Part 15 (1/2)
A gorgeous redhead walked his way. He did a double take. No way. He squinted. Sure enough, Red had lived on.
Red's confidence and flair turned the police officers' heads as she walked down the main hallway. The police station was filled with criminals who'd come to Cannes, perhaps to see a celebrity. They'd caught a glimpse of something much more fantastic.
He noticed her legs first. Elegant high heels elevated her to a position taller than most men. Just below her waist, an off-white stretch miniskirt wrapped tight around her narrow hips. From where he stood, the fabric seemed sheer, revealing her peachy cream skin from her inner, ever-so-toned thighs when she walked. Must kiss.
Her ”just what the doctor ordered” b.r.e.a.s.t.s were encased in a cream blouse and somewhat concealed by her crimson-hued, made-to-her-measurements blazer. Her cleavage had been fastened together by two exaggerated metallic sailor-type b.u.t.tons. Their vivid sparkle resembled two gold bars. Must touch.
His eyes fixated on his favorite Red a.s.set, her signature wavy ginger spice hair. Oh how he'd savored running his fingers through those locks at Prive Extreme. Must love.
Warner had developed an obsession for red-haired women after he'd met her. He hadn't come in contact with any woman since. To his surprise, he'd learned from a stylist at his Dublin hotel, only two percent of people in the world had her natural hair color, making Red all the more special, and he'd found her.
Red walked up with her oversized sungla.s.ses on, she didn't see him as she pa.s.sed. Two feet from where she stopped, he stood within earshot.
Unnoticed, Warner stepped up behind her and inhaled her familiar scent. It's Red! He'd found her. Not in Sydney, Australia, the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro or the Xai-Xai Beach in Mozambique. It was the Cannes police station in the South of France.
”Officer Gaston?” Red asked.
”Oui.”
”My name's Taddy Brill. My lawyer Pierre de Verges spoke with you on the phone. I'm here to pick up Kiki.” She gently placed her canvas tote on the floor.
”Excusez-moi?” Gaston's face went blank.
”Tabitha Adelaide Brillford-for Kelly Ivy Kailyn Izatt. She's the American you're holding. Kiki was arrested along with her friend, Dejon something-or-another.” Her hand went on her hip, gold bangles jangling from her impatience.
Brillford? Warner had heard her name before. He'd heard it in December. She'd come with the rock-n-roll star's daughter and Farnworth Firewater heiress. It made sense to him now.
”Oui, mademoiselle, we're processing Izatt's paperwork.” His jaw tightened. ”Monsieur Dejon was not charged. He left our station about an hour ago.”
”Typical! I want to see her. Where is she?” Red grabbed her bag, ready to be led in the direction she'd intended, to her friend. It reminded Warner of her eagerness to move on the second he handed her the bronze purse in his driveway.
”Your friend will remain here 'til charged. You may bail her out then.” The officer looked down as if to move on with his paperwork.
Red released her belongings with a noisy thud. It caused two police officers at neighboring cubicles to stand with their hands over their gun holsters. ”Prost.i.tution and p.o.r.nography are not illegal in France, correct?” She leaned her weight on one foot, digging her heel into the floor. He admired her calf muscles as they flexed.
”Izatt isn't being charged with prost.i.tution or p.o.r.nography.” The officer took out a stack of paperwork, ready to move along with his own agenda.
Red put her hand on top of the policeman's. Warner noticed because the officer's face flushed. ”So then-what's the charge?”
”Trespa.s.sing.” Officer Gaston stared at Warner as if asking, ”You wanna take this one?”
With a head shake to hush the policeman, Warner remained behind her. Unaware of his presence, she tapped her nails on the wooden countertop. The wavy red curls bounced around her neck as she spoke. ”Who's pus.h.i.+ng the trespa.s.sing charge?”
He wished he could get a view of her face.
”Kiki didn't do anything wrong.” Her foot stomped. For a second Warner thought Red would jump across the counter and strangle the officer. He could see her struggle to stay calm.
”Mademoiselle, the gentleman pressing charges is standing behind you.” The officer pointed over her shoulder at Warner, not wanting to deal with Red's wrath.
