“Sylvie! Don’t you dare fall into that trap of allowing other people to define you. If you enjoy what you do, and you do the best job you can, then that is success. And dammit, it doesn’t matter if that job is laying a roof or climbing Mt. Everest… or… or playing with a Bunsen burner.”
She smiled at his vehemence. “Is that why you take on such outrageous cases, and deliberately give the appearance of being a lazy shyster lawyer?”
“Who says I’m lazy?” he asked with mock affront. “But Sylv, I still can’t reconcile your alleged shyness with the publicity this love-potion business is going to generate. Are you prepared to run the gamut of TV talk shows? Are you prepared for the jealousy of your peers? Are you prepared for the potshots Jay Leno and David Letterman are going to take at you? Are you prepared to open your private life to public scrutiny?”
She looked at him with horror. “Of course not! I do want recognition for my work, but I will never allow myself to be the spokesperson for the project. Never!”
“You might not be able to prevent it, Sylv. Be prepared.”
“And one more thing, buddy, I’m tired of your innuendoes about my shyness being a scam or nonexistent. Believe me, my shyness was a terrible problem at one time… a handicap, really. And it took a long, long time to get this far, overcoming its sometimes debilitating effects; so, lay off the shyness remarks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her with the long-neck.
“I suspect your constant teasing is a cover-up for something, Luc. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
Time to change the subject, Luc decided. “I thought you wanted to ask me questions about the love potion, not fish, or your shyness, or my lack of ambition.”
“I do, I do. I just got sidetracked a little.”
“Let’s get started, then, before I fall asleep.” Actually, he was tired, not having taken advantage of a nap while Sylvie had slept the morning away.
Sylvie poised her notebook on her lap, looking businesslike. “What’s your name?”
Oh, God! She’s going to bore me to sleep. “Lucien Michael LeDeux.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Health?” :
“Perfect.”
“No problems?”
“None.”
“Have you ever had a vasectomy?”
He almost choked on his beer. “Hell, no. Have you had your tubes tied?”
She blushed. “These are just routine questions, Luc.” She was fidgeting around now, scribbling in the notebook, and he could tell she was avoiding asking him her next question.
He perked up, and waited.
Sylvie didn’t disappoint him.
“How old were you when you had your first sexual experience?”
Chapter Twelve
“How old was I when I had my first sexual experience?” he repeated, biting his bottom lip to stifle an outright laugh.
She nodded her head.
“Solitary or in the company of another person?” he asked, still trying to keep a straight face.
“Well, solitary, for starters.”
Starters? Damn, she is something. “Five.”
“Five what?”
“Five years old. You asked me when I had my first solitary sexual experience, and—”
“Five years old!” Her eyes almost popped out, but then she seemed to recall the fact that this was a professional interview. “Can you recall the circumstances that prompted your… uh, arousal?”
“Sesame Street.”
“Whaaattt?”
“Yep, the letter B.” He nodded his head, as if in remembrance. “I’ve had a fondness for the letter B ever since then.”
“Luc, could you please be serious?”
“I’m being very serious. Would you like to tell me about your sexual experiences?”
“Dream on.”
“Dreams. Oh, yes! Of course, I’ve had lots of dreams. I’ll tell you about my dreams if you’ll tell me about yours.”
“Would you stop with the dream business? I was not dreaming about you.”
“Whatever you say, chère.”
“You look idiotic when you smile at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Slow and sexy.”
“Who’s the liar now, Sylv? Slow and sexy do not go with idiotic. No way.” He shook his head. “So, you think my smiles are slow and sexy, huh?”
“Aaarrgh!”
“Do you have any more questions for me before I take a little afternoon snooze? Some of us didn’t sleep all morning,” he pointed out.