Amanda's Guide to Love (7 page)

Lately, they’d been more evasive,
more inclined to talk about the economy that hadn’t picked up yet, the soaring
unemployment rates, and the scarcity of managerial positions in energy and
power. One even suggested Amanda might want to consider assistant jobs in
another sector.

Ha! She’d rather sell her apartment
and move in with Mom than give Julien the pleasure of telling everyone that
upstart Amanda Roussel was finally where she belonged.

She pushed the phone away and began
to pace the room. Her original plan for the afternoon had been to research five
or six companies and submit applications, but it was getting late and she was
exhausted. Not that she’d done much today besides making a few phone calls and
writing cover letters. But she’d spent a month holed up in her little
apartment, unwilling to see anyone who wasn’t a potential employer or go
anywhere that wasn’t related to a job interview.

It had been a tough, lonely month . . .
well, lonelier than usual. She hadn’t had any fun, and she’d hardly smiled in
four weeks, except for that crazy weekend in Deauville, a.k.a. her
one-night-plus-one-morning stand with Kes
,
the
Gypsy gambler.

Amanda shook her head to drive the
image away. That drunken casino trip had been the most stupid, reckless thing she’d
done in her whole life.

It had also been great fun.

She sometimes daydreamed about
going to the Deauville Casino again on the off chance she’d run into Kes. Those
fanciful, harmless reveries helped her forget her troubles . . .
except when they developed into full-fledged sexual fantasies and got so out of
control she ended up touching herself. She usually fell asleep within five
minutes after
ward
and slept like a baby.

The weird thing was that she no
longer needed Faceless Man.

For years, Amanda had fantasized only
about Rob, including during the time they were together. After he jilted her
for Lena, she willed him out of her mind. Even on the coldest, loneliest nights
in her immaculate bedroom, she refused to resort to his avatar to ease into sleep.

As for the men she had dated over
the last two years, they were useless as fantasy material. Whenever she tried
to imagine a hot sex scene, they’d keep on talking about profit margins and
racing cars instead of ravishing her. She suspected this had something to do
with the quality of her real-life dates with them. But she couldn’t be certain.

Then about six months ago
,
after a particularly unpleasant relationship
fiasco, she came up with Faceless Man.

Technically, Faceless Man did have
a face. He definitely had a mouth that he put to good use. But his features
were always obscured or blurred, making him completely unidentifiable. She
didn’t even know if he was handsome or ugly, blond or dark-haired. What he
looked like didn’t matter as long as his V-shaped torso showed up every time
she summoned him.

Which she hadn’t done in a month.
There was no denying that Kes had unseated Faceless Man—and managed to keep his
face and personality in her “Deauville Revisited”
fantasies.

Disturbing, that.

Of course, she’d never act on those
dreams. The whole point of having a one-night stand was
not
transforming
it into an affair. She certainly didn’t need one at this point in her life.
Especially not with someone like Kes.

Amanda stopped pacing. A
distraction was in order to break her from these unproductive thoughts about
her hopeless job situation and her pathetic love life. She grabbed her purse
and headed out.

Her destination was La
Bohème, the bistro her bartender friend Jeanne had recently bought in the Ninth
Arrondissement. Amanda missed her and was finally ready to talk about the
recent events.

When Jeanne finally got one of the
waiters to replace her behind the bar, she joined Amanda, who was sipping sparkling
water at the little table by the window.

Jeanne savored her beer. “It’s been
a month, at least. Is everything OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“I tried to call you
,
left several voice mails, and you just texted back
that you were fine.” Jeanne narrowed her eyes. “Come on, Amanda, we’ve known
each other six years now. Are you sure you’re
fine
?”

“I’m in good health, if that’s what
you’re worried about.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But it doesn’t
answer my question.” Jeanne put her glass on the table. “You used to come here
for lunch at least twice a week. ENS is still around the corner, but you
disappeared.”

Amanda smiled. If Jeanne continued
with this line of questioning, she’d come to the right conclusion all by
herself, and Amanda wouldn’t have to utter the painful words.

“I’ve been busy,” she said.

“Have you been transferred
somewhere? Did you get that big promotion your former boss had promised?”

“The new one passed me over.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry, honey. Well, I’m
sure the new guy will appreciate your qualities, too. Just give him time.”

Amanda looked her friend in the
eye. “He fired me.”

“What?”

“You heard me right.”

“When?”

“A month ago.”

Jeanne leaned forward. “You waited
a month to tell me you lost your job? I thought we were friends.”

“We are.”

“Friends ask friends for help when
they fall on hard times.”

“I know. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Jeanne’s mouth twitched.
“Lost your asking cap?”

Amanda hesitated. “I’ve always been
the successful one, and now I’m . . . unemployed. And alone. And
you’re a business owner engaged to a great guy.”

“That’s so twisted, woman.” Jeanne
put her beer down. “May I remind you that last year, I was in a very tight
spot, professionally and emotionally? And you were there for me . . .
in your unique Amanda way.”

Was she? Amanda recalled sharing
some of her
Guide to Perfection
wisdom with Jeanne. She also recalled
the sympathy she’d felt for her friend’s desperate circumstances. And look how
nicely things had turned out for her!

Her spirits rose. “So, how
does
it
feel
to be
a proprietor?”

“If we don’t count the times I feel
crushed by the weight of responsibility or the length of my to-do list, it’s
amazing.”

