Billionaire Romance: Darque Initiation (A Darque Billionaire Romance Book 1) (3 page)

“Wow. And you don’t want anything in return?”

“No. There’s nothing you could give me anyway.”

“Wow. That’s…amazing!” she said, thinking over the rapid memories of the night, and convinced she met the only gentleman who’d ever inhabited a seedy nightclub by pure chance.

*****

Bella fluttered her eyes awake, at least partly awake. She was stuck in between the dream state and the real world. She was in bed—a strange bed with a strange man putting his hands on her. What in the world did she do? She panicked for a moment.

Then she figured the whole incident must have been a dream.  An unusually vivid one with plenty of bizarre cameos, but a dream nonetheless.

“Oh God…where am I?” she mumbled. “Am I asleep? Who are you?”

“It’s me.”

“But…who are you?”

“It’s me, Arabella. It’s Bastien.”

“Bastien? That’s a strange coincidence,” she said, groggy and confused.

“You’re half asleep, little girl. Go to sleep now. You’ll sleep it off and be ready for a full day of work Monday.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me. I hate that job.”

Bastien rolled his eyes. Sure, he was being altruistic, true to the young girl’s words, but he couldn’t help but sneak a peek at her alluring body. She was curvy in all the right places with those big hips and thighs, and a generous bosom that stirred his most primitive emotions. He could smell her hair from where he stood, lifting her up and setting her on the guest bed. Her chestnut hair was perfect and her skin wasn’t just tan like all the other girls, but a beautiful shade of pallid porcelain. Her eyes were so enamoring. She was also tall, her five foot eight frame the perfect complement to his. She was young, but physically she was intimidating to most men and she didn’t seem to realize why. His attraction burned, even as the warmth of her skin soothed his own.

For a moment, he had to fight his instincts; to grab her, to let passion take over. She would probably let him. But it simply wasn’t Bastien Darque. He lived by a code. And to take advantage of a woman seemed not only cruel and inhumane, but downright illogical. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he have to cheat?

As he walked away, content to leave her in his guest bedroom with a house servant dropping in occasionally to ensure her welfare, he made sure to leave her with a parting thought.

“You sleep well, Arabella. I’m going to let this slide. Just this once.”

“Whaaat?” she answered in a stupor, confused and already making sweet love to the bed.

“Just know this. If you were mine, and you came home like this, your life hanging in the balance of a Good Samaritan, I wouldn’t tolerate it. I would make sure that you were punished severely for it. I would make sure you wouldn’t even sit down for a week. Got it?”

He ended his lecture with a half-smile, almost a tone of warmth towards the end. Not quite like a father or big brother, or even a boyfriend, but something else. Something else seemed odd about his statement. It left a bit of a splinter in her brain, focusing on those strange words.

If I was yours? Punished severely? You would spank me? What the fuck was he talking about?

But it was too much to think of at that moment. She basked in the warm room temperature, surrounded by Egyptian cotton blankets, and the soul-caressing color of purple all around the room. She felt protected. Whoever he was, whatever good deed he did for whatever reason, he really was a gentleman.

She even thought he might be…

And then like that, just that quick, she was out.

*****

              Saturday morning was always so peaceful, so tranquil. Bella always used to wake up with the distinct feeling that it was Saturday and that nothing was due, and no plans were yet made. It was supposed to be a day of rest and no regrets.

              But all she felt as she flinched herself away was a throbbing headache and unfamiliar sights and bright lights everywhere she turned.
Where am I
, she thought. She found herself underdressed and under a blanket, and in God knows where—a hotel? A friend’s room? Definitely nothing this side of Woodley Park.

As she rose to a sitting position, she was alarmed to see just how underdressed she was: she wore just her pink panties and a T-shirt…which looked several sizes too big. It was a man’s T-shirt! Who in the hell could have undressed her like this? Whose bedroom was this?

