heels clanking obnoxiously on the marble tiled floor. She longed to slip them off and ease the cramps forming in her arches.
“You never answered.”
She punched the up button on the elevator and rubbed her bare arms against the chill of the room.
“Why are you here, Helmut?”
“I found myself with some unexpected free time, and a ticket to Paris. Thought I’d come hang out with some old friends. Maybe look for a job.” The elevator doors slid open, and Helmut smiled and stood back, waiting for Claire to enter first.
She glanced nervously around the lobby before the doors closed on the two of them. Alone. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.
“Didn’t you turn that ticket in with the rest of the company property?” Claire hated the petulant tone she heard in her own voice.
“Is the company in such bad shape that a couple thousand dollars would bring you down? Sounds like I chose a good time to retire.”
With a groan, the elevator began to move. The space felt entirely enclosed, even with the brass-plated walls and ceiling polished to a mirrored shine. Everywhere she looked, she saw Helmut’s mocking grin.
“I should have taken the stairs. I think this is the slowest elevator I’ve ever set foot in,” Claire muttered.
“Not everyone likes to fly to the top. Some of us prefer a steady climb,” he replied mildly.
She clamped her mouth shut before the wine and exhaustion could make her say something she regretted. She leaned sideways for a moment, resting her hip against the wall and closing her eyes as she waited for the slow ascent to finally finish.
“It can be overwhelming, I know,” Helmut said quietly.
Claire peered up at him from under half-closed lashes. He was leaning against the opposite wall, looking relaxed. And pensive. Suspiciously she asked, “What is overwhelming?”
“The Show. The mad crush of people and information. The first time I came, eight years ago as a middle-manager, I felt like a kid at Disney World. Wide-eyed with wonder at all of the possibilities. The technology. The cooperation between companies and countries. The scale of the deals brokered and careers ruined.”
The tiny bell of the elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a whoosh. Helmut motioned again for Claire to precede him.
“How did you know what floor my room was on?” She realized she hadn’t pressed a button.
“We stay in the same hotel every time. Most of the suites are on this floor. Your father always stayed up here. I guessed you would, too.”
Claire nodded. Her room reservation had originally been made in his name. Her father and stepmother had rented a townhouse not far away instead. She wanted to think he had given away the reservation so that she could have easy access to some of her meetings. More likely, it was about the parties her stepmother wanted to host.
“Good night, Claire.” Helmut’s expression had lost its smirk.
For half a heartbeat, she considered asking him back to her room, foolish and desperate as the invitation would look. But he was already heading down the opposite corridor without so much as a backward glance.
Claire sighed as she hobbled down to the last door and slid her key card into the lock.
She kicked off her shoes, dropped her clutch onto a table, and collapsed onto a slate-gray suede sofa in the suite’s sitting room.
It wasn’t until her evening bag vibrated, announcing another message, that she remembered the email she had started to read when she ran into Helmut downstairs.
Chapter 13
Helmut paced the length of his room. His gut tightened into a knot, and his fingers clenched into fists. His heart thudded impatiently in his chest, blood simmering. When he’d held Claire’s body in his hands down in the reception hall, it was all he could do not to sweep her into a dark corner and free those beautiful curves from the confining little dress.
Get a grip. He had boarded the red-eye out of O’Hare Monday night still ripe with
“You never answered.”
She punched the up button on the elevator and rubbed her bare arms against the chill of the room.
“Why are you here, Helmut?”
“I found myself with some unexpected free time, and a ticket to Paris. Thought I’d come hang out with some old friends. Maybe look for a job.” The elevator doors slid open, and Helmut smiled and stood back, waiting for Claire to enter first.
She glanced nervously around the lobby before the doors closed on the two of them. Alone. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.
“Didn’t you turn that ticket in with the rest of the company property?” Claire hated the petulant tone she heard in her own voice.
“Is the company in such bad shape that a couple thousand dollars would bring you down? Sounds like I chose a good time to retire.”
With a groan, the elevator began to move. The space felt entirely enclosed, even with the brass-plated walls and ceiling polished to a mirrored shine. Everywhere she looked, she saw Helmut’s mocking grin.
“I should have taken the stairs. I think this is the slowest elevator I’ve ever set foot in,” Claire muttered.
“Not everyone likes to fly to the top. Some of us prefer a steady climb,” he replied mildly.
She clamped her mouth shut before the wine and exhaustion could make her say something she regretted. She leaned sideways for a moment, resting her hip against the wall and closing her eyes as she waited for the slow ascent to finally finish.
“It can be overwhelming, I know,” Helmut said quietly.
Claire peered up at him from under half-closed lashes. He was leaning against the opposite wall, looking relaxed. And pensive. Suspiciously she asked, “What is overwhelming?”
“The Show. The mad crush of people and information. The first time I came, eight years ago as a middle-manager, I felt like a kid at Disney World. Wide-eyed with wonder at all of the possibilities. The technology. The cooperation between companies and countries. The scale of the deals brokered and careers ruined.”
The tiny bell of the elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a whoosh. Helmut motioned again for Claire to precede him.
“How did you know what floor my room was on?” She realized she hadn’t pressed a button.
“We stay in the same hotel every time. Most of the suites are on this floor. Your father always stayed up here. I guessed you would, too.”
Claire nodded. Her room reservation had originally been made in his name. Her father and stepmother had rented a townhouse not far away instead. She wanted to think he had given away the reservation so that she could have easy access to some of her meetings. More likely, it was about the parties her stepmother wanted to host.
“Good night, Claire.” Helmut’s expression had lost its smirk.
For half a heartbeat, she considered asking him back to her room, foolish and desperate as the invitation would look. But he was already heading down the opposite corridor without so much as a backward glance.
Claire sighed as she hobbled down to the last door and slid her key card into the lock.
She kicked off her shoes, dropped her clutch onto a table, and collapsed onto a slate-gray suede sofa in the suite’s sitting room.
It wasn’t until her evening bag vibrated, announcing another message, that she remembered the email she had started to read when she ran into Helmut downstairs.
Chapter 13
Helmut paced the length of his room. His gut tightened into a knot, and his fingers clenched into fists. His heart thudded impatiently in his chest, blood simmering. When he’d held Claire’s body in his hands down in the reception hall, it was all he could do not to sweep her into a dark corner and free those beautiful curves from the confining little dress.
Get a grip. He had boarded the red-eye out of O’Hare Monday night still ripe with
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