1 comments/ 7540 views/ 0 favorites Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 01 By: FrumiousBandersnatch New York, New York Wednesday morning, and already I was counting down the hours until Friday. I had so many things to do before Friday though, that any enthusiasm for the weekend was quickly and completely squelched. I looked through all the letters, memos and mail that Mr.M had left on my desk before I attacked the phone messages. Before I was able to finish writing down the phone number for a Ms. Whitecliff, the caller of the last message on the machine, I heard Mr. Morrison's voice hollowly echo through the voice speaker on my desk. "Miss Tanner, I need you to call the European office, and find out what date they have set for the grand opening. As well, I will need a villa or house with a separate guest house, for at least four weeks while I am there; you can charge it to the corporate card. I'll need two tickets. Book the tickets, once you have the date; and, don't forget to arrange my transportation this time." He spoke in his usual monotonous tone. "Yes sir." I methodically replied, as I pressed aggressively down on the little black intercom button. Forget, my ass. I had arranged for transportation; but, the bloody bastards were 30 minutes late. By that time I had already received at least 20 phone calls from Mr. M, demanding I have alternative transportation arranged immediately, while he berated me for my incompetence. He had still ended up using the original company that I had arranged for, but he had just felt compelled to annoy, chastise and cause me unnecessary grief, rather than wait patiently. This time I would arrange for three companies, with staggered time frames, to ensure there would definitely be someone there to meet him. I smiled to myself in smug victory. If he wants a ride, he'll have his ride. The European office was located in Paris, France. I was overjoyed. I would finally have an opportunity, through work, to put my education to use. Excitedly I picked up the receiver and dialed the number for the European office, waiting to hear the beautiful French words flow through the receiver. Unfortunately, what I got instead was a man speaking English with a thick southern drawl. "Lucas Johnson speaking, Morrison Management PR. How may I help you?" "Hello Mr. Johnson, this is Mr. Morrison's office. Mr. Morrison would like to know what date you have set for the grand opening." I cradled the phone with my shoulder, as I grabbed my daily planner from my bag. That baby was my life. Without that little book, I would have been running, sobbing, out that door like every other assistant before me. "Yes, of course...Miss..?" "Tanner.Lauren Tanner" "It's a pleasure to hear your voice Miss Tanner. I have to say I miss hearing good old American English. Anyways, the date for the grand opening is December 23rd. They would like to act as host over the holidays, and invite Mr. Morrison to share in some of their holiday festivities. Experience the holidays in the French way, they said. I will send a full tentative itinerary that he can go over. Apparently, they have some pretty wild parties here; or, so I've been told. These French really know how to get tangled up in all matter of sins, but that's not for a ladies ears." "Thank you Mr. Johnson, and thank you for your time. Have a good day." "You too, ma'am. Nice talking to you." I slammed down the phone, perhaps a little too hard. I was just taking my rage out on defenseless inanimate objects, instead of the source of the rage. I had to find Mr. Oh-so-Powerful Morrison a flight, transportation, a large villa with a separate guest house, for four weeks over the Christmas holidays. Fun. Dutifully, reminding myself about the large debts to be paid, I took a deep breath and set to work. I had so much to do in so little time, but it needed to get done or I would be out of work and on the streets. After four hours, interrupted constantly by Mr.M's random requests and demands, I had managed to find two direct first class tickets to Paris, one chauffeur without a family who valued money more than celebrating the holidays, and three promising properties. As well, I had accomplished most of my daily tasks; and, I still had three hours left to the work day. Three hours...damn it. To kill some time I looked over the three properties, trying to decide which one to choose. They all looked amazing to me, but I wasn't as picky as Mr. Morrison. Finally I decided to do the unthinkable- disturb Mr. Morrison to ask him a question. I checked the extension lines to make sure he was not on the phone, before I lightly knocked on the door. "Yes?" he responded loudly, sounding slightly irritated. I slowly and quietly eased the door open, slinking a few steps into the room, holding the property print-outs to my chest. "I'm sorry to disturb you sir; but, I found three wonderful properties that are available over the holidays. I was wondering if you would like to choose which one you would like to stay at." I quietly explained, keeping my eyes directed at the floor. "Is there some reason you are not capable of choosing Miss Tanner?" he asked, sounding like a chastising teacher. "No sir, it's just I found them to all be equally amazing. They all have at least one separate guest residence, easy access to the city and complete privacy. It is really just a matter of personal taste." I quickly darted a glance up, to see if Mr. M was furious; but, instead I found an odd smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. It could almost be mistaken for a smile, but I knew better than to believe Mr.M capable of a smile. I returned my eyes to the cold grey slate floor. "Fine. Are those the properties there?" he asked. I looked up to see him staring directly at my chest. I began to blush, feeling the flow of heat across my skin, knowing that my pale complexion would not hide the hot red flush that painted my cheeks. I quickly lowered the papers to my waist and walked up to Mr. M's desk, placing them before him. "Yes sir. And, the itinerary for your stay is there as well. Mr. Johnson sent it over, so you could look it over." I stood silently, unmoving, while he slowly perused through the property print outs. He shuffled through the papers one more time before holding one out to me. "You're right. They are all impressive. However, I do not want any unwelcome guests bothering me or interfering in my business, so I choose the one with the most privacy and seclusion." he stated as I took the paper from him, "would there be anything else Miss Tanner?" he asked sarcastically. For the purpose of self preservation, I shook my head and apologetically dismissed myself. Once out of his office, I took in a deep breath and smiled. I had, unbidden, entered the dragons lair and survived to speak of it. How Lucy's jaw was going to drop at that one. I sat down in my seat and spread the property form out before me on the desk. Gorgeous. Absolutely amazing. He had chosen a 10 bedroom 18th century manor house, with a ballroom, on 24 acres of private land; which also had a huge pool, tennis courts and a large separate five bedroom guest manor. I suppose that since it was winter there as well, he wouldn't be swimming or swinging a racket while there, but still -- damn. I sighed, just imagining how much this would cost; but, it didn't matter because it wasn't my money. I called the number on the sheet and finally found my opportunity to put my skills to use. I conversed in French over the phone for the next hour. I made all the arrangements for the rental, confirmed the times and dates for pick-up and transfer. I made arrangements for his wardrobe, created a menu for the chef at the rental manor, reviewed his calendar for the next six weeks -- rescheduling any of the appointments or meetings he had made for those four weeks - and still had time to stare wistfully at the picture of my dreams. When I was