Honeymoon in Paris (23 page)

“Well, if you’re pregnant, he’s going to have to get one real fast,” I said. “Do you want me to come with you to the drugstore to pick up a test?”

She wiped at the tear rolling down her cheek, and it was then that I noticed she hadn’t touched her wine. Fiona never turned down a glass of wine which meant she really did believe she was pregnant.

“No, that’s okay, Char. You have to pick up Adeline and talk to Luc tonight about everything that happened today.”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but as soon as Madame Rousseau leaves your apartment, you and Marc can go back to normal. And you know what a wonderful guy he is. If you really are pregnant, he’ll support you no matter what. And he’ll make a wonderful father.”

“I know he will. But what if I slept with Marcel that night? How can I look Marc in the eye and tell him I’m having his baby when I may have just had sex with another man?” she whispered.

“Fiona, you don’t even know if you’re pregnant yet. Let’s not jump to that conclusion until we know more. Have you remembered anything else from that night?” I asked.

“No, I don’t remember a sodding minute after that first glass of champagne in the limo.” Fiona’s gaze lifted to mine. “But I woke up naked in his bed, Char. That can only mean one thing.”

“About that,” I said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. This might seem like a weird question, but were you wearing a lacy black thong that night? With little pink jewels on it?”

“Char, I may have done something awful while I was drunk, but this is still me, the conservative British girl you’re talking to. If I remember correctly, I was wearing full-coverage black cotton underwear that night. And in the morning, they were nowhere to be found.”

“Really? Because that morning when Marcel asked me to come talk with him outside on the balcony, I saw that thong lying on the living room floor. After I found you in his bed, I just assumed it was yours.”

“Well, you assumed wrong. I’m sure a guy like Marcel has a different girl in his bed every night—and clearly he doesn’t bother to clean up after himself.” Fiona’s head dropped into her hands. “I feel disgusting, Charlotte. What have I done?”

“Maybe he really was with another girl that night,” I said.

I noticed the slightest flicker of hope gracing Fiona’s tired eyes. “You said you’re meeting with Nicolas tomorrow?”

I nodded.

“I need you to ask him what happened at Marcel’s apartment. And if he doesn’t remember or he won’t tell you, ask him for Marcel’s number. I’ll call him myself. I have to know.”

I nodded, squeezing Fiona’s hand. “Of course, Fiona. Whatever you need.”

Half of my delectable tart remained untouched on my plate, but my appetite vanished as I thought about Luc’s words to me. He’d called the Boucher family “toxic.” He’d said they ruined his family.

I just hoped they wouldn’t ruin Fiona’s.

TWENTY-TWO

“Repeat after me: My name is Vincent Boucher, and I am the publisher of
Bella France
.”

Vincent flashed me a bold smile as he straightened his chic violet tie. “My name iz Vincent Boucher, and I am zee publisher of
Bella France.
My teacher iz Charlotte Olivier, and today, she wears a dress red zat is stunning while she teach me zee English.”

My new English student and boss apparently thought it would be fun to take some creative liberty with his language exercises. I chose not to comment, and instead went about correcting Vincent’s grammatical errors.

“In English, adjectives are placed before the noun,” I said slowly. “So instead of
une robe rouge,
or ‘a dress red’ as you said, you will want to say…?”

“A red dress,” Vincent finished, once again flicking his gaze down to my chest. This guy took sexual harassment in the workplace to a whole new level.

I thought of the dreamy look that had flashed through Mireille’s eyes when she’d announced to me just the day before that she and Vincent were “in a relationship.” Had she seen the way he looked at other women? Did she honestly believe this man was capable of being in an exclusive relationship?

And more to the point, did she have any idea what had gone down in this very office right after I’d spoken with her?

I’d thought Mireille seemed wiser than to fall for the King of Sleaze, but clearly Vincent’s charms had won over yet another unsuspecting victim.

Or perhaps Mireille’s version of a relationship was sharing Vincent with a million other women. Maybe that was one of the new
rules
I had yet to fully embrace in my new French life.

I cleared my throat and folded my hands in my lap, careful not to touch Vincent’s desk where he’d just
been
with Brigitte the day before.
Disgusting
. Or as the French would say,
dégueulasse.

“Also, instead of saying ‘
the
English,’ you would simply say ‘English.’ Contrary to what you’re used to in French, it’s not necessary to always use an article in front of a noun in English,” I said.

Just as I was about to work with my eager student on his typical French pronunciation of “the,” which sounded more like “zee,” a harsh rapping on the door interrupted us.

“I tell zee receptionist I am in lesson and not to disturb, but
c’est la vie,
” Vincent said with a shrug. “
Oui?
” he called out.

Although I’d told Mireille I had absolutely no interest in shacking up with Vincent, she’d still seemed hesitant to leave us alone together this morning for our lesson, and I fully expected to see her narrow eyes glaring down at me when the door opened.

But the perfectly sculpted, unshaven face, and the messy head of dark brown hair that appeared in the doorway proved me wrong.

“Marcel, what a nice surprise,” Vincent said in French. “Brigitte and I were just talking about you yesterday.”

But Vincent’s youngest heartthrob son couldn’t have been less interested in what his father was saying. Instead Marcel’s piercing brown gaze was fixed on me.

“What is
she
doing here?” Marcel barked in French.

“Charlotte iz my new English teacher,” Vincent said slowly in English as he leaned back in his cushy chair, not the least bit ruffled by his son’s snappy attitude.

