FOUR

DORIS KNEW she was being petty but what could she say? She was wired that way.

It was already an hour past the initial time they had agreed on and she was well aware Antoine Baudelaire and his lawyer were already in the meeting room but she deliberately wanted to make them wait.

Two days ago, The Baudelaire's lawyer had contacted them, requesting to settle out of court.

It was a long, strenuous debate between her, Elena, and the legal team.

She was so adamant and wanted nothing more than to see that Baudelaire delinquent sniffing metal rods behind the slammer but Elena didn't want to press charges since they agreed to settle.

She knew that taking legal action would be expensive and time-consuming, and she didn't want to waste any more money and time, but Doris was reluctant to let the matter slide.

"We have a strong case and I'm confident in our chances," Doris said, her voice inundated with conviction.

"Honestly speaking. . . we don't have a strong case. This may not turn out to be a favorable outcome, considering we don't have hard evidence," The legal team leader said, laying down the facts. "All we have are witnesses and Julianne's video. A good lawyer can find a loophole to weasel him out of this situation. Since they've already held a press conference, addressing the issue and apologizing in public, it's only wise for us to accept their request to settle out of court before this issue backfires."

After some thought, Doris conceded that the woman was right and reluctantly agreed to drop the case. However, she decided to be present when Antoine came to grovel.

And that alone would be just compensation enough for everyone. Especially, Elena.

Doris strode towards the meeting room with Elena, Geneviève, and the legal team leader right behind her— Avengers-style, to confront the enemy.

Actually. . . to settle with the ENEMY! Emphasis on enemy.

She pushed open the glass door to the meeting room, revealing two men inside. One of them stood with his back to the room, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window with his hands in his pocket. Probably viewing the bustling city below, or lost in his own thought–God knows what.

But Doris' eyes were fixed on Antoine Baudelaire, who sat in one of the chairs lining the walls, his head bent over his phone as he tapped away. His posture was tense, and his jaw was set, betraying his impatience."

When Antoine noticed their entrance, he rose from his seat, his posture stiff and his expression arrogant. His every move exuded a sense of entitlement and privilege as if he was used to getting his way. He met their gaze with a smug look on his face.

His clothes were impeccably tailored, from the unbuttoned shirt that revealed his muscular chest to the gleaming leather pants that clung to his legs. His hair was slicked back, and a pair of designer sunglasses sat on top of his head, completing the picture of a man who cared deeply about his appearance. He looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.

On any other occasion, she would have applauded his fashion sense but given the circumstances, nothing about him was remotely appealing.

In fact, there was something off-putting about him, like opposite ends of a magnet.

Just then, a deep, masculine voice called out, "Doris. . .?"

She turned her head sharply to locate the source of the familiar baritone.

She hadn't heard that voice in over four years— Oh, right, they did meet at the airport a few days ago.

"Brad?" She whispered breathlessly.

OH, COME ON! NOT NOW GIANT BUTTERFLIES! NOT NOW!

But it was too late, they were already flapping their wings in her stomach, her heart picking velocity.

Brad Bruce stood in the far corner of the room beside the window, his bronzed skin that hinted at his Brazilian mother's heritage made his dark green eyes all the more striking. His dark hair was short at the sides and longer on top. He was flawlessly groomed in his crisp dark suit, gray shirt, and blue tie.

How was it that this man never looked bad? Not even once.

Doris' resolve shook its head in disappointment.

She was weird. Her heart was weird.

This was the man who'd broken her heart without a second thought, ending their relationship almost immediately as it started.

Okay, so maybe they had agreed not to attach any strings to their sexual relationship but she couldn't tell her heart not to feel what it wanted to feel.

Her fragile heart which wasn't built to withstand emotional blows had shattered, causing her to crumble into a pile of emotional mess.

For days, she'd holed up in her apartment, listening to depressing music and crying the Atlantic until she felt drained of every emotion. Even then, the pain lingered, and she found herself unable to escape it.

In her past relationships, she'd always been able to move on just as quickly as she fell in love, but with Brad, it was different. He was like a drug that she couldn't seem to quit, no matter how hard she tried.

She'd known it was about time to leave when everything she set her eyes on reminded her of him. When she'd begun to secretly visit his home—more than once—just to get a glimpse of him. When she'd called him from payphones just to hear his voice.

But after all that, how was it that her heart was thrumming a crazy beat in her chest just watching his smile light up his features?

"We didn't get the chance to say a proper greeting at the airport," he said smoothly, approaching her with the languid grace of a lifelong athlete. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Doris."

