by Avery Scott
“Nothing. He knows that he needs our help. Well, your help, I mean. Just so you know, he’s still not going to agree to whatever deal was in that report I accidentally gave him,” Abby said matter-of-factly.
“He’ll agree, Gabrielle. Trust me. He doesn’t really have a choice.”
Hudson sounded sure of himself.
“Couldn’t you come up with some kind of a compromise? Figure out a win-win scenario for both sides?”
“It’s already win-win. The Fougeres make a lot of money and we make a lot of money. That’s it. They can do whatever they want with the proceeds. If they’re that worried about their employees, then I suggest that Mr. Fougere give them one hell of a severance package with his share of the profits.”
“That’s the problem. You’re not looking at the big picture. This is all about money for you. You’re only looking out for the bottom line,” Abby said, her voice gentle but her words harsh. She wasn’t trying to be mean. She wanted Hudson to try and see the problem from another point of view. “It is more than just a business to Monsieur Fougere. It’s his legacy…his mission. You need to find a way to use that. Anyway, he already made plans with his wife to go out of town this weekend and can’t meet with us for a couple more days, so we’re here for a little longer, but it’s the best I can do.”
Abby watched Hudson’s face, anxious for his reaction. It was her fault that the deal had gone south to begin with, but surely this went a long way toward making amends? Perhaps he would agree to keep her on a little longer.
Abby felt like she could almost see the gears turning in Hudson’s brain as he processed what she had said, and its implications for moving forward. It was driving her crazy not to be able to judge what those thoughts were by looking at his face. Just when she started to wonder if he was ever going to speak again, his lips spread into a wide smile. “It’s amazing, Gabrielle. Perfect. Thank you so much.”
Abby responded with a look of genuine pleasure. She had finally done something right. She was proud of her accomplishment but even happier to offer Hudson some relief. His smile seemed sincere, and his posture already looked less tense. She watched as he crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders, and then shivered when he looked down into her eyes.
“You really came through this morning, Gabrielle. I don’t know what you said over there but thank you. I mean that.”
Abby hated that he called her Gabrielle. It hadn’t bothered her very often in the past, but now it felt wrong. She loved her sister but sometimes wondered if Gabrielle had a conscience at all. There was no way that her twin would have gone to so much effort to salvage the situation. She wanted Hudson to know that it was her, Abby, who had fought for him. This was the perfect moment to tell him the truth about who she really was and why she had deceived him. Honesty worked for her earlier in the day with Mr. Fougere, after all. The confession was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t force it past her lips. She didn’t know Hudson well enough to judge how he might react to the situation, so she couldn’t risk blowing her cover. In a few days, they would head back home to New York and she’d have a nice fat paycheck. She could finally get Mr. Saint off her back about the mortgage. The real Gabrielle could go back to doing her job, assuming she ever came home from Mexico with her flavor of the week...or maybe Gabrielle would never come back? Even though she knew better, Abby couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if she was really Hudson’s assistant. There were so many ways that she could think of to please him if only she could be herself. Not many of the things she was thinking about had much to do with office work.
Hudson cleared his throat, making Abby realize that it was her turn to speak. She flushed.
“You’re welcome, but honestly, I got lucky. It could have gone very badly.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to make things worse than they were after the last meeting,” Hudson said. His tone was stern, but his lips were curled up on the edges. Once again Abby noticed the faint lines around his eyes and the way his full lips spread into a smile. He was so close she could feel his breath against her face and smell the hint of mint from his toothpaste. He wasn’t close enough to kiss her, but her imagination was already fully engaged and didn’t stop her from wondering what it would feel like. She assumed that Hudson’s kisses would be as amazing as the rest of him. His forwardness the night before had caught her off guard. Now she wondered if she missed her only chance to bring the fantasy to life.
Abby inclined her chin a fraction of an inch forward, subtly inviting her boss to pick up where they had left off the night before. He drifted closer, but then his eyes caught sight of his watch.