Dressed in a pair of slim dark jeans and a black T-shirt, Marcel stormed through the office, glaring at me all the while. “Tell her she needs to leave.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” I said. “You don’t have to talk about me in the third person.”

“I am appalled that any son of mine would have such rude manners when speaking to a beautiful woman,” Vincent said.

“Did you forget that Charlotte is
Luc’s wife
?” Marcel spat. “What are you doing?”

“Again… I’m sitting right here,” I reiterated.

While the two of them continued to argue, I stealthily reached for my iPhone inside my purse, pressed the Record button on the new app I’d just downloaded this morning, and when I was positive neither of them was watching, I casually let the phone slip into the crevice of my armchair.

“I think the lady is capable of making her own decisions about where she works, regardless of who her husband may be,” Vincent said. “And I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”

“An offer she couldn’t refuse? If only I had a euro for every time I’ve heard you say that.”

My hands trembled only slightly as I gathered the English texts I’d brought in for Vincent’s lesson. “I’ll leave you two alone. Looks like you have some quality father-son bonding to catch up on.”

Marcel huffed as I let myself out of Vincent’s office, closed the door behind me, and walked down the hall with a huge smile on my face.

I was becoming
quite
the spy.

Ten minutes later, both Vincent and Marcel stormed past the reception desk where I was chatting with my new friend and future model, Chantal.

Vincent stopped only briefly, and for once he couldn’t have seemed less interested in my dress
or
my breasts. “I’m taking an early lunch with Marcel,” he said. “We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve left some correspondence with my assistant for you to translate.”

“Of course,” I answered.

Marcel shot me a silent warning with those heartthrob brown eyes of his, and I smiled curtly in return.

Oh, Marcel, you are severely underestimating me.

As soon as they were gone, I fished through my purse for a few seconds. “Oh, shoot. I think I left my cell phone in Vincent’s office. Is it okay if I go back there and get it?”

Chantal smiled. “Of course. And you know where Monsieur Boucher’s assistant’s office is located, right?”

“Yes, I’ll go check in with her about the translations. Thanks for the chat, Chantal,” I said before doing my own stiletto sprint past a few flying clothing racks, past the art department, and down Vincent’s secluded hallway to his corner office.

Once inside, I jetted over to the black armchair where I’d left my iPhone, and after a quick pillow removal, I found that little white beauty, still recording.

I almost kissed the screen, but instead I pressed the Stop button, tucked my phone safely inside my purse, then took another quick peek out into the hallway to make sure no one was coming.

With no sign of life in Vincent’s private wing, I closed the door and dashed over to his desk. My heart raced as I scanned the area, but the sleek black laptop I’d seen him using this morning was nowhere to be found. That computer probably contained all sorts of incriminating evidence. No way would he leave that unattended. Vincent may have been the biggest womanizer I’d ever met, but he
wasn’t
stupid.

I tried the three desk drawers, but they were all locked. Humph.

On the surface of Vincent’s large desk, I only found a mug full
of black pens, an unused notepad, and a black telephone. No clutter. No documents strewn about. No evidence to steal.

I realized I should’ve considered myself lucky simply to have scored that recording of Vincent and Marcel’s conversation. I didn’t have time to mess around in Vincent’s immaculate office. I wasn’t going to find anything here.

But just as I headed for the door, a bright pink dot caught my eye in this sea of black office furniture.

I crept over to the black leather couch on the other side of the office, and digging my hand in between the cushions, I discovered a long pink satin ribbon.

Before I could search the other cushions, the sound of heels pounding down the hallway outside sent a shot of adrenaline through my veins. I tucked the ribbon into my purse, and just as the door opened, I lifted up my cell phone.

“Found it!” I said as Mireille appeared. Her pale face looked even more washed out than it had this morning, and dark circles surrounded her fiery eyes.

She arched a suspicious brow at me as I walked past her. “My phone must’ve dropped out of my bag during our English lesson earlier. I’m off to finish up my translations. See you tomorrow, Mireille.”

“Charlotte.” Mireille’s stern voice shot right through me. Of course she wasn’t going to let me get away that easily.

I flipped around, flashing my best poker face. “Yes?”

“Yesterday, after we spoke, did you come back to Vincent’s office before he canceled your lesson?”

“Why do you ask?” I stalled.

She placed her hands on her hips and glared at me, the kindness I’d found in her eyes the day before now only a brief memory. “Just answer the question.”

I thought about lying to her, but the frantic look on her face reminded me of myself, only one year ago, when I’d discovered my
fiancé’s online dating profile and learned he’d been lying to me for months.

No matter how bitchy Mireille could be, she didn’t deserve this. No woman did. It was bad enough that Vincent was leading her to believe he could actually be a one-woman kind of guy.

I refused to lie for him.

“Yes, I did walk down to Vincent’s office after we spoke,” I said.

The pained look in her eyes told me she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. “And did you see… or hear anything?”

I nodded. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Mireille.”

Mireille’s eyes darted past me to the floor, and as she lifted a hand to her face, I noticed her fingers trembling. “
Quel salaud
.”
What a bastard
, she whispered.

“You’re too good for him,” I said, taking a step closer. “He’s involved in things you don’t want any part in. Trust me.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped, turning her face away from me. Just as she took off down the hallway, I was certain I spotted a tear streaking down her cheek.

Everything Luc had told me about Vincent was coming true. He left a trail of destruction everywhere he went.

I wouldn’t let him destroy me though. Or my marriage.