Warner leaned against the wall. This was going to be good.
Red turned around, her jaw set. Snapping her sungla.s.ses off, she shouted, ”YOU.” Her pupils dilated. ”If it isn't the infamous Warner Truman.” She stepped forward, bringing her face close to his. He could smell her chewing gum.
”Nice to see you, too, mademoiselle.” Her beauty was more magnetic than he'd remembered. Warner extended a hand, in hopes she'd accept it. ”And who are you pretending to be today?”
Irked by his cool behavior, she brushed his hand away. ”I should've figured. It's your hotel. Only an a.s.shole would press charges.” She crossed her arms over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, possibly to calm her huff as she exhaled.
Warner sidestepped her and faced the officer. ”Do you have a private room we could use-to talk?” He eyed the detective, then directed his attention to Red.
”Oui, follow me,” ordered the officer. He appeared relieved to be getting rid of them both.
Hoping a little Red would ease his frustration over Hotel du France, Warner inhaled her tuberose the second she walked past him. He followed, entering an interrogation room maybe eight by ten feet in size with no windows. It was dark, with dim ceiling light. They'd have some privacy.
”Your paperwork is going to take about an hour. I'll come get you when it's ready.”
”Mr. Warner is going to drop these silly charges. You don't have to file anything.” Red tried again to persuade Gaston, putting her hand on his shoulder. She stood taller than he did. Her confidence felt alluring and annoying at the same time.
Officer Gaston smirked up at her, as if to say, ”We'll see.” He closed the door, leaving them alone.
Warner pulled out a chair. ”Have a seat, Mademoiselle Red.”
She walked over to the chair and pushed it into the table's edge, leaving it unoccupied. ”My flight here cramped my legs. I prefer to stand.”
He sat opposite the empty chair. ”Would you rather I call you Miss Brillford or Tabitha Adelaide?”
”Neither. Taddy Brill is fine, thank you.” Smiling, serious or aloof, her face disturbed him.
”You came to St. Barth's as a firestorm with your rock-n-roll and speed boat party friends. You ruined my New Year's.” He'd given her too much credit. ”Then you sic your Kiki minion on Hotel du France during our busiest week of the year.”
”Kiki is my executive a.s.sistant.” Her voice resonated. ”And a d.a.m.n good one-this is a mix-up.” The skin on her decollete began to blush. He enjoyed watching her get hot. ”She is impressionable and didn't do anything wrong except be nice to a few endowed actors who paid her some attention.”
He sat back, crossed his arms, kicked his feet up and mocked, ”Now, now, Red. Let's not get our vajazzled self in a glitter knot, shall we?”
”Don't speak to me that way.” Her lips pursed, but she was close to a giggle. He could tell ”vajazzle” had lightened her up a bit. Fighting the urge to laugh, she'd bitten her cheeks inside. Warner noticed because her cheekbones became more p.r.o.nounced and her jaw tightened. It was the same restraint she'd used the night she'd stood motionless, clenching her fists in his driveway.
”Do you have any idea the damage you've caused me and my hotel?”
”Damage? On the plane ride over here I caught Hotel du France on the news.” She reached in her tote and pulled out the newspaper. ”Your little motel's logo is plastered globally. It's ma.s.sive exposure.”
Motel my a.s.s. ”What would you understand about publicity?” Probably nil. He couldn't believe she'd upswing this. ”Truman Enterprises is highbrow, not low, Miss Brill.”
”Meaning?”
”You may work in a wh.o.r.ehouse, but I do not.”
She moved closer to him, her head thrust forward. ”You have no clue as to what my brows do for a living.” Reaching inside her tote, she withdrew two papers and flung them across the wooden table's smooth surface.
Catching the items as they zoomed toward him, he looked at the business flyer. It read, ”Get fame, get glam, get Brill, Inc.” The other item was a brochure on her media services. Hmmm. ”Appears we're in a bind.” He folded the papers on the table and then flung them back in her direction. ”I'm not dropping the charges.” Confident in his decision, Warner smiled at her.