Then she remembered…the guy from last night. The Nice Guy from the bar, who was acting kind of odd toward the end of the night. Did he do this? She looked around the room rapidly, before settling her eyes on a note. The note had been delivered in a large blue envelope; certainly one meant to be easily found and read on such a suspicious morning.

Hello Arabella. Thank you for staying at my guest accommodations. Please help yourself to breakfast in the kitchen. I have a cab waiting for you, in case you’d like to go to work…you know, if that sort of thing matters to you.

Work? On a Saturday morning?

She shook off her confusion. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t happy being in this stranger’s house. So she quickly got dressed, finding last night’s clothes neatly folded on a dresser, right before exiting the cold and empty place. She helped herself to a less-than-continental breakfast, speaking of a piece of toast and some orange juice.

Whoever her ‘travel concierge’ was for the night, he even had the courtesy to recharge her cell phone using one of his docking devices. She checked her messages. Ten unheard voice mails and five texts!
              Uh oh. What did she miss?
This is Saturday morning, isn’t it
?

Oh God,
she thought as she heard Abrams’ panicked tone on her voice mail. “Where are you, Bella? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night. The Darques have called an emergency meeting. Everyone on the project has to be here by ten. That’s you! He requested you specifically! Hurry the hell up!”

“Shit!” she said in a frantic voice, grabbing her clothes and purse and scurrying out of the house, looking for the cab. Thankfully, the handsome stranger was considerate enough to know she might need a cab, though his timing was a bit conspicuous.

As she took the cab to work, she cursed the day that Saturday morning was ruined for her. Responsibility, stress—on a Saturday! She knew she was going to hate Reputation Management, and sure enough, that blasted, soulless career lived up to its reputation just fine. Wherever she was, whoever this guy was, it was an important part of town. The Watergate Complex area on New Hampshire Avenue. He was definitely a successful type, and so odd of him not to rub it in her face.

She arrived at work, about thirty minutes past ten, and by the time she entered everyone was giving her the evil eye.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to be called in,” she moaned, trying to hide the fact that she was hung over and barely seeing straight.

“Glad you could join us, Bella,” Abrams said, already irritated. But he moved his attention back toward the client who was already there and already talking business.

“Sorry,” she whispered so low she might as well have mouthed it.

Then as she turned her chin up, her hope was dashed to pieces. There he was the head of the Darque Campaign himself—Bastien. And he looked…surprisingly like the guy from the bar.

Holy Shit!
she said with her eyes and gaping mouth. The same guy who saw her get totally wasted. The same guy who took her home, put her to bed, fed her, and then told her to get to the hell to work in the nicest way possible.

“No, no, no, no…” she muttered to herself, feeling the inevitable firing to come. She was not only late, she had made a fool of herself in front of the firm’s biggest client to date. It really was the end of the world, wasn’t it?

Well, look on the bright side
, her mother’s overly critical voice said inside her head—as always.
At least you won’t have to work in reputation management much longer.

Maybe this wasn’t such a catastrophe, she tried to rationalize, all the while pretending to listen to Bastien’s long-winded speech on the Darque name.
Maybe Bastien Darque—oh, God, the man I tried to kiss last night in drunken whore state—is amused at the whole thing. Maybe he likes me. Maybe I’m freaking out for nothing. I know…I’ll look over at him and smile. And maybe then he’ll let me know everything is all right.

She looked over to meet his eyes and half-smiled.

Bastien met her for just a split second and glared. He wasn’t amused. He was downright sharky and snarky looking. A razor’s edge of a frown and barking orders at the men like they were all personally responsible for his bad day. His brusque tone of voice was menacing, sounding like every young executive from Hell, trying to browbeat everyone into total self-loathing cooperation.

“I don’t think there’s anything more to say on it,” he said. “Go and do your jobs. My family’s name has been dragged through the mud. But I have full confidence that you will fix this. We have invested a lot of money in making sure you fix this. Do your job. Don’t make me come back here. Understood?”

