Soul to the Highest Bidder Ch. 03

Peregrination

I awoke to my alarm at 5:45am, on December 21st, and leapt out of my bed with an excited giggle. In ten hours I would be driving to a historic chateau in the French countryside. I quickly showered and ate a small breakfast before attacking my, new, daily beauty routine. Deborah had hammered into me how important my appearance was, now that I was going to be seen, in France, with Mr. Morrison. My new routine included daily grooming (plucking, shaving, etc.), face scrub or peel, moisturizing, careful make-up application and hair styling. Deborah had only been able to successfully teach me two hair styles, both of which I barely pulled off. She had rolled her eyes and told me to go to a salon, to have my hair done, for special occasions.

Seeing myself in the mirror, I chuckled. I barely recognized myself. Never had I ever put this much thought or effort into my appearance, and I felt slightly conceited for being pleasantly surprised by the results. My pale skin had been brightened with bronzer and a hint of blush, my light blue-gray eyes were enhanced by the subtle strokes of eye shadow; and, my lips looked lush and full with the shimmery coral lipstick. My curly hair had been gathered up into a slightly messy chignon, with a few stray tendrils framing my face. It felt like a stranger staring back at me. I glanced at the clock and gasped when I realized I had 15 minutes left before the car arrived to pick me up. I grabbed my clothes off the bed, clothing Deborah had assured me were travel appropriate, and carefully slipped into them. It was a three piece dress suit; with a grey pencil skirt, grey cropped jacket and a fitted cream silk blouse. My version of travel clothes were jeans and a T-shirt. These were just stretchy over glorified work clothes. And, to top it all off, all the shoes Deborah had chosen for me had heels. With a dissatisfied groan I grabbed the sexy little burgundy Valentino heels and a matching clutch purse. I dragged my luggage into the hallway and, wearing the sexy open toed designer heels, I stood in front of the hallway mirror doing a quick once over. Standing at 5'10, with the heels, my trim figure was accentuated by the modest, but perfectly fitted, suit. I hoped to god this would be acceptable enough for Mr. M, because I didn't think I was capable of much more. I was already exhausted and frustrated by the amount of effort I had already put in to my looks. Either way, it didn't matter because at that moment I heard a sharp knock at the door. I opened it to find an elderly man in a black suit and hat standing at full attention.

"Miss Tanner, my name is Felix and I will be your chauffeur today," he gave me an appreciative head to toe glance, "may I take your bags?"

"Of course, thank you Felix."

I handed him the two largest pieces and carried my own purse, shoe bag and carry-on bag. He had put up a bit of an argument but I explained that they were far too valuable to put into anyone else's care, which was a lie. I believe he took some offense, to my not trusting him with my possessions; but, I would rather that than hurting his pride with the truth. He looked so old and frail, that I thought he might topple over from the extra weight, hence my refusal.

I accompanied the elderly man down the elevator, exiting on the private subterranean parking level. Felix walked over to a sleek black stretch limo and opened the trunk to deposit my bags. I quickly ran -- if that is what you can call it in 4 inch heels -- over to Felix and grabbed my bag before he could heft it into the trunk. He looked at me in puzzlement.

"I'm sorry Felix. It's just that this is Mr. Morrison's car. I will be traveling in another car to the airport. Has Mr. Morrison already had his bags picked up?" I asked him while I gathered my luggage around my feet, looking for the small sedan I had ordered to take me to the airport.

"Yes Miss. Mr. Morrison's bags are in the trunk and he is waiting in the car. He wishes for you to travel with him to the airport, so I took the liberty of sending away the other car." He looked slightly smug as he informed me of the change in plan.

I sighed, a breath of defeat, and handed the old chauffeur my bags. Tensing more with every step, I slipped into the limo as Felix held the door for me. I awkwardly tumbled into the wide leather back seat, as my skirt and heels limited my movement and thwarted my attempt at a smooth entry. Pushing into a sitting position, I looked up and across from me to find Mr. M staring at me with a slightly amused smirk on his face. He was sitting back, relaxed, with a scotch in his hand and his briefcase open on his lap. I looked away and focused on fixing my appearance. I yanked my skirt down my legs, smoothed my shirt out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and tried to find a comfortable sitting position, which did not involve flashing my boss.

