Right now, he’s on his feet, leaning against his desk and staring at a stack of papers, fiddling with his eyeglasses as if they’re the problem. More papers are piled in corners around the room, some being blown at by a fan by the open window. Crookedly hung certificates and awards hang from the walls, and his shelves are stacked with books upon books upon books, with the occasional handbag on display.
In the corner, Blaise is firing up the Nespresso machine, giving me a tepid glance, while Seraphine is standing by the desk with her arms crossed, obviously in the middle of lecturing my father about something.
“We made nine point six billion dollars in revenue last year,” I announce as I step in, closing the door behind me. “Father, I think you can afford to get air-conditioning for your office.”
“Nonsense,” my father says, briefly glancing at me. He waves his arm toward the fan. “That fan works fine.”
“The office in Montparnasse had air-conditioning,” Seraphine says, glaring at Blaise.
He just shrugs and takes a casual sip of his espresso. “It also couldn’t handle all the new growth, especially the growth to come our way once we start an online department.”
Oh God, they’re arguing about this still? Again? Already?
Seraphine scoffs, her eyes narrowing into slits. “Are you stupid or just naive?”
“Well, I’m glad you guys invited me here for a meeting,” I say quickly, before things get out of hand. Seraphine is a tough cookie, but she still gets along with everyone. She even tolerates Pascal and Gautier. But for whatever reason, Blaise really gets her blood boiling, and he can be just as sharp-tongued with her. I’ve never understood their feuding, but then again, I don’t understand a lot about these people I have to call family.
“I didn’t invite you,” Blaise says as he finishes his coffee and saunters past me. “And I’ve told your father and sister that you usually only complicate matters. You chose to work with hotels; there’s no need for you to be here.”
“Blaise,” my father scolds him, “you’re sounding like Gautier now.”
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Seraphine snipes.
Blaise shrugs, one hand on the door. “Just being honest. Someone here has to be.”
Then he leaves, shutting us in the room.
I jerk my thumb at the door. “Why is he even in here? Drinking your coffee?”
“His machine is broken,” my father says tiredly, flipping through papers. “And, like it or not, we do have to work together.”
“How are you, brother?” Seraphine asks, shaking the animosity away from her bright face. She comes over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You look like you’ve gotten a lot of sun.”
“So much for working,” my father says under his breath.
“I was working,” I tell him, which isn’t a complete lie. “Believe me, there’s a world outside of the office.”
“Mm-hmm, so who is she?” Seraphine says with a cheeky grin.
“She?”
“You don’t take vacations, Olivier, so I have to assume that there was someone else in the picture. Someone who might convince you to relax by the sea for a week and get some sun.”
“There’s no one,” I tell her, and she looks disappointed. She’s always harping on me to find someone and settle down—if only she knew the truth about that—but I’m certainly not going to tell her about Sadie.
Which reminds me.
“By the way, have you seen Pascal lately?” I ask.
She frowns. “He was here yesterday for a minute. You know he’s always in and out.”
“I saw him at Cap-Eden-Roc,” I tell them. “Just randomly. Like he was spying on me.”
“You’re always so suspicious,” my father says, straightening up and putting his hands on his lower back with a groan.
“Everyone should be a little more suspicious,” I tell him. “Is your back okay?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” he says, waving me away and walking to the fan to adjust it. “You’d be in pain, too, if you had to deal with all of this.”
“And if you stood hunched over the desk like some raving reporter,” Seraphine says, walking over to him and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “We know you’re in charge, but I do think while I’m in the office, you owe your daughter some respect, which means listening to what she says. Sit down.”
She tugs on his arm, and, reluctantly, he’s led over to his chair, where he sits down.
“And you’re right, Olivier,” Seraphine says to me as she wrestles with the window for a moment until she’s able to pop it open an extra inch. “We always should be more suspicious.”
“That’s not how your mother and I raised you,” my father says grumpily, taking his time to glare at both Seraphine and me.
“No, you raised us to be perfect angels,” she says, giving his shoulders a squeeze and kissing him on the top of his balding head. “But, unfortunately, your brother raised a bunch of devils, and we have to work alongside each other. In this business, it’s kill or be killed.”
“You’re family.”
“And it’s family that I’m very grateful for,” she says. My parents adopted Seraphine when she was nine years old. She was in the public system for some time before that, jumping from family to family. She says we’re the first real one she’s ever had.
She goes on, “It’s just that there really was no reason for Pascal to show up at Olivier’s hotel.”
“How did he even know I was there?” I ask.
She gnaws on her lip for a moment, but somehow it doesn’t mess up her perfect red lipstick. It must be the cosmetic brand’s new long-wear kind, the one she insisted be named after her. “He asked where you were, and I told him,” she says. “Sorry, I obviously didn’t know he’d take the next plane out.”
“So his cousin wanted to check on the hotel, nothing wrong with that,” my father says. “Can we get back to the real issues at hand?”
“Which ones?” Seraphine asks dryly.
“Yes,” I say, conscious of the time. “What exactly did you want from me?”
My father balks. “That’s a little brusque of you, son.”