a little girl I had dreamed of living in France, in a place very much like this manor. It had all seemed so magical and so beautiful; an escape from the world I lived in. Everything about their culture was graceful, beautiful and romantic; but, alas I was not the one going. I made a few calls to placement agencies in Paris looking for a temp assistant for Mr. Morrison, while he was overseas. Again, this was a pleasure, since the man at the employment placement agency spoke only French. Ten minutes later, when the clock flashed 4:30pm, I was bidding adieu to M. Dubois as Mr. Morrison came out of his office carrying his coat and briefcase. He was reading over the itinerary as he walked past my desk. "Merci beaucoup. Au bientot." I said right before hanging up the phone. Turning my attention to my boss, I asked, "Is there anything you need before you go today Mr. Morrison?" "Yes, I would like you to set up an appointment tomorrow with Ms. Whitecliff; Preferably for the morning." he said, not once looking up. "Good night Miss Tanner." As soon as he walked out of the office - heading three stories up to his penthouse apartment - I leaned back in my chair, stretched and took a deep calming breath. Just being around that man made every muscle in my body tense. I couldn't wait to get back to my place, so I could take a long hot bath and go to bed. First though, I had to do Mr. M's bidding and call Ms. Whitecliff. Home, I thought as I unlocked my door. I had survived another day. With a flick of my wrist I tossed my keys onto the marble topped entrance table and stepped out of my little black loafers, before quickly striding across the living room's plush carpet, in the dark, to the spacious bathroom. I turned the tap on for the hot water and watched the steam billow as the large Jacuzzi tub filled up. I lit a few candles around the tub and pressed play on the little stereo I had, on the large marble counter top. Beethoven poured from the speakers and filled the large sparse bathroom with his hypnotic notes. I turned off the tub's taps and slipped into the hot water. My mind wandered to the impending holidays. Only two weeks until Christmas. Only two weeks until I had to suffer through another lonely depressing holiday. Only a week and a half until I shipped Mr. Morrison off to the country of my dreams. I sighed and slipped deeper into the tub. I couldn't help but feel that life did not come without its own sense of irony. Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 02 I watched, amused, while a huffy, red faced Ms. Whitecliff marched out of Mr. Morrison's office. She walked with her nose up in the air and with perfect posture, like she had had a poker permanently planted up her ass. Looking completely livid, she turned to me and scathingly declared, "I cannot and will not work with that man. I don't care how much he pays. I will not do it. You will just have to find someone else. Goodbye" I watched her attempt to slam the door after her, on her way out, only to be thwarted by the doors hydraulic hinges. I giggled. Well, I guess that didn't go so well. I didn't really know what any of that was about anyways; however, I was about to learn. I heard the door open to Mr. M's office. I swung around in my chair, wide eyed, to see Mr. Morrison standing there reading over some important document or report, as per usual. "Miss Tanner, it seems I have lost my translator. I need you to find me a new one today; and, try to find someone a little more agreeable." he said before going back into his office. I sat in stunned disbelief. A translator. I couldn't believe my luck; but, how to approach this, that was the problem. I knew that it was outside my job description, but I had wanted this my whole life. I just hoped Mr. M would be as psyched about -- or at least as accepting of - the idea as I was. I would just have to convince him this would be more economical - that was my best course of action. I was already an employee on payroll, and I was familiar with his schedule and contacts. I hopped up out of my chair confident in my purpose; but, that didn't stop me from breaking out into a nervous sweat. Truth be told I was scared shitless; what if he said no? Rolling my shoulders, I took three deep breathes, organized my thoughts and purposely marched into Mr. M's office. My courage could only take me six steps into his office, before his terrifying gaze stopped me. I almost lost my train of thought under his intense glare. "Yes, Miss Tanner? Do you have another property for me to look at?" he asked mockingly. "No. I, uh, I umm. Well, Mr. Morrison I, uh..." I stopped, took a deep breath and swallowed, and started over, "Mr. Morrison, I would like to offer the use of my services, as a translator, while you are in France." I stood with my hands behind my back waiting for some sort of response. His expression never changed, and his scrutinizing glare never once faltered. I averted my eyes to the floor, unnerved by his penetrating gaze. "Do you have any experience Miss Tanner?" his eyebrows arrogantly cocked, " These are very important people we will be dealing with. I can't have you fucking this up, there is no room for error." "I do not have experience, sir; but, I do have my Masters in French Studies and speak the language fluently." I closed my eyes, fearfully expecting him to dismiss the idea and fire me on the spot for wasting his time. "Well, I suppose it would work. But, I can't take you to France looking like you do here," he said dissaprovingly, "I will give you a ten thousand dollar clothing budget for this trip. Contact Deborah to help arrange and help select your wardrobe. I expect you to get everything you need for this trip with that money; and, I expect you to be presentable. Consider it an early Christmas bonus. Now, would that be all Miss Tanner?" I could hear the dismissal in his tone. "No sir. Thank you so much sir. You won't regret this." I turned and walked to the door, a huge smile plastered on my face. From behind me, as I grabbed the door handle, his voice menacingly warned, "You better not, or you won't have job to come back to." My smile quickly vanished. Nothing like a good reality check to dampen a mood. Good old Mr. Morrison, he always knew how to smother happiness. I met Deborah Coultier everyday for lunch, for the next week. She took me to the most ridiculously expensive and posh stores in the city, explaining what styles were in fashion in France, what styles were appropriate for the different occasions, what colors looked best on me and how to mix and match pieces. She was basically teaching me how to have a sense of style, which was like Greek to me. I think I stood a better chance learning Greek; at least I already had an understanding of it. I also had to buy all the traveling accouterments with that money, since I had never traveled before. I don't include shuffling between foster homes travel, especially since I had never had anything to take with me. Deborah also arranged for my passport, so that I would have it in time to leave on the 21st. Everything seemed so surreal and rushed but I managed to complete all my duties, as Mr. Morrison's assistant, and prepare for the upcoming trip. It wasn't until the night before our flight, while I stood looking over all my purchases and designer luggage, that it truly hit me. I was finally going to France. I didn't care that I was going to be in a foreign country for Christmas; it made no difference to me where I spent the empty holidays. A whole month being submersed in my favorite culture was the best Christmas present I could ever have. Who knew it would be the Scrooge, Mr. Morrison, who gave me the best gift that I had ever received. I slowly and methodically packed my bags, making sure that I had everything I needed, before finally stripping down, crawling into bed and falling into an exhausted sleep. Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 03 Peregrination I awoke to my alarm at 5:45am, on December 21st, and leapt out of my bed with an excited giggle. In ten hours I would be driving to a historic chateau in the French countryside. I quickly showered and ate a small breakfast before attacking my, new, daily beauty routine. Deborah had hammered into me how important my appearance was, now that I was going to be seen, in France, with Mr. Morrison. My new routine included daily grooming (plucking, shaving, etc.), face scrub or peel, moisturizing, careful make-up application and hair styling. Deborah had only been able to successfully teach me two hair styles, both of which I barely pulled off. She had rolled her eyes and told me to go to a salon, to have my hair done, for special occasions. Seeing myself in the mirror, I chuckled. I barely recognized myself. Never had I ever put this much thought or effort into my appearance, and I felt slightly conceited for being pleasantly surprised by the results. My pale skin had been brightened with bronzer and a hint of blush, my light blue-gray eyes were enhanced by the subtle strokes of eye shadow; and, my lips looked lush and full with the shimmery coral lipstick. My curly hair had been gathered up into a slightly messy chignon, with a few stray tendrils framing my face. It felt like a stranger staring back at me. I glanced at the clock and gasped when I realized I had 15 minutes left before the car arrived to pick me up. I grabbed my clothes off the bed, clothing Deborah had assured me were travel appropriate, and carefully slipped into them. It was a three piece dress suit; with a grey pencil skirt, grey cropped jacket and a fitted cream silk blouse. My version of travel clothes were jeans and a T-shirt. These were just stretchy over glorified work clothes. And, to top it all off, all the shoes Deborah had chosen for me had heels. With a dissatisfied groan I grabbed the sexy little burgundy Valentino heels and a matching clutch purse. I dragged my luggage into the hallway and, wearing the sexy open toed designer heels, I stood in front of the hallway mirror doing a quick once over. Standing at 5'10, with the heels, my trim figure was accentuated by the modest, but perfectly fitted, suit. I hoped to god this would be acceptable enough for Mr. M, because I didn't think I was capable of much more. I was already exhausted and frustrated by the amount of effort I had already put in to my looks. Either way, it didn't matter because at that moment I heard a sharp knock at the door. I opened it to find an elderly man in a black suit and hat standing at full attention. "Miss Tanner, my name is Felix and I will be your chauffeur today," he gave me an appreciative head to toe glance, "may I take your bags?" "Of course, thank you Felix." I handed him the two largest pieces and carried my own purse, shoe bag and carry-on bag. He had put up a bit of an argument but I explained that they were far too valuable to put into anyone else's care, which was a lie. I believe he took some offense, to my not trusting him with my possessions; but, I would rather that than hurting his pride with the truth. He looked so old and frail, that I thought he might topple over from the extra weight, hence my refusal. I accompanied the elderly man down the elevator, exiting on the private subterranean parking level. Felix walked over to a sleek black stretch limo and opened the trunk to deposit my bags. I quickly ran -- if that is what you can call it in 4 inch heels -- over to Felix and grabbed my bag before he could heft it into the trunk. He looked at me in puzzlement. "I'm sorry Felix. It's just that this is Mr. Morrison's car. I will be traveling in another car to the airport. Has Mr. Morrison already had his bags picked up?" I asked him while I gathered my luggage around my feet, looking for the small sedan I had ordered to take me to the airport. "Yes Miss. Mr. Morrison's bags are in the trunk and he is waiting in the car. He wishes for you to travel with him to the airport, so I took the liberty of sending away the other car." He looked slightly smug as he informed me of the change in plan. I sighed, a breath of defeat, and handed the old chauffeur my bags. Tensing more with every step, I slipped into the limo as Felix held the door for me. I awkwardly tumbled into the wide leather back seat, as my skirt and heels limited my movement and thwarted my attempt at a smooth entry. Pushing into a sitting position, I looked up and across from me to find Mr. M staring at me with a slightly amused smirk on his face. He was sitting back, relaxed, with a scotch in his hand and his briefcase open on his lap. I looked away and focused on fixing my appearance. I yanked my skirt down my legs, smoothed my shirt out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and tried to find a comfortable sitting position, which did not involve flashing my boss. "I see Deborah was able to work magic." His cool monotone voice mused. It could have been meant as a compliment, but I took his mocking tone to mean it as an insult.I bit the inside of my check, holding back my temper. However, I could not prevent the hot blush, colouring my cheeks, of my temper; hopefully, the bronzer would mask it. I decided silence was my best option; so, I would not say a word unless Mr. Morrison required me to do so. I needed my job too badly and wanted this opportunity so much that I was not going to risk it over a few glib comments. After 20 minutes of riding in complete silence, Mr. Morrison looked up from his work and reached across the limo, holding some papers out for me. "This is the itinerary, which I would like you to go over, to ensure you know what we will be doing and who we will be meeting with. It is important you know who everyone is when you meet them; and, I want you to ensure you make eye contact with every person you speak to. You work for me. You are no one else's subordinate, just mine. For everyone else, you will portray the confidant and professional attitude of a highly respected employee of Morrison Management; so, no more looking down and averting your eyes. I don't pay you to inspect floors. Do you understand?" he asked authoritatively. I tore my gaze away from the car's carpeted floor, to look up into the intense green eyes of David Morrison. "Yes Sir." I coolly, calmly and confidently replied. To my shock, he chuckled lightly and a faint smile curved his lips. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time; which, in a way was true. Never had I ever made eye contact with him, and usually his head was bent while he read through some form of document. I mostly saw the top of his head and his profile. Now however, I was clearly seeing the man responsible for an empire. He looked so much younger than I expected. He looked no older than 35 or 40. He had thick wavy black hair, gorgeous emerald eyes, a flawless olive complexion, a sharp nose and perfect lips. Huh, so the asshole was hot; figures. I realized I was staring when he cleared his throat and I looked back up to his eyes to see his eyebrow knowingly cocked. Again, I blushed but this time from embarrassment; however, I did not avert my gaze. "Very good. Tell me Miss Tanner. Do you not have any family or significant people in your life that you are abandoning for the holidays?" he asked bemusedly. "No Sir." I felt awkward and intimidated under his gaze. "Interesting." he finally replied, sounding distracted, while concentrating on something in his lap. Instead of looking at the floor, I decided to avert my gaze out the window; this should seem like a perfectly respectable solution. Mr. Morrison had returned back to his work, anyway, so I had to occupy myself silently somehow. It wasn't until we reached the airport, that he again tore himself from his work. Together we silently traversed the airport and boarded our plane. In only a few more hours, I would be on French soil. I burrowed into the