“Fuck!” Hudson said, breaking the mood and startling Abby out of her daydream. “I have to call Imogene back and get the home office working on this. We need to figure out some way to make this personal for Monsieur Fougere and convince him that it’s not just about dollars and cents for us. That’s a great insight, by the way. I just hope someone on the team has ideas about how to pull it off. I’ll need to call and update dad on the situation too. Better yet, I’ll go see him in person. I want to see the look in his eye when I tell the old man that we got the meeting back on. Actually, no - I’ll tell him my assistant got the meeting back on. Imogene’s going to hate you, by the way.”
“I don’t think Imogene liked me much in the first place.” Abby sat down on a delightfully comfortable chair as she watched Hudson dart about, gathering his laptop and some papers.
Hudson had the grace not to acknowledge the truth of her words.
“Well, I’d better get to work.”
“You don’t need my help?” Abby tried and failed to hide her disappointment.
Hudson shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough for today. I’m going to go see dad after breakfast, and the New York team won’t be rolling into the office until after lunchtime here, so I’m probably going to be on the phone all day. Why don’t you go and enjoy yourself? It’s the least I can do to thank you. My credit card is at your disposal.”
“Famous last words,” Abby said with a chuckle.
“Well, within reason,” Hudson quickly amended, Abby figured his “within reason” was more than she’d ever spent on herself in an entire month. She didn’t even think it was possible to buy enough in a single afternoon to put a dent in Hudson’s bank account. Too bad she wasn’t especially fond of shopping. It might be fun to try.
“You can have the hotel car take you anywhere you want to go,” Hudson continued. “I wish I could go with you. Let’s have dinner tonight though. Let me thank you properly.”
Let down by the prospect of spending the day alone, Abby was consoled by the prospect of dinner. At least she was in Paris. Her mind was spinning with all the possible ways that she could spend the day. There was so much she wanted to see that she barely knew where to start. She wanted to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, ride the boats on the river, see the façade of Notre Dame and spend more time exploring the Tuileries gardens. She couldn’t wait to wander the Parisian streets, popping into coffee shops and tasting the delicate pastries and bread along the way. It would be worth gaining the five pounds she’d probably put on if she ate everything she wanted to try.
“What time should I be back to the hotel then?” she asked.
“Be ready for dinner at nine o’clock, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Why don’t you buy something new to wear, my treat?”
Abby opened her mouth to protest. Her closet was already stuffed with the bags and boxes that the concierge sent up when they first arrived. She couldn’t imagine that she would need anything else, but Hudson wasn’t listening. He had already started towards the door, passing Abby along the way. He paused briefly and placed his hand on her hip in a familiar way. “Thanks again, Gabrielle,” he said and gave her a flirty wink before walking out the door.
It had only been a fleeting touch, so light that she barely felt it, but Abby couldn’t control the butterflies in her stomach or a spread
ing sensation of heat where Hudson’s fingertips had settled. She couldn’t account for why she reacted so strongly, but she was thoroughly enjoying this side of Hudson Quinn and wanted more.
After Hudson left, Abby changed her clothes. The smart blue pantsuit that she wore to visit Monsieur Fougere was beautiful, but unsuited for a day of exploration, even in the most sophisticated city in the world. Abby traded the outfit for a pair of black cigarette pants, a lightweight black cashmere sweater and a pair of Chanel ballet flats.
Rummaging in the bags and boxes, she located a package from Hermès and unearthed a red crocodile Birkin handbag and a colorful scarf. A pair of oversized Roger Vivier sunglasses was the finishing touch. When she stepped into the lobby a few minutes later she looked like a perfectly chic Frenchwoman.
The hotel car was waiting, but the early Parisian sunshine was glorious, and Abby wanted to walk. She strode confidently toward the street, only to be stopped by the hotel doorman.
“There’s a message for you at Reception, Mademoiselle.”
Curious, she followed his directions to the front desk.
The clerk handed over a parchment envelope.
“Mr. Quinn left this for you,” the man explained and then discreetly averted his eyes.
Abby looked inside and found a new credit card and a hastily scribbled note that read simply, “Do not lose.”