“Sorry,” I say with a sigh, sliding my hands into my pockets. I’m rarely rude with my parents, another trait that they passed down to me, even though there’s been a time or two when my temper has gotten the best of me. “I’ve got plans.”
“Again, who is she?” Seraphine asks.
I ignore her.
So does my father. “Well, as you know, we’ve got the ball and the show coming up, and we’re a little shorthanded.”
“Then hire more staff. We can afford it, can’t we?”
He nods, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We can. But I need someone to help keep them in line.”
“I assume you mean our family, whose praises you were just singing.”
“There’s a difference between singing someone’s praises and not being suspicious and contemptuous of them at every turn. It’s somewhere in the middle, Olivier, and you should learn to live there.” He sighs and sits back in his chair. “Same goes for you, Seraphine. Now, Gautier, Pascal, and Blaise were really pushing for the autumn releases to coincide with our first online store. That’s not going to happen now; it’s not going to happen ever. Suffice to say, I have the final word, even over my brother, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Until, of course, you take over my job.”
This again. I immediately stiffen, my hands growing clammy, my pulse skipping against my wrist. Soon my father will find out I’m forfeiting all my shares to Gautier, and he won’t understand why. He’s already deeply disappointed that I’ve distanced myself from the company, and yet I can tell he thinks I’ll come around soon, maybe when I’ve lost interest in the hotels. It’s going to kill him when I have to hand it all over.
Seraphine clears her throat loudly and gives my father a pointed look.
“What?” he says. “Oh, you know Olivier has been groomed for this from th
e very start. It’s written into the contracts; it always has been. Gautier even signed off on it. Once I’m out of the picture, Olivier takes my place.”
“Even though he doesn’t know a thing about how to run a company,” my sister says snidely.
“Hey,” I tell her, pointing my finger at her, “I run my own damn company. I don’t need this one.”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But this is the Dumont brand, and we have done things our way for as long as I can remember. You have no idea what it’s like to run this place.”
“We’re not having this argument again,” Father says. “I’m not going down this path, and we all know that I’m not going anywhere. I just had my annual checkup. Mentally and physically, I’m as fit as a fiddle and sharp as a razor.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Because I have no plans to take over. Especially when my sister here would shoot me in the face if she had to.”
“You’re so dramatic,” she says.
“Back to the point . . . is this heat driving everyone insane? There’s a reason why everyone in this city leaves in August. We’re the only poor souls stuck here, slaving away for fashion,” my father drones on.
“You’re slaving away for money, don’t forget that,” I remind him. “And yet another reason why I’m happy running my hotels: I don’t have any fashion weeks or launches to worry about.”
My father glances over his shoulder at the fan on the window. “Maybe I should get another fan and start a cross breeze.”
“Father,” Seraphine reminds him, “stay focused. Olivier obviously has places to be.”
“Right, right. And here I was talking about how sharp I was. Anyway, there’s a lot of fighting in-house right now, dear boy, and it would be nice to have another hand on deck. If you could check in here every other day and see what Seraphine needs you to do, that would be fantastic.”
Seraphine exhales sharply. “Right. Well, for starters, I could use some help with the masquerade ball. I have my assistant going through the guest list, but I know you’re more in tune with high society than I am. Perhaps you could go through it and see if there are any potential problems. Actresses who don’t get along, models who are out for revenge. That sort of thing.” She pauses. “You’re obviously bringing a guest.”
I shake my head. “No.”
She frowns. “That’s very unlike you. Are you sure you’re well?”
“And there you were so certain that there was someone in the picture.”
“No date, Olivier?” my father muses, back to reading his papers and scribbling something in a leather diary. “Are you planning to turn into Blaise?”
Blaise is always getting needled over his lack of love life. The tabloids have speculated that he’s gay and afraid to come out of the closet, but I don’t think that’s it. I’ve seen the way he looks at women, and, at any rate, half the male workforce here is gay. No one really cares.
But just because I won’t publicly have a date doesn’t mean I’ll be going alone.
If I’m in charge of the guest list, I can easily place Sadie’s name on it.
And since it’s a masquerade ball, no one will be the wiser.
Fueled by this new revelation, I excuse myself from the meeting and tell my father and sister that I’ll be here for them whenever they need me, even if it means stopping by the office every few days. Lord knows the last thing I want to do is spend any more time away from Sadie, especially as I have my own work to attend to, but I don’t have much choice.
I will make it up to her, though.
On the drive back to the apartment, I stop by a charcuterie and wine shop, picking up bread, wine, cheese, meats, and a picnic basket.
Since we’ve been in Paris these last two days, I haven’t been seen with Sadie out in public. It’s too risky. So while I’m gone, she’s been exploring Paris by herself. This morning before I left, she lamented that she wanted to have a picnic with me beneath the Eiffel Tower, like she’d seen all the tourists do.
I had to tell her I couldn’t be seen with her in public. I felt awful. I’ve explained to her that the paparazzi watch me like a hawk here, and I want to protect her from that, but it’s not even close to the truth. Sometimes the paparazzi will take my picture, but it’s usually at an event—and I go to a lot of events. But walking down the street, eating at a restaurant on a date? No. The media here is far more respectful than they are in England and the States.