large warm leather seat on the plane. I had never been on a plane before so I was excited, as well as being scared. Mr. Morrison graciously offered me the window seat, which I happily accepted since it provided more privacy from the other passengers and gave me a great view. Wearing a skirt made getting comfortable difficult. I sat staring out the window lost in wonder and idle thought, until I felt an elbow being jabbed into my ribs. When I angrily glared at Mr.M he motioned towards an illuminated sign. It looked like a seat belt. Slowly comprehending, I looked around my seat for a belt -- nothing. With a frustrated sigh Mr. M reached across me and magically pulled a strap out from the seat; and again, on my other side he pulled out another strap. He locked the belts together over my lap. I felt like a child. I quietly mumbled 'thank you', embarrassed that I was so ignorant, and that he had had to do it for me. "What is it? Your first time flying?" he asked sarcastically, with that faint trace of a mocking smile. "Yes." I softly replied. His smile quickly vanished giving way to a slightly shocked expression. He seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared down at me. Yet again I blushed, feeling the blood paint my cheeks red. I quickly looked away, to stare back out the window. I resumed my silence. Even as the plane took off and my heart pounded in my chest and my knuckles turned white from holding the armrests so tight, I did not utter a sound. I could see from the corner of my eye Mr. Morrison watching me fascinated as the plane rose into the air; but, once we were safely up in the air he returned his attention back to his work. A flight attendant offered us champagne, snacks, warm towels, eye covers, blankets and pillows. I took the champagne, blanket and pillow; Mr. M took the blanket and pillow as well, and an eye cover. He watched me down my glass of champagne with wry amusement, before fluffing his pillow, pulling the eye cover over his eyes and dragging the blanket up to his chin. Finally, I thought. No longer under his scrutinizing gaze, I felt more relaxed. I waited ten minutes, to ensure he was asleep, before I reached into my purse and pulled out my iPod. It had felt too unprofessional to listen to my music while my boss was sitting beside me working, but now I just wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of the flight. Popping the ear-buds into my ears, I set my iPod to shuffle, laid my head back against my seat, closed my eyes and pressed play on the small device. An eclectic mix of alternative, rock, metal, jazz, classical, folk and blues flooded my ears for the next six hours, until I felt a hand groping around my lap. I snapped my eyes open immediately, to find Mr. M bent over me; upon finding his large form hovered over me, I gave a sudden start and gasped. He turned his head to give me a stern glare, effectively rooting me in my seat. I pulled one of my earphones out of my ear, so I could hear him. Busted. "I'm just buckling you in. You were asleep and we are landing. Now would you sit still so I can get this locked in." he commanded sternly, again making me feel like a child. "Thank you" I found myself muttering again. As he leaned back in his seat to lock his own seat belt, I caught his lingering scent. He smelled of spices, tobacco and vanilla; he smelled delicious. I shook my head at the ridiculous observation and busied myself fixing my clothes, which had magically resisted wrinkles through all our travels; so, I guess Deborah knew what she was doing. I shoved my iPod back in my purse, slipped on my heels and sat back in my seat while the plane slowly descended. Once we were safely on the ground Mr. M leaned over and unlocked my seat belt, before getting up to stretch and collect his belongings. I watched amazed as my boss flexed his fit and muscular form. How had I never noticed what good shape he was in? This seemed like a completely different person, from the one I worked for in New York. I mentally reprimanded myself for even looking at him that way. I was his employee; I shouldn't be noticing these things about him. Slowly I stood up, slightly ducking my head so I wouldn't whack it on the ceiling of the plane - the heels added just enough height. I grabbed my carry-on bag and purse before following Mr. M. I almost broke into hysterics, as we entered the terminal; because, anyone who knew what was happening in the small crowd of drivers would have found it comical. Three men all carrying signs, with Morrison written in big lettering, were fighting with each other. other drivers were separating them, trying to prevent an all out brawl. A small giggle escaped my lips and Mr. M glared at me suspiciously before returning his attention to the small group of men who appeared to be fighting over him. I walked over to them and asked which driver was Jacque. An older, stockier man stepped forward, holding his calloused hand out to me. "Jacque Dupuis, Madame" he graciously introduced himself and grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking my hand, as I expected, he raised it to his lips and gently brushed a kiss over it. "It is a pleasure Madame. I, uh, believe I am to be your driver." He declared glaring back at the other two men, holding the other two signs with Morrison printed on them, before returning his attention to us, his (clients). "May I take your bags? Your car is just waiting out here" he told us, ushering us out a side door marked 'zone interdite', to an authentic mint condition Rolls Royce. I could barely contain my glee. Mr. M seemed bemused by the car, but amused by my barely contained excitement. Jacques held the door for us; and, Mr. M gestured for me to enter first. Perhaps for his own safety, it had been a wise decision; since, I was still having wardrobe malfunctions when entering vehicles and ended up more or less falling onto the soft velvet back seat. He waited for me to right myself and wiggle over to the driver side before sliding in beside me. "Everything all right Miss Tanner?" Mr. M asked sardonically. "Yes Sir." I answered, again biting my cheek. Temper, temper. My grandmother had taught me to never loose my temper. She had told me, in one of her lucid moments, that loosing ones temper is like letting down your shield in mid battle; it would only leave you exposed, defenseless and vulnerable. I decided to heed that advice as being of sound mind. Grandma had been a strong, courageous and smart woman; but, her downfall had always been loving a week, cowardly and stupid man. Mom and Dad had not liked visiting Grandma and Grandpa -- I only had one set, since my father apparently had no family -- but had still made the trek once a year so they could see their grandchild. Grandma and Grandpa disliked, which is a gentle way of putting it, my father. I realized I was lost in thought and staring out the window; because, when I finally turned to look at Mr. M he was staring at me with a very annoyed expression on his face. I faced him wide eyed, biting my lip, hoping he would not fire me on the spot. I couldn't slip like that. Bringing up the past just caused trouble and pain. I quickly cast my eyes down to the floor of the car, sure my execution would be swift; but, it wasn't. He didn't make a sound or a movement. I slowly drew my gaze back up, unintentionally scanning his body, and still biting my lip met his disarming glare. I knew I was tired when it seemed that his emerald eyes were glowing. "That is better. Now that I have your full attention; as I was saying, you will be staying in the guesthouse. You will have your own kitchen staff. Order whatever you like. But, remember, there will be quite a few dinner engagements and outings that I will need you present for, so be prepared to go out most evenings. I have also invited a few guests for a few days, but they will stay strictly in the main manor and you can avoid them if you