Undoubtedly Yours

By Maylis Beaumier

Nathan is a brilliant American entrepreneur in Manhattan with a PhD in Computer Science from MIT. His goal is to grow his company and develop groundbreaking digital technologies. Eléonore is a French student, also in New York, who is ready to take on the corporate world. Intuitive and playful, she is a hopeless daydreamer. When Eléonore meets Nathan at a club’s event in his fancy penthouse, she is undeniably attracted to him. Yet she senses that he may be way out of her league. Nathan finds Eléonore refreshingly clever and beautiful. When love erupts, happiness seems just within reach. Yet, when Nathan starts doubting Eléonore’s trustworthiness, unexpected conflicts arise...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Mar 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483446219

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PART ONE

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. Robert Frost

CHAPTER I

I RUSHED OUT OF THE subway, a half hour late for my weekly rendezvous with the International Culture Club, known to its members as the Club. The evening was unseasonably chilly for the end of May in New York, and the sky looked menacing. I was almost there when it started to pour. I had barely had time to pick up a new jacket at the apartment, after a job interview with a senior partner from Johnson & Co., so I was still wearing a very businesslike navy-blue dress.

By the time I reached the address, I was soaked, my hair was a disaster and my shoes beyond pitiful. Our meeting site was in a building that was a monumental example of Upper East Side architecture. I imagined our host would be a wealthy daddy’s boy, educated among New York’s social elite, with a predestined birthright to an Ivy League college. Yuck! He would naturally receive Club attendees in his fancy apartment towering over Central Park. I was pretty curious to find out whether my assumptions would prove true. Guessing is second nature to me. I’m great at exploring various hypotheses, but never take anything for granted. I may be biased because of my education and Frenchiness, as I like to put it, but I’m also quite capable of changing my mind if the facts call for it, or at least, that’s how I like to see myself.

I took a pocket mirror out of my purse to check my makeup before calling the elevator. I had applied a dark shade to bring out the blue in my eyes. I quickly brushed my disheveled dark brown hair that looked almost black from the rain.

I was still in the hall, pinching my lips together to spread some gloss, when a young redheaded girl came by. Hello, she said. Are you taking the elevator? Which floor? She had the loveliest Boston accent.

Er–I’m actually heading for Mr. Hartmann’s place. Do you know where he lives, by any chance?

Sure, I’m his sister. My name is Elizabeth. Nice to meet you.

Léo–actually my full name is Eléonore. It’s French. I prefer the shorter version, though, especially here. It’s easier to pronounce for Americans.

Elizabeth smiled at me and began a vivid monolog. She explained that she chose French as a major for her freshman year in college and that she spent a full semester in Paris, where she had the best time of her life. She had almost finished explaining why she relocated to New York City by the time we arrived at the front door of Mr. Hartmann’s apartment. It was on the top floor, confirming the penthouse scenario I had imagined earlier.

We instantly stopped, looking at each other incredulously. People were laughing heartily and what was all that jumping around? An aggressive tune reached our ears, along with a loud electrical guitar. Heavy metal, I thought.

What was going on? It was definitely not the Club’s style to sponsor so much fun–not this kind, anyway. The Club held solemn dinners in fancy places, usually with a guest who delivered a keynote speech on some controversial topic related to international affairs. Then, we usually chatted, enjoying a cocktail and snacks, and that was it. Everyone seemed to like this format, and so did I. I was not good at small talk, and found it easier to start a conversation on a deep, thought-provoking subject such as Is peace possible in the Middle East? In France, I had been a hard-working and successful student at a top-ranking university, where I majored in World Economics. At first, I thought of working for an NGO, but later opted for a career in consulting. I wanted to have an intellectually challenging, people-oriented, job that would allow me to learn from others and become a better person along the way.

Elizabeth was ringing the bell for the third time when some guy finally opened the door. He was a head taller than me, with short brown hair and amazingly bright green eyes. He was wearing black slacks and a black concert T-shirt covered with sweat. He must have been involved in some intense physical activity before we arrived. Working out? Dancing? Having sex? No! What was I thinking? He was hot, and definitely the type of sharp guy that you would expect to see in a fancy apartment. Mr. Green Eyes let us in, kissing Elizabeth on both cheeks–sweet!–before she disappeared down a long corridor.

Then he looked at me and asked, You must be a member of the Club, right?

Yes, right. Are you psychic, or something? I could not help being a little sarcastic, probably as a defense mechanism.

Green Eyes nodded, and then continued, his tone serious. In fact, I can even tell you where you come from! Give me your hand. Without waiting for an answer, he took my hand and began scrutinizing it.

Well, let’s see… your life path is here. I see that you are a stranger. Well… no! Incredible! You’re French? Suddenly, his face brightened. He smiled at me, his eyes glimmering.

What’s so incredible about that? I asked, not to be won over that easily. The guy was such a tease.

I happen to love France…Monet, Paris, the Eiffel Tower, and French girls especially! He winked at me while lingering on the word girls, with the cutest Boston accent.

Hmm…not a very original start. I love France blah, blah, blah. How many times had I heard that since arriving in the US? So I could not help but put a little bite in my response. Oh, really? I imagine that you’re quite the connoisseur?

His smile faded. He just shrugged and then led me into a magnificent living room. I was immediately dazzled by the city view from the panoramic picture window. The next thing I noticed was the majestic grand piano–a Steinway!

Most of those present were the usual club members. They were seated in a circle, as was their custom.

Well, take a seat, said Nathan. I’m having a little party in my room with a couple of friends, so I guess I’ll leave you to your club meeting now. Then, addressing the members, he added, Hey, I hope you don’t mind the music next door. If you find it too loud, just tell me, all right?

My good friend Thomas, who was also the Club President, invited me into the circle. He explained that the topic of the day was the organization of the Olympic Games. Ugh! Definitely not my cup of tea. I bet I know as much about the subject as my five year-old niece. At least, she has a TV set at home. It might have been a surprise to those present, but I don’t actually own a TV set. In fact, I don’t watch TV at all–like ever. I google news, but I must admit, I’m quite selective about it. Sports are not on my radar, even big events like the Tour de France. At least I know that the French soccer team won the 1998 World Championship. I remember that because my high school date, Didier, was a soccer player himself, and used to entertain me with facts about the French national team’s decline.

Tom had just finished summarizing the situation for me, so that I could catch up with the meeting, when I finally came out of my daydream. Tom was the other Frenchie of the Club and an old friend of mine. We were at Paris Dauphine University together and left Paris the same year to continue our studies at NYU. Coming to New York City was a dream come true for both of us, and we liked to share our impressions.

While Tom was always very eager to know the facts before making a statement on a political issue, or anything else controversial, I was the one making bold interpretations. We would play this game in which he would state his opinion, based on a detailed rationale, and I would just turn everything around by asking questions and suggesting new perspectives.

An outburst of laughter suddenly drew my attention to the party going on next door. I could still hear some music, although the volume was quite a bit lower now. I tried to imagine Green Eyes with an electric guitar and a bunch of punk players. No, I thought, he would more likely be with a girl–some Barbie type who would giggle all the time, usually for no