Chapter 38: Unwelcomed Encounter (1)

Amelie felt a shiver run down her spine at the man's brazen words, a part of her thrilling at the thought of commanding such a hefty sum for her company. She knew it was wrong to even consider it, to even entertain the idea of accepting money for her time and attention. But still, the idea of having some control, of holding the power in this exchange, sent a heady rush of adrenaline through her veins.

She leaned in a little closer, her voice lowering to a soft, sultry murmur as she gazed up at the man through her lashes. "A private tour with an art curator of my caliber and experience typically costs... five thousand euros," she informed him, her tone matter-of-fact even as her heart raced in her chest. "But for you..." she paused, letting the anticipation build as she studied the man's face, noting the way his eyes widened slightly at the exorbitant sum. "For you, I might be persuaded to make an exception. For a cool three thousand euros, I'll give you a tour unlike any other. A tour that will leave you craving more of these impeccable artworks, Monsieur," she finished, her voice a low, seductive purr as she gazed up at the man with a look of blatant, unabashed challenge.

The man paused, his brows furrowing slightly as he considered Amelie's exorbitant price tag. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, a look of faint discomfort flashing across his face. "C'est un peu cher, n'est-ce pas?" he murmured, his tone apologetic even as his eyes continued to roam appreciatively over Amelie's curves. "I'm afraid that's a bit more than I had in mind for a private tour. Perhaps we could negotiate a more... reasonable price?" he suggested, his voice a low, cajoling murmur as he leaned in a little closer, no doubt hoping to persuade Amelie to lower her fee.

But Amelie merely smiled, a look of polite professionalism settling over her features as she took a step back, putting a more respectable distance between herself and the man. "Je suis désolé, Monsieur," she replied, her tone soft but firm. "The price I quoted you is the standard rate for a private tour with an art curator of my experience and expertise. It's not negotiable, I'm afraid," she informed him, her chin lifting slightly as she met his gaze with a look of unyielding resolve.

The man's smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment and frustration passing over his face before he quickly masked it with a look of grudging acceptance. "Ah, bien sûr," he murmured, straightening up and taking a step back himself. "I understand. As much as I would love to indulge in such a... stimulating experience with a woman as captivating as yourself, I'm not quite ready to break the bank for the privilege," he admitted, his tone a mix of honesty and a hint of lingering flirtation.

She smiled at the man, her expression warm and understanding even as her eyes cooled slightly, the professional mask slipping back into place. "Je comprends tout à fait, Monsieur," she replied, her voice a soft, melodic murmur. "I appreciate your honesty, and I assure you, there is no need to apologize. I'm more than happy to provide you with a complimentary tour of the museum, should you wish to join one of the scheduled group tours. They are led by my esteemed colleagues and are every bit as informative and enlightening as a private tour would be," she assured him, her tone a mix of professionalism and a hint of lingering warmth.

The man nodded, a look of grudging acceptance passing over his face as he considered Amelie's offer. "Très bien, a group tour it is then," he agreed, his tone a mix of resignation and a lingering hint of flirtation. "As much as I would prefer to have you all to myself, I suppose I can content myself with the knowledge that I'll still get to admire your... expertise and knowledge up close," he added, his eyes boldly raking over Amelie's curves one last time before he tore his gaze away.

Amelie merely smiled, a look of polite professionalism settling over her features as she gave the man a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Je suis ravie que vous ayez changé d'avis," she replied, her voice a soft, melodic murmur. "I assure you, you won't be disappointed. The tours led by my colleagues are every bit as enlightening and engaging as a private tour would be. You're sure to learn a great deal about the stunning artworks in our collection," she promised, her tone a mix of warmth and a underlying note of finality.

With that, she took a step back, putting a more respectable distance between herself and the man. She extended her hand, her fingers slender and elegant as she offered it to him in a gesture of farewell. "C'était un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Monsieur," she murmured, her smile polite and professional as she gazed up at him with a look of cool, detached friendliness. "I hope you enjoy your time at the museum, and I look forward to seeing you at the next available tour."

The man took her hand in his, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as he gave it a gentle squeeze. "Le plaisir est tout à moi, Mademoiselle," he murmured, his tone a low, flirtatious whisper as he gazed down at her with a look of blatant, unabashed admiration. "Until we meet again, perhaps in more... intimate surroundings," he added, his voice a low, suggestive murmur that held a note of unspoken promise.