wish to. I will be occupying the guest house with you, for the duration of their stay." he informed me. Talk about role reversal. He was doing his own dirty work and taking care of the details. However, some of these details bothered me; like the fact I would have to share my space with a relatively strange man. Sure I worked for him but I didn't know him on a personal level of any sort. I simply responded, "Yes, Mr. Morrison.", too tired at that moment to think of anything more to say. I sat in complete silence beside Mr. M. He had turned to watch out the window as we drove along the winding road. I decided to do the same. Watching out the window, I found the playful frolicking of the snow outside the car windows to be amusing and calming. I became mesmerized in its dance and laid my head against the seat, still watching wide-eyed out the window. Night only helped to highlight the pure bright snow, against the inky black background. I heard the rustled of fabric beside me, but I did not alter my gaze until I heard him gently clearing his throat. "We will be there in a moment, Miss Tanner. I took the liberty of requesting a bath be prepared for you; as well, a small snack will be served in your room and your bed prepared. Normally my assistant would have taken care of these things, but since I don't picture you the type to do these things for yourself, I took the liberty of messaging ahead. But, do not become accustomed to this, because I am not in your employ. I can see that this day has been taxing and you are tired; so, I recommend you get a good, full, night of sleep. We will be very busy tomorrow." Again I simply replied "Yes Sir." And with that, we continued in relative silence for another ten minutes. When we finally arrived at my guest house -- which I was being dropped off at first, since it was closer to the entrance gate -- I sat frozen, dumbfounded in my seat, as I stared at the beautiful manor; and, this wasn't even the 'big' one. It wasn't until Jacque swung my door open for me that I snapped out of my astonished stupor. "Madame." He said as he offered me his hand, to assist me out of the car -- I guess he had seen my earlier performance. I was half way out of the car before I realized my folly. "Mr. Morrison?" I said inquired timidly. He turned his mesmerizing gaze to me. "Thank you. For everything." He simply shrugged his shoulders and returned his gaze to his window, dismissing me with a, "Goodnight Miss Tanner." I managed, with the assistance of Jacque, to make the slippery walk from the car to the house's door in one piece. He carried my entire luggage for me, which at that point I was grateful for. I expressed this to him, as I kissed both his cheeks, as I knew was custom here. He blushed faintly and dismissed it, saying it was his job. Hazza, another blusher; I didn't feel so freakish anymore. Smiling at the poor man, I wished him a "Bon soir", as I closed the door behind him. A single maid awaited me informing me my bags were being taken to my room by Charles, the butler, and my room was the second door on the right, at the top of the stairs. She also informed me that the staff were restricted from my living area of the house after 9pm, to ensure my privacy. I liked this rule. After she left me for the night, I walked into my room to find all my bags neatly presented at the end of a huge four-poster canopied bed. Taking a few further tentative steps into the room, I peered into a doorway to see a steaming bathtub. Looking around me, I saw a large antique writing desk on which sat a pretty little silver tea tray laden with a croissant, a glass of milk and a bowl of strawberries. I began to giggle hysterically. The exhaustion was definitely getting to me; but, this was all too much. Never had I ever dreamed of arriving in France with such style. This was truly the fairy-tale image I had envisioned, not the realistic one I had expected. Fuck it. I thought as I leapt onto the huge king size bed. I liked it, no, I loved it. Tearing off my clothes, I grabbed the bowl of strawberries and padded into the warm bathroom naked; so French of me, no? Again giggling I submerged my tired sore body into the hot water. Heaven. At that very moment I loved Mr. Morrison. He was right, I would never have bothered with this kind of fuss, for myself; but, I really appreciated it now. Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 03 For being a such a horrible man, regarded as a notorious asshole, he sure as hell had been damn decent and considerate to me. I began to nod off after only ten minutes of soaking, and took that as a sign. I pulled the plug, sloshed out of the tub, gently toweled myself dry, walked into the bedroom and fell into the amazingly comfortable bed. I wish I could say I made the most of my first day in France; but, as I felt my eyelids closing, I didn't care. My dreams were plentiful and vivid that night. Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 04 I awoke to a faint clanking noise. It was my maid -- Melanie, I think -- taking the tray off my desk. She smiled apologetically for waking me. I just smile and told her that I was happy to wake up. I had had such a wonderful sleep. My weary bones and sore muscles were refreshed and aching to move. I wanted to walk, everywhere. I couldn't help but romanticize the idea of just endlessly walking around and exploring this country; but, winter might pose a bit of a problem with that. Melanie left my room, promising to return with some breakfast and coffee. I just flopped back in bed, staring out the window waiting for my maid to return. I knew I would have to get ready for work soon, but I just wanted a few more minutes to appreciate the picturesque beauty of the view and snuggled under the warmth of the plush down duvet. I freed my hair from the elastic it had been bound in, and rubbed my sore scalp. Though styling my hair looked great, it hurt like hell. Nothing felt better than letting my hair fall freely down my shoulders; but, it was so curly and unruly that it could never appear professional. Too bad. I laid nude in bed, concealed by the duvet, in the huge bright bedroom; looking around, checking out my surroundings. There was a fireplace, with a real fire crackling away in it, on the far wall. Two large winged chairs and a tufted ottoman sat before it. The fire place was flanked with two huge windows. The antique writing desk sat against the wall near the end of the bed and a gigantic solid wood armoire stood against the opposing wall. The walls were a crisp white, decorated with large colourful artwork. There were no curtains covering the windows - I suppose there wasn't really a need for the privacy when I had 20 empty acres behind the house; so, the bright morning sun poured into the room. I heard noise down the hall -- an opening and closing of a door. I heard the same noise a few more times. I assumed it was Melanie doing her work; at least I did until I heard my door open, followed by a deep masculine voice. "I find it a little disconcerting, Miss Tanner, that I have to personally retrieve my employee from bed." He said as he landed his intense and angry glare upon me. I immediately sat up stammering apologetically, "I'm so sorry I..." I paused due to his wide-eyed interested expression. He was staring directly at my- . Oh, shit. I yanked the duvet up to my chin, which just left my bright red face exposed topped by my halo of curls. Mr. M still stood, rooted to the spot, with that glazed look in his eyes. Eventually, I just pulled the duvet up over my head, seeking to hide my tears of embarrassment and shame. I was mortified; I had just flashed my boss. Hell, maybe I would get a raise out of it. But, I realized that was a short lived hope when he spoke. