the question.’

Would she be so brave if they were alone? Perhaps, he accorded silently, sufficiently intrigued to discover if the bravado was merely a facade.

‘I allow myself leisure time.’

His drawled response set her teeth on edge, and she summoned a sweet smile. ‘Sensible of you.’

She had no answer for the sensual tension electrifying the air between them. Or for the insane desire to challenge him to a verbal fencing match. It was almost as if some invisible imp was prompting her into battle, and putting words in her mouth she would normally never utter.

‘I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced in locating a baby-sitter at such short notice?’ Sandrine queried in what Stephanie perceived as a skilled attempt to switch the subject of conversation.

‘Fortunately not.’

Sandrine offered a wry smile. ‘The Lanier brothers tend to snap their fingers and expect immediate action.’

‘So I gather,’ Stephanie responded dryly.

‘Can I persuade you to try some wine, Stephanie?’ Michel intervened smoothly. ‘Half a glass won’t affect your ability to drive.’

‘Thank you, no.’

The waiter unobtrusively removed their plates, inquired if the starter was to their satisfaction, then retreated.

Raoul leaned back in his chair and subjected Stephanie to an analytical appraisal. The subdued lighting emphasized delicate bone structure, lent a soft glow to her skin and accentuated the blue depth of her eyes.

She possessed a lush mouth, full and softly curved, and he watched it draw in slightly, caught the faint tightening of muscles at the edge of her jaw as she became aware of his deliberate assessment.

For one infinitesimal second her eyes blazed fire, and he noted the imperceptible movement as she attempted to minimize a convulsive swallow.

Not so controlled, he decided with satisfaction, aware that it would provide an interesting challenge to explore the exigent chemistry between them.

How would that mouth feel beneath the pressure of his own? There was a part of him that wanted to ruffle her composure, test the level of her restraint, and handle the aftermath.

Stephanie barely restrained the impulse to hit him. He was deliberately needling her, like a supine panther who’d sighted a prey within reach and was toying with the decision to pounce, or play. Either way, the result would be the same.

Raoul Lanier was in for a surprise if he thought he could try those tactics with her, she decided in silent anger.

She held his gaze deliberately, and saw one eyebrow lift in a slow arch, almost as if he had read her mind. Mental telepathy? Somehow she doubted he possessed that ability. More likely it stemmed from an innate and accurate knowledge of women.

The appearance of the waiter with their main course temporarily diverted her attention. She looked at the plate placed before her, and felt her appetite diminish to zero.

‘The meal isn’t to your liking?’

Stephanie heard Raoul’s deep drawl, sensed the double entendre, and for a brief moment she entertained tossing the contents of her glass in his face.