by Harper Bliss
Claire shook her head. “Quelle surprise.”
“I know she was meant for you—”
“She wasn’t meant for Claire,” Juliette interjected. “For heaven’s sake.”
“It’s all good, ladies. Please.” Claire raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. There were many perks to working with your best friends, but this was one of the downsides. “Steph, I wasn’t expecting anything else from you.” She turned to Juliette, who’d been in a foul mood since arriving at the office, despite their big meeting. “Please thank Nadia for introducing me to Margot. She’s certainly intriguing, but it was hardly love at first sight. On either side.”
“If you want to thank Nadia, you can do it yourself.” Juliette brought a hand to her mouth as soon as she said it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t bring my personal life to work. I will fix things at home. Let’s move on.”
Claire gave her a slight nod of the head before turning her attention back to Steph. “She blew you off? That must have stung?”
“Maybe I’ve peaked and the time has come to settle down.”
“And pigs will fly,” Claire said absent-mindedly, thinking back to last Friday when she’d found a tight-lipped, square-jawed trauma surgeon in leather pants in Juliette and Nadia’s sofa. Margot had looked as ready to slice through someone’s skin as to kick someone’s ass. A vibe that had, admittedly, put Claire off from the start. She had to agree with Juliette on this, as on most things, that Nadia might have made an error of judgement. And she’d had no doubt in her mind that Steph would have tried something with the inconnue at the dinner party.
“I’m interviewing a potential new assistant in five minutes.” Juliette tapped her watch. “Can we get on with it, please?”
“I hope she’s good and intuitive and brings you a better mood to be in,” Claire said. “I have lunch with Renson at Le Georges. I’ll give him your love.”
“I’ll start digging into Laroche.” Steph raised her eyebrows twice in quick succession and pushed herself out of her chair.
When they’d both left her office, before shifting her focus to work, Claire closed her eyes for a minute and wondered when was the last time she’d spent some time cultivating her own love life instead of discussing that of her friends.
JULIETTE
Sybille, the girl Juliette was interviewing for the position of her new PA, was the spitting image of Nadia ten years ago. Big brown eyes, that North-African complexion that made Juliette’s knees go weak, a feistiness brimming under the polite tone of her voice. Maybe it was wrong to base her decision on the turmoil her personal life was going through, but she couldn’t possibly hire her. Or maybe a constant reminder of how it used to be was exactly what she needed.
Suddenly she didn’t feel like asking Sybille about her strengths and weaknesses anymore—a question the girl would no doubt answer capably and even with a bit of wit thrown in. She was definitely over-qualified and surely ambitious, exactly the overachiever Juliette was looking for.
“You know what, Sybille?” She locked eyes with her and saw Nadia again. Nadia on their first date wearing that white blouse that contrasted so gloriously with her skin, it made Juliette’s mouth water. “You’re hired. Please see Fabio in the office next door for details. We use the standard two-month trial period. Please start as soon as possible.” She stood up to shake hands. Sybille seemed undeterred, as if she’d had this in the bag from the moment she walked in. As if she’d seen it in Juliette’s eyes. The guilt, the eagerness, the desperation to, for once, say yes.
“Merci beaucoup, Madame Barbier.” She stood tall, no trace of nervous sweat on her fingers when their hands met. “You won’t regret it.”
We’ll see about that. Juliette’s success in business was due to a good combination of gut instinct, profound analysis and a complete lack of emotion. If she didn’t deal with her crumbling relationship soon, she’d be doing more than hiring assistants who looked like her wife on a whim. She’d be harming her and Claire’s life’s work.
After showing Sybille out, she reached for her phone and called Nadia.
“Have lunch with me,” she said as soon as she heard Nadia’s matter-of-fact greeting on the other end of the line.
“What? Today?” The lack of eagerness and spontaneity in Nadia’s voice gripped her around the heart like a cold fist. “I can’t, babe. I’m up to my ears.” The same excuse Juliette had used for years, meaning she had no defence against it.
“Please. We need to talk.” If neither one of them ever insisted, how could they ever work it out? If all they did about their current impasse was instigate half-hearted conversations after too much wine—usually resulting in a flaming fight because they both couldn’t control their temper very well when under the influence—how could they possibly find a way out?
“I know, but can’t it wait? The most I could possibly spare you for lunch is half an hour.” Nadia sighed. “We deserve more than that.”
Juliette could hardly argue with that. “Tonight?”
“I’ll be home at eight. I promise.” A sweetness had crept into Nadia’s voice. Juliette didn’t want to hang up now.
“I’ll cook.” She realised she’d been overcompensating in the kitchen of late.
“Why don’t you relax. Open a nice bottle of wine. I’ll take care of dinner.”
“Sounds perfect, babe. I love you.” It was so easy to say, and certainly no lie, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if their love had developed into something different over the years. Something more pragmatic and less romantic.
“Love you too. Got to run.”
Juliette sagged against the leather back rest of her chair. They’d had all weekend to talk, but Nadia had had a nasty hangover to nurse on Saturday and Juliette had been so angry, so frustrated and utterly unwilling to talk anything through. On Saturday evening Juliette had attended a ghastly play with Claire courtesy of a good client—attendance not optional.