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asked sternly. "No sir." I replied meekly, from under the sheets. I heard him release a slight growl before beginning his tirade, "It is 10am. You have had more than enough sleep. No more lazing around. It is time to get to work. Now, I want to see you down stairs in ten minutes; and, you better be presentable." He firmly enunciated the presentable part. I heard my door slam a second later. "Fuck." I cursed as I jumped out of bed and began digging through my luggage. I managed to find the only single pair of dress pants I owned -- Deborah had apparently decided I didn't need anything other than short skirts -- and a fitted silk turquoise v-neck blouse. I jumped into my clothes and pulled my hair up into a conservative bun. I slipped my feet into a pair of open toed gray crocodile skin heels. I did a quick glance in the mirror, frowning as I realized I hadn't got to enjoy my morning cup of coffee, before I ran out my door. I made it downstairs in six minutes. "Better." Mr. M muttered from behind his newspaper when I stood waiting before him. I controlled the blush this time. I really had to start getting that under control. "Now, if you will follow me over to the main house we can sit and have a coffee while we go over today's schedule." He said, from behind the paper as he turned to lead the way back to the main house. He stopped at the door. "You will need your jacket Miss Tanner. It is quite cold out there today. You don't by chance have any boots, do you?" "No Sir." I replied as I grabbed a cashmere scarf and my long wool jacket from the coat stand. I couldn't help but notice, as we walked through the falling snow and bitingly cold wind, his lack of coat and lack of discomfort, over the freezing temperatures. I shivered just looking at him. By the time we reached the house my toes were ten sticks of ice. I would have to get some winter boots. Hopefully Mr.M would not be angry at me for not getting everything I needed for the trip; Deborah must be slipping. I walked into the grand marble entrance foyer of the main manor, shaking the snow off my coat. This place was straight out of a movie; a large grand staircase, marble floors, enormous flower arrangements and large painted portraits on the walls. My heels clicked loudly on the marble floor as I followed Mr. M into an adjoining room, discovering it to be the study. Book shelves lined the walls and a massive desk sat in the middle of the room. Mr. M sat down behind the desk, assuming his regular position while I sat down on a little chair in front of him. He still had his head buried in the morning paper, as per the usual Mr. Morrison- my boss. I was still embarrassed and in relative shock, from this morning's incident; so, I couldn't muster one polite conversational word. So, I just sat nervously, waiting for him to speak. Finally, I heard him chuckle and he lowered the paper to the desk. He assessed me with his shrewd eyes before speaking. "It seems the critics here assume my company will fail in France. They believe that my American style will not meld with the French way of business. Do you agree Miss Tanner?" "I believe the French would rather be romanced, than bullied." I replied hesitantly and cautiously. Mr. M threw back his head and laughed- hard. When finally his laughter diminished he responded, "Never have truer words been spoken. And that, Miss Tanner, is why I have you." It seemed as though he put an, almost possessive, emphasis on the 'his having me' part; and, a shiver ran down my spine at the suggestion of those words. I mentally slapped myself for letting my mind wander in irrational directions. My boss only ever thought of business; anything he ever did was a cold, calculated and controlled decision. He was interested in only profit, and global domination. Okay, so maybe the global domination was stretching it; but, he worked hard enough that he could achieve it. My full attention was once again focused on Mr. Morrison. "How so Mr. Morrison?" I asked perplexed. He smirked before replying, "You are going to romance them." I stared at him, slightly dumbfounded. "Me?" "Yes, you. You will use your wit, charm, grace, beauty and most importantly your knowledge of their culture. And- don't look so horrified. You can and will do this, if you want a job to go home to." "But sir, you don't understand. I don't know how to romance. I wouldn't even know what to do." "You have your Masters in French Studies, how can you not know a thing or two about romance?" he demanded loudly. I flinched at his cutting tone. "I believe romance is not something that can be taught from a book, sir." "Your damn right it can't, but did you not gain some knowledge or experience through your college years?" he asked hotly. "No sir." I stonily replied. I shouldn't have to explain my personal life to this man. It didn't matter that my experience with the opposite sex was limited. It was safer that way; less painful. "Well, you best learn. I will not fail here, and I will get what I want." He boomed, slamming his fist down on the desk. I flinched, cringing back in my seat. I stared at the floor, hiding my blush of shame and embarrassment. "I will try sir."I faintly replied, biting my lip, like a hurt child. I kept my head down, so he would not see my weakness. I knew I could not fail or I would end up jobless and penniless, in New York. After an awkward moment of silence in the massive room, I heard papers rustling and slapping down on the desk. "This is our schedule, fact sheets on who you will be meeting and guidelines for appropriate conversation topics. I have us booked for a dinner party this evening; so, that way you will recognize some of the faces at the opening gala tomorrow night. Did you select a gown for tomorrow, with Deborah?" "Yes sir." I replied robotically. After a few tense minutes, Mr. M flatly stated, "I believe I will have to pass on our coffee, as I have some important work to do now. I want you to read through this package and know everything you need to know for tonight, before we meet at 5pm." He swung his chair around to stare out a tall window, "just ask any of the staff, and they will bring you one of the best coffees you have ever had the pleasure of tasting. Now, if there is nothing you need from me Miss Tanner, I would like to get my work done." That was my cue to take the papers off the desk and leave.I stepped out of the study, shut the door behind me and sighed a breath of relief. It hadn't gone well, per se, but I wasn't fired- yet. I strode across the foyer, with the papers clutched to my chest. I looked around, hoping to find someone on staff. Finally, as I perused the other rooms I found a young woman dusting the furniture. I asked her where I could find a nice quiet place to sit and read, besides the study. She recommended the conservatory, which was at the other end of the large manor. I requested a cup of coffee be sent there for me, before I thanked her and wandered off to find the conservatory. After three thwarted attempts, I finally found the beautiful bright room; it was full of flowers and in the center of the large room lay a hidden seating area. Beside one of the wicker chairs, on a little side table, sat a steaming cup of coffee. Nice. I had found my hidden paradise. Throwing the papers down on the small table, I sat down in the chair, leaned my head back and stared up through the glass ceiling at the clear blue sky. Where I sat was completely hidden, from any onlookers, by the dense foliage in the room; so, unless someone knew where to find me I was pretty much completely hidden from the world. I would have to remember to seek out that girl again, and thank her; as well as request she not let anyone else know about this spot. I wanted to keep this as my secret escape. Tearing my gaze away from the crystal clear winter sky, I reached for my coffee and reading material. Mr. M was right; this was the best coffee I had ever had. So, sipping my coffee I sat and read through the pages he had given me. It took me 2 hours to get through all the material and I