Hudson, Abby thought with a smile, although she tried not to read too much into the gesture. No doubt he had ordered a new one from Imogene directly after the disastrous lunch meeting. It was for his convenience, not hers. Men like Hudson couldn’t be bothered with “little things” like paying for their own purchases. That still didn’t stop her from appreciating the gesture. She doubted that she would ever find the nerve to charge more than a few dollars- she had cost Hudson far too much already, regardless of how rich he was- but at least she could afford museum admission now.
Abby slipped the card into her handbag and headed back outside. Morning rush hour was in full swing. The Champs-Élysées was clogged with cars and mopeds and the air was thick with diesel fumes. The sidewalk was thronged with Parisians on their way to work.
Abby walked up to the main thoroughfare and stood on the corner, contemplating which direction to take. She didn’t know where to begin. The sense of wide-open possibility was new, thrilling and slightly daunting. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a day wholly to herself, and she had never-even when Grand-mère was alive- experienced a time when money was no object. It should have been perfect, but the heady sense of possibility was mixed with a strangely hollow feeling.
At first, she thought she might be experiencing guilt. As badly as she wanted to explore, she felt the injustice of leaving Hudson stuck at work, cleaning up the mess that she created. Abby wondered if he would work too long, or if she could get him to enjoy a delicious Parisian lunch or take a stroll to enjoy the exquisite detail of the city. Had he noticed the way that the street curbs were crimped on the edges, like ruffles of concrete lace? Did he appreciate the lovely art deco entrances to the Metro stations? Did he wonder if someone had directed the residents of the gray stone apartment blocks to set out baskets of geraniums and trailing flowers on their balconies? Paris was so magical. It was the closest she had ever felt to stepping inside a dream. She wanted to share it with someone.
No, not with someone. With Hudson.
Hunger was a welcome distraction from Abby’s thoughts. Despite the feast of pastries that she sampled at Monsieur Fougere’s house, her stomach rumbled. She wandered off in search of a bakery- boulangerie, as the French called it- and was delighted to find one nearby, the smell of warm baguette drifted onto the cobbled street. After eating her fill of the hot, crusty bread and washing it down with a wickedly dark coffee, she resumed her wanderings, setting off vaguely in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, but eventually meandering off the main roads to wander aimlessly through residential side streets. She found a small park nestled away behind an apartment block. The space was small but, like everything in Paris, it was elegant. Wrought-iron gaslights ringed the perimeter of the park, and a fountain stood at the center. Three tiers of water trickled down to a large round pool where a father and son were attempting to sail a paper boat. The juxtaposition of the quaint, sweet scene of childhood in the midst of the storybook setting piqued her artistic interest.
She didn’t have her paints in Paris, but she imagined how she would capture this scene: a light silvery blue to represent the serenity of the fountain with golden-pink light in the sky.
She wanted to remember every place she went and every person she talked to so that she would be able to recall the inspiration when she finally had access to her paints and her sketchpad. She took dozens of snapshots with her phone for reference. It wouldn’t be the same as witnessing the sights in person, but at least they could jog her memory. She wished that she could set up her easel here in the heart of Paris, in the same streets as her grand-mère and Degas and countless artists before them had done, and let all of her feelings leak out from the end of her brush onto a canvas, captured forever in swirls of paint.
Abby sat in the park for more than an hour and then started off down a winding street in search of another bakery. For lunch, she had a croissant smothered in sweet cream butter and strawberry jam. Afterward, she went into the chocolatier next door and bought a selection of bonbons. She was dangerously close to carb overload, but couldn’t resist. She walked a little further, poking her head into various shops until she reached the banks of the Seine. Abby sat on a park bench to watch the barges sailing past while she sampled her purchases and basked in the glory of where she was, soaking up every sensation like a dry sponge.
Church bells tolled four PM and Abby turned to walk back to the hotel. She hoped to find Hudson waiting for her, but the suite was empty, without so much as a note to let her know where her employer had gone.
There were still hours before she needed to get ready for dinner. She decided to take advantage of the extra time by unwinding and possibly taking a nap before starting on her toilette.
