Chapter Four
266 Words
Chapter FourPIERRE BRECKMAN SAT on the exceptional terrace of his suite and stared at the brightly lit Eiffel Tower. He sipped vodka without tonic and wondered how all his plans had gone to hell.
Silke had ended things in a very public manner. His blood pressure increased as he recalled the photographs of her and her new lover. She was beneath his contempt for such a narcissistic display, but he was still angry. She’d wounded his pride, although he was loath to admit it. It hadn’t been the first time.
He strode to the edge of the terrace and leaned over the railing. He could hear Rick’s evening replacement step outside, simply to keep an eye on him.
Then he thought of the tall, Brazilian woman with the striking hazel eyes. She’d stood in his suite and argued the virtues of Monet.
There was an earnestness about her that piqued his interest. She was professional and honest, or so she appeared. Given the moral state of her colleagues, he had his suspicions.
Pierre sipped his drink. Corruption could be enticed and drawn into the open with a few well-placed suggestions.
As his anger retreated, he was conscious of the weakening effects of rage. It made one rash. It made one foolish. He’d vowed never to be those things again.
The Eiffel Tower winked at him, beckoning him to visit her. To do so, he’d need a companion worthy of so beautiful and romantic a location.
Sometimes it seemed as if he were surrounded by vipers. Nowhere was the kind of woman worthy of the Eiffel Tower.
He turned his back on her and went inside.
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