"I see Deborah was able to work magic." His cool monotone voice mused.

It could have been meant as a compliment, but I took his mocking tone to mean it as an insult.I bit the inside of my check, holding back my temper. However, I could not prevent the hot blush, colouring my cheeks, of my temper; hopefully, the bronzer would mask it. I decided silence was my best option; so, I would not say a word unless Mr. Morrison required me to do so. I needed my job too badly and wanted this opportunity so much that I was not going to risk it over a few glib comments. After 20 minutes of riding in complete silence, Mr. Morrison looked up from his work and reached across the limo, holding some papers out for me.

"This is the itinerary, which I would like you to go over, to ensure you know what we will be doing and who we will be meeting with. It is important you know who everyone is when you meet them; and, I want you to ensure you make eye contact with every person you speak to. You work for me. You are no one else's subordinate, just mine. For everyone else, you will portray the confidant and professional attitude of a highly respected employee of Morrison Management; so, no more looking down and averting your eyes. I don't pay you to inspect floors. Do you understand?" he asked authoritatively.

I tore my gaze away from the car's carpeted floor, to look up into the intense green eyes of David Morrison.

"Yes Sir." I coolly, calmly and confidently replied.

To my shock, he chuckled lightly and a faint smile curved his lips. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time; which, in a way was true. Never had I ever made eye contact with him, and usually his head was bent while he read through some form of document. I mostly saw the top of his head and his profile. Now however, I was clearly seeing the man responsible for an empire. He looked so much younger than I expected. He looked no older than 35 or 40. He had thick wavy black hair, gorgeous emerald eyes, a flawless olive complexion, a sharp nose and perfect lips. Huh, so the asshole was hot; figures. I realized I was staring when he cleared his throat and I looked back up to his eyes to see his eyebrow knowingly cocked. Again, I blushed but this time from embarrassment; however, I did not avert my gaze.

"Very good. Tell me Miss Tanner. Do you not have any family or significant people in your life that you are abandoning for the holidays?" he asked bemusedly.

"No Sir." I felt awkward and intimidated under his gaze.

"Interesting." he finally replied, sounding distracted, while concentrating on something in his lap.

Instead of looking at the floor, I decided to avert my gaze out the window; this should seem like a perfectly respectable solution. Mr. Morrison had returned back to his work, anyway, so I had to occupy myself silently somehow. It wasn't until we reached the airport, that he again tore himself from his work.

Together we silently traversed the airport and boarded our plane. In only a few more hours, I would be on French soil. I burrowed into the large warm leather seat on the plane. I had never been on a plane before so I was excited, as well as being scared. Mr. Morrison graciously offered me the window seat, which I happily accepted since it provided more privacy from the other passengers and gave me a great view. Wearing a skirt made getting comfortable difficult. I sat staring out the window lost in wonder and idle thought, until I felt an elbow being jabbed into my ribs. When I angrily glared at Mr.M he motioned towards an illuminated sign. It looked like a seat belt. Slowly comprehending, I looked around my seat for a belt -- nothing. With a frustrated sigh Mr. M reached across me and magically pulled a strap out from the seat; and again, on my other side he pulled out another strap. He locked the belts together over my lap. I felt like a child. I quietly mumbled 'thank you', embarrassed that I was so ignorant, and that he had had to do it for me.

"What is it? Your first time flying?" he asked sarcastically, with that faint trace of a mocking smile.

"Yes." I softly replied.

His smile quickly vanished giving way to a slightly shocked expression. He seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared down at me. Yet again I blushed, feeling the blood paint my cheeks red. I quickly looked away, to stare back out the window. I resumed my silence. Even as the plane took off and my heart pounded in my chest and my knuckles turned white from holding the armrests so tight, I did not utter a sound. I could see from the corner of my eye Mr. Morrison watching me fascinated as the plane rose into the air; but, once we were safely up in the air he returned his attention back to his work. A flight attendant offered us champagne, snacks, warm towels, eye covers, blankets and pillows. I took the champagne, blanket and pillow; Mr. M took the blanket and pillow as well, and an eye cover. He watched me down my glass of champagne with wry amusement, before fluffing his pillow, pulling the eye cover over his eyes and dragging the blanket up to his chin.