His eyes held hers captive for a long moment and instead of responding she debated what he meant by "pleasure". The word choice was probably an accident but her stupid imagination was going wild again.

And, of course, those green eyes of his didn't miss her blush. He seemed to track its progress avidly as the heat flooded up her neck and spilled onto her cheeks, pounding with a heartbeat of its own.

OH, GOD!

He still affected her as much as ever.

"Do you two know each other?" Geneviève asked.

Yikes! She'd been oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Get a grip, woman!

"Oh, yeah!" She responded casually.

Having no desire to dive into her rocky past relationship right here, in front of all these people, she gave Brad a polite nod. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Brad figured this had to be the weirdest week of his life. From getting dragged all the way from LA to settle this absurd case to bumping into his ex-lover—TWICE—who he'd thought had disappeared from his life.

But, hold on a sec. . .

When he'd carried on a quick research on the president of D&M Agency out of curiosity, he'd found a Geneviève Moreau. However, knowing Doris who always wore her heart on a sleeve, he was convinced she was the boss here. His hunches were never mistaken.

Doing his damnedest not to be distracted by the sight of Doris' long legs, Brad paid close attention to the settlement.

He was here for business. He was not here to reminisce how those legs had wrapped perfectly around his hip.

NO, HE WASN'T!

A few moments later, apologies were made, agreements were ratified and it was time to run for the hills while he had the chance but unfortunately, the one person he was trying to get away from was right behind, calling his name.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come, and slowly turned to face her.

Her amber polka dot dress skimmed her slight curves and was accented by a belt with a thin butterfly-shaped buckle emphasizing a trim waist. The hem ended just above her knee, showcasing her legs in high-heeled black sandals.

His eyes dipped to the gentle sway of her hips in the amber silk, the hint of thigh visible in the short slit at the side of her skirt. He didn't recognize the dress, but the thighs were a different story. He and Doris had been crazy about each other's bodies, tearing one another's clothes off at the slightest opportunity.

Her wavy hair, dyed to a vibrant shade of reddish-brown, rippled in the breeze as she walked hastily toward him.

She had grown her hair out, he noted. Back then, she'd worn it at a collarbone length, cut in a razor-sharp style. Now, it fell past her mid-back in soft waves that framed her figure, the ends trimmed in a V that seemed to point to the sweet curve of her lovely ass.

"I need to speak with you," she informed him as their gaze met.

He'd forgotten how beautiful her hazel eyes were, shaded by those thick, long lashes. "I figured you might."

Her gaze shifted to Antoine, who was still, hovering by his side. "Privately," she added through clenched teeth, tilting her head slightly towards the exit.

The younger man hoisted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and made his way out of the building, leaving them alone.

Doris grinned, her eyes dancing. "Uh, Brad. . . It's been quite a while. Are you not the least bit curious about me?"

Of course, he was curious. He had many questions. He wanted to know why she'd disappeared from everyone. Why no one had heard from her for over four years? Had she been in Paris all this while?

But then he realized that he didn't have the right to ask those questions.

Brad gave her a quick once-over. "You seem to be doing quite well," he said instead. "I mean, I'm impressed by how successful your agency is, and I have to say, you're doing a great job running it."

Her eyes widened briefly in surprise, then quickly returned to their normal state. But he had noticed the change, however fleeting it was. She must be wondering how he'd figured that out.

"Well. . . When you put it like that," she shrugged with a faint smile. "Anyway, how long do you have to stay in Paris?"

"Two days, tops."

"Oh? Okay! Do you have any plans tomorrow?"

"Not really. Why do you ask?"

"Uh. . . well. . . actually, I'd like us to meet and talk. If it's okay with?" She added the last part hurriedly.

His brows wrinkled slightly. "Is there any problem?"

"Of course, not," Doris said with no hesitation. "There's something important I need to tell you . . . something you have to know. That's all."

"Oh, really?" Brad nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Here!" Doris handed him her business card. "Let's talk it over dinner at Le Bistro Chabot. Say. . . 6:00 p.m.?"

"6:00 p.m. is good," he said, taking the card from her. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Brad wasn't sure meeting with Doris was a reasonable idea. In fact, he knew it was a terrible idea to be in the same space with her for even more than a second.

He knew Doris. He knew how easy it was for her to fall. He didn't want to give her the impression there was ever going to be a rekindling of the flame they had once shared.

But she had something to say and it was only decent to listen to her.