“No less?”

Jeanne grinned. “I’m the one
calling the shots around here, and it’s empowering as hell.”

“What about the headwaiter—that guy
who walked out the day you bought the bistro?”

“Didier,” Jeanne prompted.

“Right. Did he come back to grovel
at your feet?”

“Nope. He bought a bar somewhere
around Pigalle.”

“In the red-light district? What
kind of bar is it?”

“I don’t know. Anyway, the
neighborhood is gentrifying
,
so I wouldn’t
jump to conclusions.”

“OK. Who’s the new headwaiter?”

“Manon. She’s young, but she’s been
working her tail off.” Jeanne sighed. “She won’t be able to go on like this
forever. I’ll have to hire a new waiter. We’re one man short.”

“Should be easy with all the hungry
students in this city.”

Jeanne nodded. “But enough about
me. I want the full lowdown on your situation. Even if there was no love lost
between you and the new guy, you were too valuable to the company to sack you
like that. What happened?”

Amanda sighed. “It’s a long story.
But I promise I’ll tell you soon.”

“I’ll remind you.”

“How’s Mat? Are you still happy to
be engaged to the hottest politician in the country?”

Jeanne chuckled and went on to
share the latest anecdotes from Mat’s new campaign and their life. As usual,
her stories gave Amanda a few good laughs, a few pangs of envy, and a glimmer
of hope. Happiness was a rare beast, a chameleon hard to spot on the surface of
daily life and even harder to capture. But it was real. It wasn’t an imaginary
unicorn born from people’s desperate thirst for beauty. It existed.

If Jeanne had managed to trap and
domesticate one of those chameleons, then so could she. After all, she was
prettier and better educated. She had excellent taste and impeccable manners.
In short, she was near perfect. All she had to do
was
find a great new job and charm a youngish business shark that she could build
a future with.

How hard could it be?

* * *

The Companion Pact

~ ~ ~

A Woman’s Guide to Perfection

Guideline # 4

The Perfect Woman knows how to
manage her male boss.

Rationale
: Managing a male boss requires
less finesse than a female boss, but it’s trickier than it seems. Men have
bigger egos than women, and if you’re too honest, you’ll end up in trouble.

A
word of caution
:
Be assertive yet respectful (we know how hard it may be when your boss is an
imbecile, but do try). Don’t sulk or whine in his presence
,
and refrain from crying. He’ll decide you’re
emotional
and will never take you seriously again.

If
you can help it, don’t sleep with him. The chance that you’ll get a promotion
that way is 12.3 percent. The chance he’ll marry you is 0.78 percent. The risk
that he’ll find a way to get rid of you afterward (methods may range from
transferring you far, far away to hiring a hit man) is a whopping 35 percent. In
the remaining 52 percent of cases, nothing will change, and you’ll feel
shortchanged. And cheap.

Permissible
exception
: If you
really
want that promotion, and if he has a lot to lose (for instance, a beloved wife
and kids), you may consider sleeping with him and documenting your shenanigans
on video or audio. But if he catches you in the act of documenting, or if you
conduct your blackmail amateurishly, you’re dead meat.

Damage
control
: Flatter
his ego. Flatter his ego. Flatter his ego.

~ ~ ~

Thank
God it’s June.

Kes shifted his weight from one
foot to the other and leaned on the limestone wall of a modern edifice in the Fifteenth
Arrondissement. The five-story building across the street was where Amanda
lived. He’d been staking out her apartment since seven this morning.

Had it been January, he would have
frozen his ass off by now.

He’d figured the best way to talk
to her would be to catch her on a weekday morning on her way to work and
accompany her to her office. The downside was that she might be in a hurry, stressed
,
or distracted. The advantage was that she’d be
less likely to be spooked by his sudden appearance. If he turned up in front of
her building in the evening, she might refuse to talk to him altogether and
storm inside. He would never follow her into the lobby—he felt like a stalker
as it was.

According to his Internet search,
Amanda worked for a large renewable energy company headquartered in the Ninth
Arrondissement. This meant a forty-five minute métro ride from her apartment.
With some luck, he might be able to have her ear long enough to make her change
her mind about him.

All that sounded great in theory.
In practice, she might not be going to the office at all this morning. It was
past ten—too late even
by
Parisian standards.
Was she sick? Or worse, was she sleeping over at another man’s place? Beautiful
and witty as she was, he shouldn’t be surprised if she’d met someone since
Deauville.

Someone she wanted to be with.

Just as he considered breaking camp
and going for some breakfast at the
café
around the corner, Amanda stepped out of the building. She looked every bit as
lovely as he remembered. Only now she wore an elegant silk blouse, a little
black cardigan
,
and a pencil skirt.

He took a step forward. “Amanda.”

She stopped in her tracks and
looked at him, her expression turning confused.

“Good morning, ma belle
.
Remember me?”

She blinked, and a deep frown
settled between her eyebrows. When she finally spoke, she didn’t sound
friendly. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“It’s a long story. I can give you
the details on the way to wherever you’re going.”

“I’m going to yet another pointless
job interview.” She rolled her eyes. “Wait a second. Did you just call me
Amanda? How did you . . . ? Didn’t I . . . ?”

“Yes, you told me your name was
Amelie.” He smiled apologetically. “May I tag along?”

She shrugged and headed down the
street, mumbling something under her breath.