intended to read through it fully once more. I got up, to take a little break and stretch out, and wandered out of the conservatory to check out more of the historic manor. When I ran into another employee, while perusing some of the large portraits on the hall's wall, I requested another coffee be sent to the conservatory. If I wasn't careful, I was going to become a coffeeholic before I left this country. I gave myself 15 minutes before I headed back to my escape, to do a second read through. By the time I finished reading through and memorizing all the information Mr. M had supplied me, for a second time, it was three o'clock. I had two hours before I had to meet him. I decided I best go back to my manor to get ready. I did not want to incite more anger, by being late; even though, in France being late was considered fashionable. I ignored my grumbling stomach as I walked down the path to my manor. I had forgotten to eat -- more like I hadn't been given an opportunity -- and was ravenous because of it. I was looking forward to dinner. I swept into the main manor at 4:58pm, wearing a sexy black Versace dress accented by a pair of low purple Jimmy Choo heels. Deborah had told me they were named 'Lolita'; which, I found quite fitting and amusing. Deborah had also informed me that I was always supposed to be able to name the brand of clothing I was wearing, in case someone asked me; this was part and parcel of hanging out with the crème de la crème. I definitely wasn't in Kansas -- or in my case New York -- anymore. I had wrapped a cashmere shawl around my shoulders for warmth. We wouldn't be outside at all, so I decided not to lug my heavy wool coat along. I sat in a small chair and waited patiently, in the foyer, for Mr. M. At 5pm exactly, he began his decent down the grand set of stairs. It felt like I was watching him in slow motion, as I took in the perfect image before me. I was awestruck, and completely baffled that I had never noticed how exceptionally gorgeous Mr. M was. He wore a sleek modern black suit with a crisp bright white shirt underneath, and finished off with white cufflinks and shoes. He looked... great. Too bad he was my boss, and such an asshole. He walked over to me and held out his arm. Slightly taken aback I sat staring at him, confused. "I am offering you my arm, to escort you to the car Miss Tanner. The polite thing to do would be to accept said proffered arm." I snapped up out of the chair and grabbed onto his arm. He looked at me with an odd expression. It seemed to be a mixture of amusement, frustration, lust and guilt. How all those emotions are conveyed through a look, I don't know; but, somehow those were what I felt through his gaze. He escorted me to the car, lightly brushing a touch down my arm as he helped me into the backseat. I was acutely aware of his warm presence beside me. As the car rolled out of the lane, Mr. M offered me a drink. I accepted, taking a scotch on the rocks. His arched brow, in surprise, at my choice of beverage. "Scotch? Are you sure Miss Tanner?" he asked. A small smirk danced at the corner of his mouth. "Yes sir." I replied firmly. He poured me my beverage and brushed his hand over mine as he passed it to me. I blushed at the slight touch, and turned away to face the window. "Why scotch?" he asked, as I took my third delicious sip. "When I was in university, every penny had to count; so, when I did drink I found scotch to be the most effective for the small amount. And, I enjoyed it. I love its tingling warmth, and that you can slowly linger over it taking your time to appreciate it." I watched the lights outside speed past, as I provided my answer to Mr. M. A moment of silence passed before he said, "I find it hard to believe, Miss Tanner, that you have never been romanced, that no man has ever tried to earn your affections." I felt embarrassed by his comment. I assumed he was making fun of the fact no man desired me. "How a woman as beautiful and desirable as you has slipped through our fingers for so long, baffles me." I looked over --expecting cold mockery -- to find warmth and truth in those emerald eyes. I had assumed incorrectly. My heart rate elevated and my breathing became slightly erratic. I began to visualize what he would do to me if he were the one romancing me. I tore my eyes away from his, blushing, shocked by my response to his words. I diverted my attention outside, unable to respond. He found me desirable. "Miss Tanner." I didn't want to look at him. I didn't know how I was going to face him without blushing; and, stop the repeating visual of his naked body crushing mine. Grudgingly I turned to face him, and slapped on the most convincing, fake, smile I could manage. "Yes Sir?" I responded robotically. "Do you enjoy working for me?" "Yes Sir. It's a wonderful job." I was taken aback by the question, and answered as diplomatically as possible. "That is not what I asked you." He smoothly and firmly informed her. "Pardon me?" "That is not what I asked you. The question was, do you enjoy working for me?" he watched her sharply, waiting for an answer. "I...I have enjoyed working for you very much." I carefully replied. "Why?" he kept his shrewd eyes on me. Shit. This was dangerous territory. "Because, even though it can be very challenging at times, when I do succeed, it is that much more rewarding." I hoped that I had not offended him with my reply. He assessed me coolly, and seemed to consider my answer. "I need you to do whatever it takes to help secure our hold; because, failure is not an option here. I hope that you will not disappoint me." He said sternly, "can I trust you Miss Tanner?" I hesitated. Was this why Ms. Whitecliff had refused to work with this man? What exactly was I getting myself into? Was I selling my soul to the devil? If I wanted to keep my job, I knew my answer had to be, "Yes Sir." "I am glad to hear it Miss Tanner." He said with a provocative smile. "I believe it indicated in your information that Mr. Laurent and Mr. Moreau are currently single and dating. I believe they will be quite fond of you, and most intrigued by you. I encourage you to be flattered by their attentions. This is to our advantage. You see, so long as I have something they want, I have leverage." I felt cold indignation at his comment. I was not a pawn in this man's game. I was not a possession for this man to lend out at his leisure. "What if I do not wish to encourage their attention or affection?" I asked coldly. "I thought you said you had no current attachments?" he rebutted. "I don't, but-", I replied resenting the fact I had divulged any personal information. "Then what is the problem? I'm not asking you to do anything to compromise your honour, only humour a couple healthy, wealthy and influential men. It can not possibly be that horrible a prospect. Where is your joie de vivre, Miss Tanner?" he asked with a contemptuous smile. "I, I..." I couldn't form a cohesive sentence. My temper was taking control. This man was an arrogant, presumptuous, pompous, self-centered and soulless ass. To hell with keeping my temper in check, he had crossed a line. "I am not your possession. You can not just sell me to the highest bidder because it serves your purpose. I will not sacrifice my honour and my pride to meet your ends. I may have no experience with men or romance, but that is of my own doing and choice. I am the only person who gets to choose what is done with my body." I stated lividly, my cheeks flaming with indignant anger. I stared firmly into his deep green eyes. He broke eye contact first, while looking away to hide a smile. "And what if you wished to encourage someone's interest, what if there was mutual interest?" "Then that is my choice." I bit out. "I see. I'm sorry Miss Tanner for offending you. I did not realize I was dealing with such an innocent. It is so rare, that I ceased to believe women like you existed." He stated, unaffected by