children, don’t you?”
“Yes, twin boys, terrific lads. Marina and I are very proud of them.” He paused. “Now, what can I tell you that you’d like to know and that isn’t covered by the agreement you haven’t signed?” His challenging smile indicated the chitchat was done for the day.
“What’s in it for me in the long run?” she asked. “I don’t mind signing confidentiality agreements, but I usually know the reason. And this agreement has industrial-strength strings attached.”
“What’s in it for you? If, after you hear the job description, you want to give it a shot, you get a one-year contract that will pay you a quarter of a million—that’s two hundred and fifty thousand pounds not dollars—per quarter. If you say no, you get to keep twenty-five thousand dollars and walk away.”
Her stomach tightened at the amount. A million pounds in a year! Even the $25,000 had seemed almost too good to be true, but a million pounds ? She managed to coolly raise her eyebrows. “Why me? Why someone you just met? I mean, the launch went very well and I shouldn’t have been laid off, all that’s true, and yet . . . Why me?”
“Tell me, Anna, if you lose other accounts and have to get out there and try to find new clients or a job, what scares you the most? What do you think could stand in your way?”
She lifted her chin. “Nothing. Sure, the economy’s bad, but it’s been bad before. Maybe—”
“Yes?”
“Maybe being older scares me a little.” He had to know she’d feel that way, so she might as well admit it. “It’s never easy to start over, and certainly not at my age—not in Los Angeles and probably not anywhere in the world. But I do have a reputation. And a track record. And I . . .” She stopped. She just couldn’t lie and say she had plenty of clients. “I guess if I were in that position, my age would scare me.”
“Even though the clients wouldn’t know and couldn’t ask exactly how old you are?”
“Even Madame X can’t make me look as young as the competition. That’s simply a fact of life.”
“And that’s why I want you on my team,” Barton said cheerfully, as though she’d just passed a test rather than made a difficult confession. “You’re talented, you’re proven, you’re a woman of a certain age, and the Madame X campaign shows you understand how other women your age think. That all works for me.”
“And if I sign this”—she tapped the folded agreement next to her espresso cup—“I get briefed on the venture and then can make up my mind, no strings attached except the confidentiality?” He nodded. “And you’ll fill me in now?”
“Now? No. In ten days.” He reached inside his attaché and pulled out an envelope. “Inside is your plane ticket, hotel information, and check for $25,000.”
“Plane ticket? To London?”
“No, to Paris.” He smiled boyishly. “I’m going to visit my mother. And now,” he added, “may I offer you the use of my pen?”
“I haven’t been to Paris in years.” She hesitated for just one more instant. “All right, I’ll sign. I’ve got my own pen, thanks. Or do I have to sign in blood?” she added jokingly. Looking up as she signed, she caught him studying her in a way that made her wonder fleetingly if she’d agreed too soon. Then she gave a little laugh and handed the agreement to him. She wasn’t Faust, he wasn’t the devil, and all she’d agreed to was an expense-paid trip to Paris and a big fat wad of money. Her future was looking up.
Chapter 4
The envelope Pierre Barton had handed her at Seven East contained a business-class ticket to Paris and a travel agent’s prepaid voucher for a week’s stay at the four-star Westin Place Vendôme near the Tuileries. She hadn’t stayed on the Right Bank since splitting up with David decades ago. Sometimes when he had to leave New York for weeks of project meetings in his native London, he would buy Anna a ticket to fly over to
“Yes, twin boys, terrific lads. Marina and I are very proud of them.” He paused. “Now, what can I tell you that you’d like to know and that isn’t covered by the agreement you haven’t signed?” His challenging smile indicated the chitchat was done for the day.
“What’s in it for me in the long run?” she asked. “I don’t mind signing confidentiality agreements, but I usually know the reason. And this agreement has industrial-strength strings attached.”
“What’s in it for you? If, after you hear the job description, you want to give it a shot, you get a one-year contract that will pay you a quarter of a million—that’s two hundred and fifty thousand pounds not dollars—per quarter. If you say no, you get to keep twenty-five thousand dollars and walk away.”
Her stomach tightened at the amount. A million pounds in a year! Even the $25,000 had seemed almost too good to be true, but a million pounds ? She managed to coolly raise her eyebrows. “Why me? Why someone you just met? I mean, the launch went very well and I shouldn’t have been laid off, all that’s true, and yet . . . Why me?”
“Tell me, Anna, if you lose other accounts and have to get out there and try to find new clients or a job, what scares you the most? What do you think could stand in your way?”
She lifted her chin. “Nothing. Sure, the economy’s bad, but it’s been bad before. Maybe—”
“Yes?”
“Maybe being older scares me a little.” He had to know she’d feel that way, so she might as well admit it. “It’s never easy to start over, and certainly not at my age—not in Los Angeles and probably not anywhere in the world. But I do have a reputation. And a track record. And I . . .” She stopped. She just couldn’t lie and say she had plenty of clients. “I guess if I were in that position, my age would scare me.”
“Even though the clients wouldn’t know and couldn’t ask exactly how old you are?”
“Even Madame X can’t make me look as young as the competition. That’s simply a fact of life.”
“And that’s why I want you on my team,” Barton said cheerfully, as though she’d just passed a test rather than made a difficult confession. “You’re talented, you’re proven, you’re a woman of a certain age, and the Madame X campaign shows you understand how other women your age think. That all works for me.”
“And if I sign this”—she tapped the folded agreement next to her espresso cup—“I get briefed on the venture and then can make up my mind, no strings attached except the confidentiality?” He nodded. “And you’ll fill me in now?”
“Now? No. In ten days.” He reached inside his attaché and pulled out an envelope. “Inside is your plane ticket, hotel information, and check for $25,000.”
“Plane ticket? To London?”
“No, to Paris.” He smiled boyishly. “I’m going to visit my mother. And now,” he added, “may I offer you the use of my pen?”
“I haven’t been to Paris in years.” She hesitated for just one more instant. “All right, I’ll sign. I’ve got my own pen, thanks. Or do I have to sign in blood?” she added jokingly. Looking up as she signed, she caught him studying her in a way that made her wonder fleetingly if she’d agreed too soon. Then she gave a little laugh and handed the agreement to him. She wasn’t Faust, he wasn’t the devil, and all she’d agreed to was an expense-paid trip to Paris and a big fat wad of money. Her future was looking up.
Chapter 4
The envelope Pierre Barton had handed her at Seven East contained a business-class ticket to Paris and a travel agent’s prepaid voucher for a week’s stay at the four-star Westin Place Vendôme near the Tuileries. She hadn’t stayed on the Right Bank since splitting up with David decades ago. Sometimes when he had to leave New York for weeks of project meetings in his native London, he would buy Anna a ticket to fly over to
Similar Books