Finally, I thought. No longer under his scrutinizing gaze, I felt more relaxed. I waited ten minutes, to ensure he was asleep, before I reached into my purse and pulled out my iPod. It had felt too unprofessional to listen to my music while my boss was sitting beside me working, but now I just wanted to relax and enjoy the rest of the flight. Popping the ear-buds into my ears, I set my iPod to shuffle, laid my head back against my seat, closed my eyes and pressed play on the small device. An eclectic mix of alternative, rock, metal, jazz, classical, folk and blues flooded my ears for the next six hours, until I felt a hand groping around my lap. I snapped my eyes open immediately, to find Mr. M bent over me; upon finding his large form hovered over me, I gave a sudden start and gasped. He turned his head to give me a stern glare, effectively rooting me in my seat. I pulled one of my earphones out of my ear, so I could hear him.

Busted.

"I'm just buckling you in. You were asleep and we are landing. Now would you sit still so I can get this locked in." he commanded sternly, again making me feel like a child.

"Thank you" I found myself muttering again.

As he leaned back in his seat to lock his own seat belt, I caught his lingering scent. He smelled of spices, tobacco and vanilla; he smelled delicious. I shook my head at the ridiculous observation and busied myself fixing my clothes, which had magically resisted wrinkles through all our travels; so, I guess Deborah knew what she was doing. I shoved my iPod back in my purse, slipped on my heels and sat back in my seat while the plane slowly descended. Once we were safely on the ground Mr. M leaned over and unlocked my seat belt, before getting up to stretch and collect his belongings. I watched amazed as my boss flexed his fit and muscular form. How had I never noticed what good shape he was in? This seemed like a completely different person, from the one I worked for in New York. I mentally reprimanded myself for even looking at him that way. I was his employee; I shouldn't be noticing these things about him. Slowly I stood up, slightly ducking my head so I wouldn't whack it on the ceiling of the plane - the heels added just enough height. I grabbed my carry-on bag and purse before following Mr. M.

I almost broke into hysterics, as we entered the terminal; because, anyone who knew what was happening in the small crowd of drivers would have found it comical. Three men all carrying signs, with Morrison written in big lettering, were fighting with each other.

other drivers were separating them, trying to prevent an all out brawl. A small giggle escaped my lips and Mr. M glared at me suspiciously before returning his attention to the small group of men who appeared to be fighting over him. I walked over to them and asked which driver was Jacque. An older, stockier man stepped forward, holding his calloused hand out to me.

"Jacque Dupuis, Madame" he graciously introduced himself and grabbed my hand.

Instead of shaking my hand, as I expected, he raised it to his lips and gently brushed a kiss over it.

"It is a pleasure Madame. I, uh, believe I am to be your driver."

He declared glaring back at the other two men, holding the other two signs with Morrison printed on them, before returning his attention to us, his (clients).

"May I take your bags? Your car is just waiting out here" he told us, ushering us out a side door marked 'zone interdite', to an authentic mint condition Rolls Royce.

I could barely contain my glee. Mr. M seemed bemused by the car, but amused by my barely contained excitement. Jacques held the door for us; and, Mr. M gestured for me to enter first. Perhaps for his own safety, it had been a wise decision; since, I was still having wardrobe malfunctions when entering vehicles and ended up more or less falling onto the soft velvet back seat. He waited for me to right myself and wiggle over to the driver side before sliding in beside me.

"Everything all right Miss Tanner?" Mr. M asked sardonically.

"Yes Sir." I answered, again biting my cheek.

Temper, temper. My grandmother had taught me to never loose my temper. She had told me, in one of her lucid moments, that loosing ones temper is like letting down your shield in mid battle; it would only leave you exposed, defenseless and vulnerable. I decided to heed that advice as being of sound mind. Grandma had been a strong, courageous and smart woman; but, her downfall had always been loving a week, cowardly and stupid man. Mom and Dad had not liked visiting Grandma and Grandpa -- I only had one set, since my father apparently had no family -- but had still made the trek once a year so they could see their grandchild. Grandma and Grandpa disliked, which is a gentle way of putting it, my father.