The room chanted in agreement. Meanwhile, Bella went into shivers and jitters, thinking of how out of place she felt in the room. Not just a fish out of water, but downright alien. She knew she was offensively underqualified to be here. And to top it all off, she had already lost the boss’ confidence in the worst first date ever, in the history of humanity.

After Bastien dismissed the room of suits, and didn’t bother singling her out for a hello, she quickly ran up to Carter Abrams and whined in desperation.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

“I called you two hours ago.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t get the message. But please, can we just talk out in the hallway?”

“Make it snappy,” he said, snapping back at her as they walked out to an empty hallway.

“Mister Abrams? Please…take me off this case?”

“Excuse me?”

“This whole thing has been a disaster. Just please let me go.  Let me work on something else.”

“Work on something else?” he said with a scowl. “Aren’t you still going for your Master’s in Marketing? This internship is part of your record, Bella. You know that.”

“I know, I know.”

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s him. I can’t work for him.”

“Who? Darque? Bella, you’re going to be dealing with a lot of men like him. It’s just public relations.”

“No, no. You don’t understand!
I know him
. I can’t work for him.”

“You mean…you know him, know him?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I…no, not like that,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “I just don’t think our personalities mesh well. I don’t think…”

“Bella, this is part of your internship. I respect that you have strong objections to his character. But this is part of the life. You have to suck it up. You have to finish the job. At the end of the day, it’s why we’re all here. Don’t you want to finish your Master’s? And have a good internship experience?”

“Yes…”

“Then with all due respect, Miss Stone,” he said, always compassionate but always careful not to turn his concern into sexism. “Shut up and deal. We’ll pretend we didn’t have this conversation. Okay?”

She sighed and shut her eyes in resignation. Yes, it really was that bad.

By the time she mustered enough nerve to back in there and face her fears, many of the workers and other interns had cleared, including Bradley, who had already given Mister Darque a hard manly handshake, proving his worth. Darque wasn’t much for talking to the everyday worker…but since this was about public relations, and improving the family’s image, he figured he should make some attempt to seem approachable.

“Arabella,” he said, minus a smile.

“Hi…ummm, Bastien Darque. Mister Darque.” She was mortified and struggled to remain in his eye line while also trying not to laugh, as per Abrams words, and not to blush because of well…the whole made-a-damned-fool-of-herself thing.

“I believe we’ve met,” he said, finally forming a half-smile.

“Yes…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize who you were. And I guess I was the last one. I’m sorry! I don’t keep up with politics and reputations. Journalism is my passion.”

“Ah. Interesting. So reporting the truth is what appeals to you?”

“Uh…yeah, I guess that’s a safe thing to say.”

“And the illusion of truth, as presented by a biased media…that’s what makes you uncomfortable.”

She smiled and chortled—just short of a full laugh, which sounded too girly for the world of politics. “Yes, that’s a fairly accurate summary of my character, Mister Darque. I wish we could have had a normal conversation like this for our first meeting.”

“First impressions count. But remember, Arabella. Consistency is more important than first impressions. At least in our line of work.”

“Good advice,” she said with a long smile.

“Let’s go to dinner.”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked for you specifically on this case, Arabella. I like your approach. I like your work.” He didn’t even look down or check her out…as if to make a power play. He didn’t have to. He believed everything he said. “I think it’s what this campaign needs.”

“Dinner? Like now? Afterhours?”

“It’s about the account. It’s just business.” He stopped short of a smile but sent her a ravishing stare…the kind of ambiguous, formal look he probably gave every client who loved the charisma of the Darque family.

“Okay.”

“Oh and please dress for dinner. It’s a formal dining affair with a dress code. I trust you’ll use…good judgment,” he said, giving her one last glance but not bothering to linger, before he took off to take care of further business. “I’ll email you the location later.”

From nervous intern to disastrous first interview to first date with one of the most powerful men in the country. Just another day in Reputation Management, she thought to herself with a sulk.

*****