Stephanie Howard - Waiting For Mr. Wonderful!

‘You’re an extremely sought-after man.’ The receptionist smiled at him prettily, cheeks pinking with pleasure as the blue eyes smiled back at her. For Georgia had been perfectly correct in her assumption that women the world over, regardless of age or race, tended to fall like ninepins at Jean-Claude’s well-shod feet.

Jean-Claude was not unaware of this power he possessed and which he’d first properly recognized at about the age of sixteen, and he’d never been particularly reticent about exploiting it. Good fortune, he firmly believed, was not something to be wasted, particularly not good fortune with women.

For Jean-Claude loved women. Looking at them. Being with them. Talking to them. Making love to them. Without women the world would be a grey and charmless place.

All the same, as he took his pile of messages and told the pink-cheeked receptionist, “Thank you, mademoiselle,’ flirtation was actually the last thing on his mind. At the sight of the heap of paperwork, his brain had switched instantly to business, and no woman yet had succeeded for very long in taking precedence over business in his personal list of priorities.

For, as much as he loved women, he had yet to discover one who stimulated and satisfied him half as much as his work. His work was what drove him. Women were a hobby—albeit a hobby which he pursued with great passion.

As he headed for the lift, he was already flicking through the sheaf of messages, a couple of which required urgent responses. He glanced at his watch as the lift doors opened, If he got down to it, he’d have time to fit those in before dinner.

He stepped into the lift. One of the messages, however, he would put aside to deal with later. It concerned the business he’d just been dealing with, the business of Georgia Dee, which at the moment could best be described as unconcluded. Remembering, he smiled. Georgia Dee was full of surprises.

His first sight of her had been perhaps the biggest surprise of all, for she was not at all what he’d been expecting. He’d known she would be young—twenty six years old, according to his information—but he’d been expecting some hard-bitten, tough-faced businesswoman, for who else would have the guts to stand up to a man like Duval? But, instead, she was the most beautiful, fresh, lovely creature, with the face of an angel and a body to invite sin—a perfectly irresistible combination!

As the lift soared up towards the top floor, Jean-Claude frowned to himself. What, if anything, should he do about Miss Dee? When he’d left her fifteen minutes ago in a blaze of frustration, it had been his intention simply to wash his hands of her. Chances were he could manage without her assistance anyway, though her cooperation might have made his task a little easier.

But now his mood had mellowed. Whether he really needed her or not, he rather liked the idea of having another go at winning her round. For a start, he was extremely partial to brunettes, especially brunettes with such glorious hazel eyes. And she had lots of spirit, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than crossing swords with a spirited woman. Unless, of course, it was making love to her.

As the lift doors opened, he stepped out onto the landing, a sense of warm anticipation gathering in his heart. Over dinner, he’d decide how to bring these pleasures within his grasp.

Lasalle wasn’t staying at the first hotel Georgia phoned. Nor at the second one and nor at the third. Maybe, she thought bleakly, he wasn’t staying at a hotel at all. Perhaps, instead, he was staying with friends. And time was so short. He’d said he was leaving Bath first thing tomorrow. How would she manage to track him down before then?

But then, with her fourth try, she finally struck gold.

‘Yes, we do have a Mr Jean-Claude Lasalle staying with us,’ the receptionist told her. ‘Would you like me to put you through—?’

Georgia cut in quickly, ‘No, thanks. Please don’t bother. I’d prefer to drop round to the hotel and speak to him in person.’

Ten minutes later, she was jumping into her red Polo and heading for the city centre.

Thank heavens! she thought. I’m saved! It was like winning a reprieve. Since that terrifying moment when she’d stood at the garden gate and watched him disappear in the proverbial cloud of dust, she’d been utterly convinced that she’d made a ghastly mistake.

Maybe he wasn’t genuine. There was always that possibility. But she also had to consider the possibility that he was. And if that was the case and he really did want to help her, then she’d been out of her mind to dismiss him the way she had. If it was true that Duval was about to come after her again, she was going to need every bit of help she could get.

She shivered, remembering all the strange things that had started happening after she’d turned down Duval’s third and final offer.

The first odd occurrence had concerned the lease on her shop. She’d been about to renew it, a perfectly routine affair, when suddenly, out of the blue, she’d been notified by her landlord that the lease was not renewable, after all. She’d have to find new premises by the end of the month.

That had been a nightmare. She could never have done it. Suitable premises in the city centre were rarer than hens’ teeth. But at the very last moment her solicitor had established that her landlord had no right to refuse to renew her lease.

Still, that hadn’t been the end of it. Next, her landlord had tripled the rent.

It had been totally out of the question that she could ever have paid such a sum, and for a while it had looked as though she might actually have to sell her flat in order to keep going till she could find new, cheaper premises. But in the end, after a fight, her landlord had been forced to back down again. He’d still put the rent up, but not by three times what it had been.