Abby settled onto the comfortable rollaway bed and opened up her tablet. She sent a brief ”Where are you?” e-mail to her sister, checked her bank balance and was getting ready to shut down when she noticed a message from Imogene. It was a dossier about Marché d’Été and the craftsmen that they represented. The message had been sent to Hudson, his father and several other people that Abby didn’t recognize. She supposed that it was the team that was assembled to salvage the deal. They didn’t need her help, and they certainly hadn’t asked for it, but she opened the document anyway.
Gabrielle’s initial file on Marché d’Été had been sparse and strongly slanted toward demonstrating how Quinn Holdings could eke maximum profit out of the business. The new information was much more in-depth, describing not just the financial value of the brands associated with Marché d’Été, but how their relationship with the Fougeres originated and how the businesses fit into their local economies. Some of the stories were intriguing. Abby kept jumping from the file that Imogene sent to the internet, pulling open a map to locate the Alpine hillsides where hardy goats made milk for soap, and lavender fields in Provence that got turned into perfume. A few hours later she realized that she had missed her opportunity for a nap but she had a much better understanding of Mr. Fougere’s reluctance to allow Quinn Holdings to strip his business down for scrap. If it were her company, she would be heartbroken by the prospect too.
At a quarter to seven, Abby pulled herself away from the tablet and started getting dressed. She took her time in the shower, delighting in all of the scents from her velvety body wash and hair products. Everything felt expensive and lush. It was a nice escape from her days of adding water to the dish soap to make it last.
A break, not an escape, Abby reminded herself as she lathered crème brulee scented lotion over her skin. This was a lovely adventure, but it was going to be over soon. She had to make it through th
e next few days if she had any hope of making the mortgage this month. After she got back to New York, she needed a job.
Perhaps she could be a personal assistant? Abby smiled at the thought. At this point, she doubted that Hudson would give her a glowing recommendation, but she was getting better.
Deciding to save her worries for another day, Abby got out of the shower and stopped in front of the full-length mirror. Her white-blonde hair hung past her shoulders, dripping water onto the floor. She admired herself for a moment. She knew looks were not the most important thing, but she also took pride in her body and appearance. She didn’t always put it on display like her sister, but there were times when it was appropriate. Tonight felt like one of those times. Abby was slim and fit and she was proud of her curvy bottom. She worked hard doing squats at home to develop that. Her best asset though, in her opinion even better than her sister’s, were her perfectly pert, round breasts.
She walked naked into the living room to rifle through the shopping bags that served as her makeshift closet. Hudson offered to let her keep her things in the bedroom with his, and her refusal was giving their maid fits (she didn’t know that Abby understood her when she muttered under her breath about strange Americans), but it felt wrong somehow to mingle her things with his, intimate in a way she hadn’t earned. Keeping the gifts in their bags and boxes, wrapped in scented tissue paper with discretely hidden receipts made it easier to remember that none of this really belonged to her. They were costumes, and this was a role- a role that she intended to revel in tonight.
Abby had never followed through on Hudson’s suggestion of going shopping, and so she sifted through the shopping bags in her closet for something to wear. Her interest was piqued by a pink and black bag from Agent Provocateur. She emptied the contents onto Hudson’s bed, smiling and blushing at the delicate scraps of silk and lace from the famous lingerie shop. If the wisps of fabric were anything to go by, the concierge had clearly made assumptions about Abby’s presence in Hudson’s suite. She just hoped they didn’t think she was being paid to sleep with him. Even if they did, at least they thought she was a high-class working girl. She blushed as she picked up a pale peach bra embroidered with black poppies. It was paired with tiny thong panties, a garter belt, and black seamed stockings. Deeper in the pile was a black leather corset paired with undies so insubstantial that they were entirely beside the point. Abby opted for the first set, satisfied by the way the underwires displayed her ample cleavage and titillated by the foreign process of rolling the stockings up her legs and fastening them into their clips. Then she slipped on a kimono robe and returned to the bathroom to do her hair.