Amelie withdrew her hand and was just about to turn away, eager to put some distance between herself and the persistent flirt, when a sudden commotion behind her caught her attention. She turned to see a tall, handsome man striding towards them, his chiseled features set in a look of barely contained annoyance. Amelie's heart leapt into her throat as she recognized him, her cheeks flushing a deep, telling red at the sight of Richard Reeves, her... well, she supposed you could call him her fuckbuddy.

Richard was a wealthy businessman and philanthropist, a man who had caught Amelie's eye at a museum gala a few months ago. They had engaged in a heated flirtation that night, one that had quickly escalated into a passionate tryst in the coat check room. Since then, they had been each other's occasional stress relief, a secret arrangement that suited them both. No strings, no commitments, just the occasional stolen moment of pleasure.

As Richard approached, he fixed the other man with a cold, warning glare, his hand already reaching out to grasp Amelie's waist in a possessive hold. "I believe the lady has indicated that she is not interested in a private tour, Monsieur," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he stared down the other man with a look of blatant, unabashed aggression. "I suggest you take the hint and move along."

The other man's eyes widened, a look of startled surprise flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with a look of grudging acquiescence. "D'accord, d'accord," he muttered, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he took a step back. "No need to get violent, mon ami. I was just admiring the lovely Mademoiselle's knowledge of the art. Nothing more," he protested, his tone a mix of defensiveness and a hint of lingering resentment.

But Richard was not appeased. He took a step forward, his grip on Amelie's waist tightening as he loomed over the other man, his tall, muscular frame an imposing sight. "I said, leave," he repeated, his voice a low, menacing growl as he glared down at the other man with a look of blatant, unabashed threat. "Or do I need to make myself clearer?" Richard finished, his voice a low, ominous rumble as he took another step forward, his broad shoulders squared and his jaw clenched in a look of unyielding determination. The other man gulped audibly, his eyes darting nervously between Richard's stern face and Amelie's flushed, startled one before he quickly turned and melted away into the crowd, no doubt eager to put as much distance between himself and the volatile businessman as possible.

Richard, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to the scene he had just caused, his gaze laser-focused on Amelie's face as he drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide, startled eyes. "You alright, chérie?" he murmured, his voice a low, concerned rumble as he raised his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the delicate line of her jaw. "That man was getting a bit too... familiar with you. I couldn't stand by and watch him take advantage of your kindness and professionalism any longer," he explained, his tone a mix of sincerity and a lingering hint of lingering resentment.

Amelie's eyes flashed with a sudden burst of indignation as she slapped Richard's hand away from her cheek, her slender fingers stinging from the force of the impact. She took a step back, putting some much-needed distance between herself and the overbearing man who seemed to think he had some sort of claim over her.

"You're getting a bit too familiar as well, Richard," Amelie snapped, her voice a low, sharp hiss as she glared up at him, her brows furrowed in a look of blatant, unabashed annoyance. "We are not... we are not in a relationship. We are just fuckbuddies, remember? Nothing more, you don't get to play the jealous boyfriend routine," she reminded him, her tone a mix of defensiveness and a hint of lingering resentment.

Richard smirked, a look of unabashed amusement and a hint of wickedness glinting in his eyes as he gazed down at Amelie's flushed, annoyed face. "You are absolutely correct, chérie," he agreed, his tone a low, amused murmur as he took a step closer to her, crowding into her personal space with brazen familiarity. "We are just fuckbuddies. No strings, no commitments. Just two people who know how to have a good time together. And I, for one, am more than ready to get on with it," he declared, his voice a low, suggestive growl as he reached out to grasp Amelie's wrist in a firm, unyielding hold.

Amelie gasped, her eyes widening in surprise as Richard's fingers tightened around her wrist, his grip unbreakable as he began to tug her towards the exit. "Mais qu'est-ce que tu fais?" she cried, her voice a mix of shock and a hint of reluctant excitement as she stumbled after him, her heeled shoes clicking rapidly on the marble floor. "Where are you taking me, Richard? I can't just leave work in the middle of the day," she protested, a note of panic creeping into her voice as she dug her heels into the marble floor, resisting his attempts to pull her away, but he was far too strong for her. He simply tightened his hold and kept walking, his long strides eating up the distance between them and the door with alarming speed. "To my car," he replied, his tone a low, impatient growl as he glanced back at her over his shoulder.