Georgia had barely recovered from all that when there was a fire in the storeroom which resulted in her losing most of her stock. The insurance company had paid up, but what was lost was irreplaceable. The only thing to be grateful for was that it had happened in between seasons, before the bulk of her summer stock arrived from France. Otherwise, it would have been a total disaster.

She’d no evidence to prove it, but Georgia was convinced that Duval was the one she had to thank for all her troubles. Each time something had happened, he’d instantly materialised, either by phone or in the shape of one of his lackeys, renewing his last offer, urging her to accept it and dropping hints that she’d be extremely unwise not to cooperate.

It had been a nerve-racking time, but Georgia had held out and, in the end, Duval had dropped from sight. Her solicitor had told her it was safe to assume that he’d finally abandoned his bid to take her over. But now Lasalle was saying that this wasn’t so and warning her that Duval was about to start playing dirty. That scared her to bits. What was dirty in Duval’s book? She’d been under the impression he was playing dirty already!

Of course, as far as Lasalle himself was concerned, there were still a lot of questions to be answered. Who was he? Who was he working for? Why did he want to help her? But, all the same, she was convinced that it had been a big mistake to send him away without even hearing what he had to say. If there was any chance at all that he really was genuine, she had to find a way to get him back on her side again.

As she headed through the light evening traffic in the city centre, Georgia was already planning how she would do that. She’d get him alone and apologize profusely for her rudeness, beg him to forgive her and plead for his help. And since it was a pretty safe bet that he was the type of man who would enjoy a begging, pleading woman—it would appeal to his overbearing masculine vanity!—he’d soon forgive her and do as she wished. Then, when she’d had a chance to consider what he had to say to her, she’d be able to judge whether he was genuine or not.

She smiled to herself. It was going to be easy. She had Jean-Claude Lasalle all figured out.

At the hotel reception desk, however, she received a bit of bad news.

‘I’m sorry,’ the receptionist told her, casting a quick glance behind her at the row of numbered cubby-holes where the guests’ keys were kept, ‘but Mr Lasalle appears to have gone out.’

Damn. ‘I don’t suppose he said where he was going?’ If she knew where he’d gone, maybe she could go after him.

But the receptionist shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea. We don’t keep track of our guests’ movements,’ she added sniffily.

Georgia took a seat in a corner of the lobby with a good view of the door. Chances were he’d gone out to dinner, but it would be pointless to try and track him down, for there were any number of restaurants he might have gone to. No, she’d just have to sit here and wait till he got back.

She leaned back and suppressed a sigh. It would probably be a long wait. Jean-Claude Lasalle, with his designer suits and shiny Porsche, was not the type of man to make do with a quick bite. No takeaway Chinese or instant hamburger for him. He’d be treating himself to three leisurely courses of Bath’s best, with a bottle of good wine and a shot of brandy to follow. Suppressing another small sigh, she reached for one of the magazines on the table.

An hour and a half later, there was still no sign of him. Georgia stood up to stretch her legs and stifled a yawn. She’d read every single magazine on the table from cover to cover and she was starting to grow tired of the sniffy receptionist’s beady stare. Maybe she thinks I’m some high-class hooker who’s arrived a little early for my appointment! she thought.

But there was a more worrying consideration. It was far too hot here in the lobby and she’d caught herself very nearly nodding off a couple of times! That really was serious. Imagine the disaster if she was sitting there in a state of oblivious slumber when he finally walked into the lobby! For it was perfectly possible that the beady-eyed receptionist might not actually bother to tell him she was there. He could be fast asleep in bed by the time she discovered he was back.

Georgia frowned. Maybe I ought to stay on my feet and pace about, she told herself. That would keep me awake, as well as entertaining the receptionist! But then she had a much better idea.

She crossed again to the reception desk. ‘I wonder if you’d mind checking if Mr Lasalle has left a message for me?’ She smiled a long-suffering smile. ‘You see, he was supposed to meet me here, and I can’t believe he’d be this late without letting me know.’

With a haughty little smile, the receptionist obliged, turning to the row of cubby-holes behind her. Then, as Georgia held her breath, terrified her ruse mightn’t work, she proceeded to do precisely what Georgia had prayed she’d do. She reached up and inserted her hand into one of the cubby-holes.

A moment later, she was examining the slip of paper she’d removed. ‘No, I’m afraid there’s no message. This is a fax for Mr Lasalle.’ And she returned the slip of paper to the cubby-holes.

Georgia was struggling not to grin. Of course there was no message for her! But she’d got what she wanted. She now knew his room number, something the sniffy receptionist would never voluntarily have told her. So she could go ahead and put her brilliant idea into action!

She went back to her seat, picked up a magazine at random and waited till the receptionist disappeared into the office behind the desk, as she did from time to time. Then Georgia leapt to her feet, tore across the lobby and dived through the doorway that led to the lifts and stairs. Scarcely pausing for breath, she sprinted up to the top floor.