I realized I was lost in thought and staring out the window; because, when I finally turned to look at Mr. M he was staring at me with a very annoyed expression on his face. I faced him wide eyed, biting my lip, hoping he would not fire me on the spot. I couldn't slip like that. Bringing up the past just caused trouble and pain. I quickly cast my eyes down to the floor of the car, sure my execution would be swift; but, it wasn't. He didn't make a sound or a movement. I slowly drew my gaze back up, unintentionally scanning his body, and still biting my lip met his disarming glare. I knew I was tired when it seemed that his emerald eyes were glowing.

"That is better. Now that I have your full attention; as I was saying, you will be staying in the guesthouse. You will have your own kitchen staff. Order whatever you like. But, remember, there will be quite a few dinner engagements and outings that I will need you present for, so be prepared to go out most evenings. I have also invited a few guests for a few days, but they will stay strictly in the main manor and you can avoid them if you wish to. I will be occupying the guest house with you, for the duration of their stay." he informed me.

Talk about role reversal. He was doing his own dirty work and taking care of the details. However, some of these details bothered me; like the fact I would have to share my space with a relatively strange man. Sure I worked for him but I didn't know him on a personal level of any sort.

I simply responded, "Yes, Mr. Morrison.", too tired at that moment to think of anything more to say.

I sat in complete silence beside Mr. M. He had turned to watch out the window as we drove along the winding road. I decided to do the same. Watching out the window, I found the playful frolicking of the snow outside the car windows to be amusing and calming. I became mesmerized in its dance and laid my head against the seat, still watching wide-eyed out the window. Night only helped to highlight the pure bright snow, against the inky black background. I heard the rustled of fabric beside me, but I did not alter my gaze until I heard him gently clearing his throat.

"We will be there in a moment, Miss Tanner. I took the liberty of requesting a bath be prepared for you; as well, a small snack will be served in your room and your bed prepared. Normally my assistant would have taken care of these things, but since I don't picture you the type to do these things for yourself, I took the liberty of messaging ahead. But, do not become accustomed to this, because I am not in your employ. I can see that this day has been taxing and you are tired; so, I recommend you get a good, full, night of sleep. We will be very busy tomorrow."

Again I simply replied "Yes Sir."

And with that, we continued in relative silence for another ten minutes. When we finally arrived at my guest house -- which I was being dropped off at first, since it was closer to the entrance gate -- I sat frozen, dumbfounded in my seat, as I stared at the beautiful manor; and, this wasn't even the 'big' one. It wasn't until Jacque swung my door open for me that I snapped out of my astonished stupor.

"Madame." He said as he offered me his hand, to assist me out of the car -- I guess he had seen my earlier performance. I was half way out of the car before I realized my folly.

"Mr. Morrison?" I said inquired timidly. He turned his mesmerizing gaze to me. "Thank you. For everything."

He simply shrugged his shoulders and returned his gaze to his window, dismissing me with a, "Goodnight Miss Tanner."

I managed, with the assistance of Jacque, to make the slippery walk from the car to the house's door in one piece. He carried my entire luggage for me, which at that point I was grateful for. I expressed this to him, as I kissed both his cheeks, as I knew was custom here. He blushed faintly and dismissed it, saying it was his job. Hazza, another blusher; I didn't feel so freakish anymore. Smiling at the poor man, I wished him a "Bon soir", as I closed the door behind him. A single maid awaited me informing me my bags were being taken to my room by Charles, the butler, and my room was the second door on the right, at the top of the stairs. She also informed me that the staff were restricted from my living area of the house after 9pm, to ensure my privacy. I liked this rule.

After she left me for the night, I walked into my room to find all my bags neatly presented at the end of a huge four-poster canopied bed. Taking a few further tentative steps into the room, I peered into a doorway to see a steaming bathtub. Looking around me, I saw a large antique writing desk on which sat a pretty little silver tea tray laden with a croissant, a glass of milk and a bowl of strawberries. I began to giggle hysterically. The exhaustion was definitely getting to me; but, this was all too much. Never had I ever dreamed of arriving in France with such style. This was truly the fairy-tale image I had envisioned, not the realistic one I had expected. Fuck it. I thought as I leapt onto the huge king size bed. I liked it, no, I loved it. Tearing off my clothes, I grabbed the bowl of strawberries and padded into the warm bathroom naked; so French of me, no? Again giggling I submerged my tired sore body into the hot water. Heaven. At that very moment I loved Mr. Morrison. He was right, I would never have bothered with this kind of fuss, for myself; but, I really appreciated it now.