So I decided having a picnic inside is one way of making up for it. I hope she’ll at least find it charming.
After I park, I head into the building, nodding hello to the concierge, then take the elevator up to the fourth floor, which is entirely my apartment.
The building is about one hundred years old, and I like to think it was being built at the same time that my grandfather, Alex Dumont, was coming up with the idea about a handbag. I appreciate the history of it all, the understated elegance, the old-world ideas that seem to meld seamlessly with the present.
Sadie, of course, was beyond impressed. Not just by the size of the place, but by the way I’ve turned the apartment into a gallery of sorts. As I was getting started in the hotelier business, I spent some time learning about art. I traveled and studied, really getting into the idea of having galleries in my hotels. That didn’t quite happen, though most of my hotels do have an artistic slant to things.
But my apartment is where everything I admire comes to life.
Some may call it cluttered. My brother, Renaud, often says it’s a sight for sore eyes, and Seraphine jokes that I’ve got a hoarding issue for expensive art. My father understands it, though. I guess I like to collect beautiful things as much as he likes to create them.
I quickly unlock the door and step inside while carrying the bag of groceries, looking for the most beautiful thing of all.
There she is, sitting on the velvet couch, sipping from a mug of tea.
“Honey, I’m home,” I tell her in my best Ricky Ricardo impression.
She grins at me. “And you brought things!”
“I did, fresh from the streets of Paris,” I tell her as she sets her tea down and comes over to me, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss.
God, she tastes so fucking good. I hadn’t realized how needy and starved I was for her all day until this very moment.
“I missed you,” she whispers against my lips, and I have to adjust myself before I drop the groceries.
“I missed you too,” I say, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Remind me to never leave you again.”
“That would be nice.”
I pull away and put the bag on the kitchen counter before everything falls. “So what did you do all day?”
“Not much,” she says with a shrug, doing a tiny pirouette on the tile floor. “Well, I attempted to learn the piano.” She points to the white grand piano in the middle of the sitting area. It was once owned by Liberace. “But the ghost of Liberace did me no favors. Then I attempted to read up on all the art in your apartment.”
She eyes a stack of art books on the coffee table. “Unfortunately, I fell asleep once I got to Monet. I don’t know what it is about him, but he bores me to tears.”
“Apparently,” I comment. But secretly I am thrilled that she’s taken an interest in it.
“So what’s all this?” she asks, peering at the bags.
“I figured you’d be hungry,” I tell her, starting to sort through them. “I also know how much you wanted that picnic under the Eiffel Tower. So I thought the best thing for me to do was to bring the Eiffel Tower here.”
I take out a foot-high replica of the tower, the kind you find on every street corner, and place it in the living area by the window. Then I grab a thick red blanket from the linen closet and spread it out on the floor. I gesture to it. “Voilà. Have a seat.”
She gives me a disbelieving look. “We’re having a picnic inside?”
“Don’t act like you’re not impressed, lapin. Now si
t, and I will do the rest.”
She takes a tentative seat on the floor, crossing her legs, and then watches me with interest as I start laying the items out in front of her. I start with a bottle of Dumont red wine because I know that’s the key to her heart. After she has her glass, I lay out the cheeses, meats, and baguettes.
“You really shouldn’t have,” she says, eyeing it all in awe.
“Actually, this is the least I can do,” I admit, sitting down beside her. “I feel terrible that I’ve been leaving you alone like this.”
“Olivier, please,” she says as she sips her wine. “I knew what coming to Paris would mean. I knew you’d be working. Okay, so maybe I didn’t know about the whole hiding me thing, but hey, I’m nothing if not adaptable.”
“I’m not hiding you,” I tell her, wishing I could just tell her the truth. But then what would she think of me? Sadie, I don’t want my cousin or uncle to know I have someone like you in my life, or they’ll make it their mission to break us apart. Because Pascal and my uncle have it out for me, because of something I’ve done, because my side and their side have always been at odds.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m just happy you’re here now. I mean, don’t you have friends you need to see too?”
I shrug. “I have friends, sure. Some from university, most from the hotel business. But they’re just as busy as I am.”
And to be honest, I’ve kept myself guarded over these last ten years. It’s hard to be open with people and make true friends and lay your soul bare when you know you’re hiding something from them, from the world. Sometimes I feel it’s all or nothing with me.
That’s how I feel with Sadie. I want to give her my all, but I don’t know how I can, and I don’t know what future we can have, even if I tell her my truth.
“And anyway,” I point out, “I haven’t heard you talk much about your friends back home.”
She gives me a small smile, and I feel like I may have touched a nerve. She starts tearing off pieces of the baguette, taking her time. “I have friends. I just don’t have a lot of friends. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, to be honest. When my father left and it was just me and my mom, especially for that first while, I wanted to be there for her as much as I could. You don’t understand . . . she was a mess. Way more than she is today. If I couldn’t hold her together, she’d fall apart on her own. Plus, the fact that I was studying like crazy to get a scholarship to college and working when I could . . . I just didn’t have time for anyone else. I mean, in school I met Chantal in my communications class, but she’s the only one I’d consider close to me.”
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