my blow out. "Women like me? What does that mean?" I bit out defensively. "A woman who does not use her body or sex to her advantage. A woman who will not use a man for her own gain. A woman with a strong sense of self-respect." He replied coolly, sipping his beverage. "I...oh, well, I uh accept your apology Mr. Morrison." I replied, shocked by his reply; and, shocked he hadn't fired me. "Call me David tonight." "Yes Si- , David." We arrived at the restaurant ten minutes later, having spent the remainder of the car ride in silence while we both watched the city lights pass by, out the windows. I felt a warm tingle through my body from the scotch, which helped to ward off the cold chill on the short dash from the car into the restaurant. I ended up enjoying the evening more than I could have thought possible, after my encounter with Mr. Morrison -- sorry, David -- in the car. Having the opportunity to converse in French was amazing, and with true Parisians. I drank the offered wine, and champagne toasts; and, was feeling very confident and relaxed from the alcohol. The two men - Mr. Moreau and Mr. Laurent - that Mr. Morrison had mentioned were very attentive towards me, praising me and lavishing me with attention. I found myself enjoying it; and, they were very polite, funny and respectful. Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 04 I, also, didn't fail to notice the tall rail thin beauty that Mr. Morrison had occupied. She was gazing at Mr. Morrison with unconcealed worship and lust. I just shook my head in contempt. She was just going to end up like all the others, another notch in the bedpost. I found myself watching my boss flirt with this foreign beauty and imagining what the future had in store for them. Mr. Laurent came over to bring me a drink and broke my reverie. Between he and Mr. Moreau the remainder of my evening was fully engrossed ,with plans for exploration and discovery. Each man had a different spot within the city that he felt I must see, and swore was the very essence and soul of the city. I had warmly accepted their invitations, work permitting. I grimaced, realizing I had played right into Mr. Morrison's little plan. Speaking of which, I had lost track of Mr. Morrison and time for quite a while. I looked around, searching for Mr. Morrison, the skinny goddess or a clock. None of which I could see. When I finally found a waiter to ask the time, he told me it was 2am. I decided I would go in search of my boss, before I fell asleep under a table. I had only been looking a for a few minutes before I felt a brushing sensation at the nape of my neck, quickly spinning I turned to face the chest of the very focus of my search. I stumbled back a couple steps and Mr. Morrison reached out and wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me. He smiled down at me darkly, his eyes again seeming to glow. I giggled, at my foolishness; first stumbling, then imagining things -- I must really be drunk. His smile grew, revealing perfect shining white teeth; but, I noticed his canines seemed a little sharper then most peoples. I again giggled, imagining him visiting the dentist every so often to have them sharpened up -- just like a pair of skates - just so he would appear more menacing to his employees and competitors. He looked down at me heatedly and pulled me in a little closer to the warmth of his body. I just about damn near melted against him then and there, until I saw over his shoulder a jealous pair of brown eyes. The earlier companion of Mr. Morrison's stood staring daggers at me, so I quickly extracted my body from his. I berated myself for being so silly and irresponsible; how could I let myself indulge in too much alcohol? I had almost crossed some kind of line with my boss, just because I could not control myself enough to hold back on the alcohol. I asked him if we could leave soon. He assured me we would leave momentarily, just as soon as he was done bidding fare-well to his hosts. He handed me a glass of scotch, with a wink, from a tray - which a waiter just happened to 'conveniently' bring at that moment - and grabbed one for himself before disappearing into the mass of businessmen and their guests. I waited on the fringes near the door with my glass of scotch, waiting to leave. I downed it relatively quickly, in the hopes we would be leaving soon. After standing with an empty glass for five minutes, the same waiter returned with another drink for me. I hesitantly accepted it, promising myself that I would drink this one more slowly, if at all; since, we could be leaving at any moment. I had more than enough time to finish my drink, which I did, before he finally found his way out of the crowd of people. He slowly and casually sauntered over to me and stood before me, once again offering me his arm. This time I accepted immediately; and, was immediately grateful, since the alcohol had also affected my ability to walk straight. I imagine Mr. Morrison knew he was doing the bulk of the guiding, since he slipped his arm behind my back and around my waist, carrying some of my weight. He guided me to the door; and, I was grateful for our departure. At least I was until we stepped outside, where a sharp bitterly cold wind whipped at us. Mr. Morrison hid me in the protection of his suit jacket while he rushed us over to the parked car. He pushed me in first, unable to help me when I tripped on my dress hem getting in, and I tumbled to the car floor. I was shivering and bitterly cold. Every part of my body exhibited it: my teeth chattered, every limb shivered uncontrollably; my lips, finger tips and toes were blue. My flesh was goose pimpled and my nipples were tight hard buds peeking against the sheer fabric of my dress. Mr. Morrison crawled in the seat and looked down at my disheveled splayed form on the floor and chuckled. I gave him a stern glare, for his lack of gallantry, before he reached out to pull me up beside him. I quickly adjusted the hem of my dress and crossed my arms over my chest, to hide the result of the cold. I was still shivering, but didn't fail to notice that, again, the cold had not affected my boss one little bit; in fact, I could feel the heat radiating from his body beside me. I fought the longing to cling to him for warmth. I would just have to wait for the heat the car to warm me up. Suddenly I felt a warm palm cup my cheek and a gentle thumb run down my jaw. I unconsciously closed my eyes and leaned into the hand. Slowly it slid up my jaw and abandoned it to tuck a stay strand of hair behind my ear. I heard a deep growling beside me, and slowly pulled my eyes open to stare into the heated emerald eyes of Mr. Morrison. I noticed his jaw was clenched tightly, but his hand caressed the nape of my neck gently. He made no further move beyond caressing and stroking my neck and shoulder. I had no desire at the moment to make an issue of our present situation, so long as he didn't do anything more than he was. I allowed my head to fall back against the seat, and again let my eyes flutter close. Mr. Morrison continued his gentle stroking. "Miss Tanner?" he inquired softly. "Mmmmm?" I moaned in response. "I spoke to Mr. Moreau and Mr. Laurent tonight. They seem quite captivated by you. They told me they were hoping to show you the city, but you were concerned about it interfering with your work. I assured them that I would make time for you to do so. You seemed to enjoy their company, did you not? Would it please you to explore the city with them?" he softly inquired. I nodded my head unable to form any coherent words. Again his hand moved up to cup my cheek and his thumb stroked my jaw. Back and forth, up and down his thumb smoothly stroked. It was incredibly soothing. "Good." I heard him say softly beside me. It was with his warm hand gently stroking my face in the backseat of the Rolls that I fell into the deep coma like sleep that ended my second night in France.