On Sunday, just like every Sunday for the past six months it seemed, Nadia had had to deal with an emergency at the hospital, keeping her away from home for the better part of the day. Juliette had been so tired, so emotionally exhausted, she’d barely made it out of bed at all. Resentment was a heavy burden to bear, not just resentment for Nadia’s job which had transformed her into someone Juliette wasn’t sure she particularly liked—possibly because that new person emerging reminded her a bit too much of herself for comfort—but, mostly, resentment for how the whole situation made her feel so helpless, so dependent on someone else’s availability and time for her.
Juliette wasn’t used to playing second fiddle, but Claire was right. Maybe it was Nadia’s time to shine professionally. But where did that leave her, if not in the shadows?
NADIA
Nadia scooped the noodles into a bowl, mostly to enhance the impression they were about to indulge in a home-cooked meal instead of another takeaway dinner. The days when she prepared fresh dishes for herself and Juliette almost every night seemed long gone.
It was difficult to not immediately be on the defence when she sat down opposite her partner of ten years. And this time she couldn’t even blame Juliette, who looked relaxed in the jeans and t-shirt she liked to wear at home—slipping out of work mode and clothes as soon as she set foot in the apartment.
Juliette poured them each a generous helping of wine and the sound of the liquid meeting the glass at least untied some knots in her stomach. Raised by second-generation immigrants, Nadia hadn’t grown up to drink wine like water, but she sure was making up for that in her forties.
“Did Margot say anything?” Juliette asked. “Apparently Steph couldn’t help hitting on her in the street after they both left last Friday.”
“Not a word. She’s not really one for small talk.”
“It’s hardly small talk after you’ve been invited to a colleague’s house to meet one of Paris’s most eligible bachelorettes and end up being propositioned by Les Pêches’s resident heartbreaker.”
; Nadia swallowed a large gulp of wine before speaking. “At least Steph showed some initiative and interest. You and Claire are always so quick to judge. So Margot doesn’t speak a mile a minute like you PR people do for a living, but she’s smart, considerate, thoughtful, and bloody hot.”
Nadia witnessed Juliette’s lips tighten into a forced smile. “So you think she’s hot?”
Jealousy was better than nothing at all. “You don’t?”
“Sure, objectively speaking, but she’s not really my type, you know that.” Juliette’s wavy straw-blonde hair bounced off her shoulders as she got more agitated. What gave her away more, though, was the way the left curve of her upper lip—the slightly uneven, ultra-sexy one—twitched when she started to feel as if she was losing control. Nadia knew her so well, could read her like an open book.
“What is your type these days?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Juliette put her fork down and reached for her glass.
Here we go again. The endless going around in circles, the taunting, the reproachful remarks that kept them from really addressing the issue. They hadn’t had nearly enough wine for that. Nadia pushed her glass away and looked Juliette in the eye. “What the hell does it matter? It doesn’t. Nothing matters but the thoughts in our heads, all the assumptions we make about each other all day long and bring home at night and let fester because we don’t talk to each other anymore. We seem to have lost the ability to communicate entirely and I know you probably think it’s my fault and yes, I readily admit I fall into the trap of blaming you, but tell me, where will that get us if not split up within months and never talking to each other again?”
Juliette took a deep breath and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “I don’t know anymore, babe. What is happening to us?”
Nadia wanted to get up, rush over to her and hold her. Tell her everything would be all right. But it wouldn’t. “You resent the fact that I work more hours than you now, that I’m not there for you twenty-four seven like I used to be. That I stopped putting your happiness before mine.”
“That’s simply not true.” Juliette pushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “I want nothing more than for you to be happy, but the fact that you work such long hours can only mean one thing to me. Whatever the source of your happiness, it most certainly isn’t me.”
“If only, just once, just for a single second, you could admit that what you look for most in a partner is a doting housewife.” Nadia ogled her glass of wine. “And you can’t deal with me not being here for you all the time.” She braced herself for Juliette’s reaction.
“You’ve never been a housewife. You’ve always worked.”
“But I’ve always put you first.”
“I just—you make me feel as if I’m not important to you anymore. Or at least less important than I used to be.”
“And how do you think I felt every time you called me to say you were working late just as I finished cooking your bloody dinner?”
“But you knew it would be like that. You knew Claire and I were building our business—”
“You mean you expected me to resign myself to the fact that the agency and Claire would always come first? Like a good housewife, despite working a full-time job myself.”
“No, of course not. I always believed we complemented each other so well on that front.”
“Because it worked out so well for you.”
Juliette shoved her chair back, its feet screeching on the hardwood floor. “Why now? Why are you telling me all of this after so many years? If it made you so miserable, then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because… circumstances change. I’ve changed. My job is just as important as yours, only, you don’t seem to think so.”
Juliette stood up and placed her hands on the back of the chair. Nadia watched her knuckles turn white as she squeezed the leather upholstering in frustration. “In all the years we’ve been together I can count the times you’ve yelled at me on the fingers of one hand. You don’t scream at people, babe. That’s not you. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because when I look at you, I hardly recognise you.”
