Intrusion

[Noémi Jourdain]

Noémi was not shy, and nor did she lack for confidence, but she was not the sort to push herself into the limelight. Given the opportunity she watched with a quiet sort of curiosity; comfortable with attention in turn, but not seeking it. She was not a flower for the sun.

For a moment she was surprised he knew her name, or maybe just at the unexpected sound of it from his lips, but she caught herself quickly. The sense of being seen soon faded under the consideration that such knowledge was the careful cultivation of a natural born charm. She had already watched his amenable path through the office; sparing time for each person, remembering quaint details. It was how he won hearts. It was how he won empires.

“Yes, to both,” she said. She did not smile, but there was a softness to her lips, like the expression hid as haze on water.

He was handsome. She had expected that. From an artistic perspective she appreciated it; the clean lines, the perfectly packaged exterior. In person his face was as young as the media painted, but possessed of such ancient eyes. Dimension and juxtaposition -- a photographer’s dream. What she hadn’t anticipated was the warm flush of a genuine attraction, as sure as a river pulled to the heart of the sea. The career of her youth had taught her plenty about discretion, and she was too jaded for girlish, starry-eyed crushes. She was not awed by titles. She was not drawn by the godlike mantle on his shoulders. It was something else.

Un coup de foudre. If one believed in such foolishness. You're one among thousands, Noémi. One among millions. How many other women stood where she stood now, charmed so by the man who stood atop the world. Insignificance was dazzling, and sobering, and she had a cynic’s soul. Still, she itched to pull out her journal and capture the feeling down into verse, while it still felt like breathing in stars. On paper it was art, not folly.

She moved the empty coffee cup from one palm to the other in order to meet his hand. The informality of his manner left her a little unsure; she preferred the boundaries of hierarchy, with those she did not know especially. Practically speaking, she was new to the job and a boss did not get any more senior than the man teasing his name like there was not a child on the earth who did not know it. It also felt like the worst kind of trap, made of her own fluttering heart and shivers across her skin like the smooth kiss of shadows at so innocent a touch as a handshake. The thrill might have been pleasant, but the familiarity did not feel earned.

His humour paved her ease though, and for that brief moment she chose to acknowledge the man beneath the Ascendancy’s skin. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nikolai Brandon.” That almost-smile hovered like a secret. Her musical accent travelled the peaks and valleys of a name she was never likely to have occasion to speak to his face again. For a moment the glitter of humour in her own eyes almost spilled more words. A tease, to question her own pronunciation, but though her lips parted she said nothing else. The moment folded in on itself, else maybe she suddenly recalled the busy office around them.