Ella cupped her hands around her mug of hot chocolate and wondered where to begin her story. She couldn’t believe she was telling Philippe any of it, and even more amazing, that she wanted to. She didn’t talk about her disastrous relationship—if she could even call it that—with Charles to anyone. She’d bottled it up and poured herself into work, into proving herself in a different—and far safer—arena.
Yet now she wanted to let it out. To him.
“We met here in the city,” she began haltingly. “I was working as a PA for one of the larger architectural firms. Chase Bryant was, too—he took me with him when he started his own company.” And rescued her from the humiliation of being publicly jilted and the endless heartache she’d wallowed in. “His name was Charles, and he was one of the up-and-coming architects. Charming, a tad flashy—”
“And you think I’m like him?” He sounded bemused and just a little insulted. Ella cracked a smile.
“Well, you’re very flashy. In any case, he swept me right off my feet.” And onto her back, although she wasn’t about to tell Philippe that. “We dated for two years. Everything seemed great at first—and then it began to change. He changed. With me, he was so fun and charming…” She shook her head in memory. “But with other people he was someone else entirely. Hard and ambitious. And disapproving of me. Almost as if he didn’t like me.” She swallowed, her gaze sweeping downward. “Then he started to try to make me into a different person, into someone more like him. He’d tell me what to wear, what to read, even what to think.”
“He sounds like an ass.”
“Well.” Her smile wobbled as she glanced back up at him. “I suppose he was, and I was wrong to go along with it. I was just so star-struck, so determined to keep him.” She swallowed hard. “So I changed. I was desperate to change for him.” She shook her head, the memories souring inside her. “I never want to do that again.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.”
“Anyway.” She let out a sigh and took a sip of hot chocolate. “It all ended rather abruptly. I learned he’d been cheating on me the whole time with a variety of secretaries and temps. Even then I might have forgiven him—that’s how low my self-esteem was at that point—but he dumped me first.” If she was trying to sound wry and not hurt, Ella knew she’d failed. “He claimed I wasn’t right for his image. He ended up dating another architect, someone who was going places, since I obviously wasn’t.” With her one year of college and her broken dreams. She simply hadn’t been good enough for him.
“That must have hurt,” Philippe said quietly. He reached over and covered her hand with his own. Ella felt the warmth and strength of him, knew he understood about broken dreams. She never would have expected a man like Philippe to get it…but then she hadn’t really known what kind of man he was.
“It did hurt,” she said quietly. “But what hurt most is that I didn’t see through him. I wouldn’t. I wanted to believe in the fairy tale, so I just closed my eyes and ignored every warning sign.” She shook her head. “I will never be that stupid again.” In fact, she was never going to risk her heart again—and certainly not with Philippe. Not, she reminded herself, that he was even asking her to.
Philippe was silent, and Ella risked looking at him. His eyes were dark, his mouth drawn in a thoughtful frown.
“I’m not sure why I told you all of that,” she said after a moment. “It’s not as if it has anything to do with—” She stumbled, avoiding that dangerous word…us. “You and me.”
“No?” Philippe raised his eyebrows.
“I mean, this is just one day.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I overreacted earlier. I know it was just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss.”
“Yes—”
“Well.” Philippe brushed his fingers over her palm, causing sparks to ignite inside her once more. “This day isn’t over yet. Come with me tonight.”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “Where?”
“To a cocktail reception at the Guggenheim.”
Her mind spun. “As—”
“Yes,” Philippe cut her off with a grin. “As my date.”