Nicolas waited for the valet to bring his car. He paced impatiently as the night air hit his skin. He looked beyond the brightly lit canopy to the area where the boy had run and could not see beyond the darkness.
"Stop pacing," his long-time friend Oliver was slightly amused.
"Why is he taking that long?" Nicolas asked instead.
"He's been gone for less than two minutes," Oliver was looking at the limited-brand Rolex on his wrist.
"I don't have that much," Nicolas said with a frown.
"Yes, you do," Oliver told him, "You also have to convince me why I should take that model into my company."
"I don't want you to take her in," Nicolas said automatically.
He did not know why but he wanted Aurelie under his wing. Putting her under Oliver's modelling agency did not look like a good idea to him. It would mean that Oliver would own her and his connection to her would be limited. He did not want that. Not even a little bit.
"Why?" Oliver was looking at him quizzically, blonde hair catching the light.
"I want her to be under French Red," Nicolas informed his friend.
"You have only three models directly under your company right now," Oliver reminded his friend.
"Why do you want this one?"
Nicolas looked at his friend and wondered if he really wanted to know. Did he not see her? She was a goddess. She was an angel. She was a decadent desire. One that would make the blood of every man on the planet. His only problem was that his blood heated up too. She stirred something in him. But he was not a teenager. He was an experienced man who knew how to control all his urges.
"Did you not see her on stage?" His tone was incredulous.
How could Oliver not see what he saw?
"I did," Oliver said with a knowing gleam in his eye.
Nicolas did not acknowledge that look. He was too busy reminiscing about why Aurelie had captured his attention and left an impression.
He could remember how she had looked. Her black hair had caught the overhead lights. Her dress had flown behind her like it was under some spell. He remembered how her skin had glowed like she was infused with magic. She had looked like a moon goddess or a beautiful death ghost there to take his soul. She had not taken his soul but she had captured his attention. All without trying. If she could do that in the unremarkable dress she was in, she could do more in his designs.
She had been the image of life. At one point, it had looked like she had looked right at him where he stood in the back. She had a certain energy he could not describe. He had been here to scout for designers and had not been impressed. His reluctant visit there had not been in vain. He had found her. When he had seen her walking, he had seen the beautiful clothes he could make for her.
He could see the beauty he could make a reality. She had awoken a designer in him he had secretly thought was dying. He had wanted to start drawing there and then. When he had seen her backstage, he had been surer than ever she would be the next face of his company. She was what French Red needed. She was the missing link in his company.
She had moved with energy; each step was animated and had drawn him in. She had a bright future ahead of her. He had been sure she was in pain but she had held it in and smiled at him. Her skin had looked so soft. Creamy in the light. Her hair had shone like silk and had flowed like a stream. He had no doubt that hair and skin care companies would seek her out. Her grey eyes had been big round and innocent. She had flushed when she had met his gaze. He had pretended not to notice when her breathing had become rapid and shallow. He had not acknowledged that her eyes had dilated when she had looked at him. He had tried to not see her pulse at the base of her neck.
When she had walked away from him, he had watched her hips sway as she walked in the death traps people call shoes. She had been graceful in them. Like a swan in the pond. She had stood like a regal queen when the designer had stripped the dress out of her. He had seen how the dress had left red indented marks on her skin. She had not winced. She must have been very uncomfortable with that dress cutting her circulation but she had not shown it. She had taken it like a seasoned warrior.
"That is the problem," Oliver broke his friend out of his musing.
"Problem?" Nicolas paused his pacing and fully faced his friend.
"I saw how you looked at her," Oliver informed his friend with a smirk.
"The way I was looking at her," Nicolas parroted his eyes narrowing at his friend.
"Don't play coy Nick," came the replied easily, "It does not suit you."
"Okay," Nicolas relented, "She is an attractive woman."
"Really?" Oliver's tone was sarcastic, "I would have never known."
"I thought you did not," Nicolas was searching into the darkness.
Why was his car not here yet?
"She is trouble," Nicolas heard his friend say and he frowned.
"I am hiring a model with great potential. And she is nineteen. How much trouble can she be?"
He knew how to judge a woman. She was the kind of woman who could draw him in without trying. But as much as she was attracted to him, she seemed professional. Was he so bad that his friend did not think he could control himself? Sure, he was not the best of men out there. He was a rake and he knew it. By all means, he would not want his sisters with a man like himself but he had control. He had failed to show this in the past but he could separate his personal life from his private life. He could recognise a flower that did not need plucking and leave it alone.
"The fact that you know her age cements my fears," Oliver informed his friend soberly.
"I had to know if I needed her parents' consent to get her into French Red."
Nicolas could not believe that he had to defend himself. He was not a cradle robber. He was beginning to see the kind of light his friend saw him in.
"Keep telling yourself that and hopefully it might be true," Oliver muttered as he looked around them and noted gratefully that they were away from anyone who might overhear them.
"It is true," Nicolas said in frustration, "I am only interested in her as a model."
Why were they going down this route of conversation? He would not touch her. She was far too young for him. He knew that. Oliver knew he knew that. She had been playing with dolls when he was getting his first girlfriend. He just had to develop an avuncular attitude over her. He thought it would not be hard as she had not thrown herself at him. She had reacted to him physically. But she had not acted on it. In fact, she had tried to mask it. She was innocent. Nicolas did not want to ruin that by dipping anything into it.
She was a precious piece of clear glass and if he touched her, he would stain her for life. She was too good for him. But she was just right for his company. He would not approach her as a man. But he would get her as the company. He would do his best to keep their relationship strictly professional.