Tears welled behind Nadia’s eyes as despair gripped her. “And you know what your problem is, honey? No matter the volume of my voice, you never bloody listen to me. Thank you for this delightful conversation.” She grabbed her glass of wine, emptied it in one long gulp, stood up, and made for the door.
“Where are you going?” It was hard not to notice the despair in Juliette’s voice, and Nadia was just as guilty as her partner of sabotaging their relationship, but she had to get out before too much damage was done.
“To the hospital.” With a dry click the door fell in the lock while Nadia furiously stabbed the elevator call button.
STEPH
Steph suffered from a case of unexpected nerves as she waited outside of Dominique Laroche’s office in the building housing the Assemblée nationale. Not just because of the grandeur of her surroundings, but because of the topic she was about to discuss with her new client.
“Mademoiselle Mathis?” A perfectly coiffed lady in her fifties appeared in the waiting area, which consisted of a row of two chairs perched together in the hallway. “Madame Laroche will see you now. Please make it brief, she doesn’t have a lot of time today.”
She’d better make time for this. Following the woman, Steph glanced at her impeccable attire and suddenly realised she’d forgotten to dress to impress. She looked more like a perpetual college student in her velvet blazer and faded jeans and didn’t quite fit the Palais Bourbon. She made a quick mental note to dress more career-oriented from now on and swap the jeans for something more appropriate.
“Bonjour.” Dominique leaned against a majestic oakwood desk with one hip, a stack of papers in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Can we speak in private, please?” Polite but to the point. Just like Claire and Juliette had taught her. Don’t waste anyone’s time, especially your own.
“Bien sûr.” She nodded at the older lady who took the papers from Dominique with a nod and strutted out of the office, closing the door behind her. “What’s on your mind?” Dominique remained at the front of her desk, hips slanting against the edge.
Steph didn’t know whether to sit or stand, so she remained upright. “If we’re going to make this work, I will need complete honesty, not just what you decide to tell me.”
“Of course, that’s what we agreed upon.”
For a split second, Steph felt as if she were a detective about to nail the prime suspect. “So, would you care to tell me who Murielle Fontaine is?”
Dominique pursed her lips together into a pensive pout. “Maybe you should sit down.” She straightened herself and headed to the other side of her desk.
“I’m here to help, not to judge.” Steph held her hands up. “But I need to know these things.”
“What… I mean, how did you find out?”
“I’m well-connected.” Steph knew full well that anyone else at any other agency could never have dug up this particular nugget of information on Dominique Laroche. Her lifestyle had many an advantage, but this had been a rather unexpected perk.
“You must be.” At last, Dominique allowed herself to sit down. “She was the only one and it happened when I was at uni. You know what it’s like.”
Steph chuckled. “Sure.” She didn’t say anything else, hoping her silence would coax a bit more information out of Dominique.
They sat in quiet stand-off mode for a few seconds. Dominique spoke first. “We swore to never tell anyone. We haven’t really been in touch since then and we’re both married with children now. It really isn’t such a big deal.”
Preaching to the choir. “It may be a big deal once you become a minister in a conservative right-wing cabinet.”
“Seriously though, who told you?” Dominique ignored Steph’s statement and tapped the tips of her nails on her desk.
“Let’s just say Murielle hasn’t st
ayed on the straight and narrow as well as you have.” Steph leaned forward in her chair. “People talk, Madame Laroche. It’s only in our nature.”
“Please, call me Dominique.” She rested her eyes on Steph for a few long seconds. “What do you suggest we do?”
“There’s no reason to assume this will come out at all.” Steph gave a small smile. “No pun intended.” She eased back into her chair. “All that needs to happen is for you to be completely honest with me.”
Dominique nodded. “Of course.” She seemed to consider Steph’s statement for an instant, drawing her eyes into narrow slits. Shifting her glance to her computer screen, she said, “Are you free for dinner… tomorrow night?”
Steph wasn’t expecting that. “That much to tell, huh?”
Dominique shot her a harsh glare over the edge of her screen. Her eyes were greenish grey and piercing. “Just arrange for somewhere discreet where we can meet and call me on my private number to set it up. I’m blocking two hours for this.”
“Well worth it in the end, I hope.” Steph couldn’t help but wonder what kind of secrets her first politician client was keeping. She couldn’t wait to find out. This was far more exciting than drawing up positive press releases for software companies.
“See you tomorrow.” Dominique rose and extended her hand. Steph did the same. When their palms touched, Steph detected the slightest hint of sweat on Dominique’s skin.
CLAIRE
For once, Claire didn’t have anywhere to go after work. Tuesday evenings were particularly popular for networking events in the PR industry, but tonight was all hers. She sat nursing a cosmopolitan at the bar of Le Comptoir, located halfway between Barbier & Cyr and her empty apartment, angled so she had a clear view of the door, when a dark-haired woman all dressed in leather walked in.
It took a split second to register her features and realise it was the same woman she had sat across from all night last Friday. She looked at Margot as she scanned the bar. Was she meeting Nadia here? This was more her and Juliette’s kind of place, a spot to unwind after work and discuss matters away from the office.
