Midnight in Montmartre: A French Kiss Sweet Romance (16 page)

C
hloe Emile writes
sweet romance novels with strong female heroines, having been a big Jane Austen fan all her life. Originally from Canada, Chloe lives in London with her husband. She is currently writing the next book in the French Kiss romance series featuring the Deneuve siblings. If you want to notified of the next book release, and special discounts,
subscribe to her mailing list
.

W
ant to read
the next Chloe Emile book for free? Join Chloe’s
Advanced Reader Club
and write a review.

V
isit
the the official author website for the latest news and Chloe’s book and movie reviews on her blog.

I
t is
before the lunchtime rush, so the bistro isn’t terribly crowded yet. Violette scans the quintessential French bistro and sees two potential “Luc Deneuves” in the restaurant. The question is which one she should approach. She knows she needs to make a split-second decision. Option number one is a heavyset man dressed in khaki pants and a white oxford shirt. He is clean cut and probably works in business. The other is a younger guy, handsome, in a graphic T-shirt; he’s a little disheveled.

She chooses Khaki Pants Man. She approaches his table, and when he looks up from reading the paper, she cheerfully says, “Hi, Luc.”

He shakes his head no and jokes that she can sit down and have lunch with him anyway. As he is talking, Distressed Jeans Man looks over in her direction and seems particularly annoyed. He gives her a little wave, putting two fingers in the air and giving a little nod with his head.

First impression? Violette is instantly struck by his good looks. He has an edgy, urban look, and she notices a tattoo on his left shoulder. She can’t make out what the tattoo is—only that he has one. It’s an odd thing to notice, and Violette stifles a blush and tries to focus on the fact that he is sending off vibes of pompousness instead. Egotistical clients are the worst to deal with since they are self-righteous and act as though they are so deserving of the world. And whatever happened to Luc Deneuve being a stylish dresser? Smiling, she walks across the restaurant to greet the real Luc Deneuve.

“Hi, I’m Violette Deschamps from Domaines D’Elegance. You must be Mr. Deneuve, I presume?”

“Just call me, Luc, please,” he says with a chilly tone.

“I’m terribly sorry for being so late. I got caught up. I promise it’s not my usual pattern,” Violette says.

Mathieu’s mind is reeling with negativity, but it won’t deny that Violette Deschamps is pretty in a singular kind of way. She has a classic face, nothing necessarily extraordinary, but rather straightforward with just a hint of remarkability. There is something unique about her—that much he can tell—but probably just because he is used to the fan girls in skimpy clothes and dressed-to-impress attitudes.

Violette is far from those types of girls. Here she stands in front of him looking uncomfortably confident. Her face shows a look of determination, while the rest of her just looks intolerable and twitchy in an ill-fitting suit. He senses she didn’t really have much style, and he guesses that there are approximately zero items in her closet and dressers that resemble anything with a designer label.

For style, he rates her at a two of ten.

For punctuality, she gets a gigantic zero. What kind of professional is ten minutes late to a critical meeting? And how dare she make him just sit here. He has been sitting here in pure misery, awaiting her entrance. Her excuse was lamer than he imagined it would be. She didn’t even try to put creativity into her reason for being late. The fact that he is nursing a hangover complete with a pounding headache in the bright sunlight-filled bistro doesn’t cross his mind. Mathieu feels as though he is a victim here, a victim of poor time management.

His enthusiasm for the house hunting dwindles, as he wasn’t really expecting it to get off to such a rocky start, but he decides to make the best of it as part of new-and-improved Mathieu.

“Have a seat,” Mathieu says, not saying a word about Violette’s lack of promptness.

“Thanks, and again, I’m really sorry, Luc,” Violette says, making a mental note that this guy is a prick and to take extra precautions to be early next time—if there is a next time.

She also silently curses Jean-Philippe for making her late.

Sensing he isn’t one for small talk, Violette dives right off the jumping board and into the pool of business. When she opens her laptop, the waitress comes over to take her order. She orders a green tea with an almond croissant and asks if Luc wants anything, indicating it’s her treat.

Rather coarsely, he declines, and she wills herself not to roll her eyes.

She pulls up her list of properties and turns the laptop toward Luc so he can see them easily.

“Brigitte gave me your client profile, and I have put together a long list of potential homes that will work based on that conversation,” Violette says to him.

“I told Brigitte that I wanted to look at houses as soon as possible. I’m ready to buy now,” he says.

“I certainly understand that,” Violette says and takes a sip of tea, which, unfortunately, is much hotter than she expects.

The burning sensation makes her wince, and for a moment, Mathieu is caught off guard by her charm, her sincerity, and her realness.

He can’t resist but lets out a half-smile.

“Hot?” He asks the question with just one word.

“Very,” Violette says, locking eyes with him for just a moment, returning the smile, before looking away. “So, yes, I am aware that you would like to tour potential listings as soon as possible. Since you have broad requirements, I thought in today’s meeting we could narrow down a few properties that you would like to see. I don’t want to waste your time dragging you to properties that aren’t of interest. We will go through some of these, and I’ll jot down notes, get a better feel for your price point, style, and such. Will that work?”

“Yes,” Mathieu says, although he thinks this is a waste of time.

If he wanted to look at properties online, he could have saved himself the trouble of finding clothes and sitting in this bistro full of sunshine and brightness that is making his head pound.

Anytime this woman talks, Mathieu’s head just throbs with a thudding violence, kind of as if he were slamming his head into a wall repeatedly.

“And please, give me honest feedback as we look at these,” Violette says, hoping to encourage more than one-word answers from this guy, who she can’t quite figure out. “Let’s start with this one.”

She shows Luc a charming property that looks like a cottage-size castle. Off-white stucco exterior, elongated windows, lots of extras on the outside, surrounded by trees.

“I hate it,” Mathieu says nonchalantly.

“Okay,” Violette says slowly. “Can you be a little more specific? Do you want to look at the inside photos?”

“Why would I want to look at the inside of a house that looks dreadful on the outside?” he says with a tone of mockery.

“Moving along then,” she says, clicking the red X to close the page.

The next property that Violette pulls up is a quaint oasis that looks like a Tuscan cottage. It is very different from the first choice—funky roof lines, a long porch at the front of the house, covered in red mossy flowers, a mix of tan and off-white stucco, complete with a pathway to the house surrounded by well-maintained flowers in bright, beautiful hues of yellows. There is even a teal-colored shutter on the front of the house.

Violette thinks its charm is something of a children’s book, where magic lives and stories come to life, which is why she fully expects an instant rejection from Luc.

“Better,” Mathieu says, raising his hand for the waitress to come take his order.

Violette is shocked—something positive from this guy? Perhaps there is hope.

When the waitress arrives, he orders a black coffee and a croissant, the same type as Violette’s, which doubly surprises her.

She begins clicking through the property, but her short fuse of hope is quickly deadened when Luc says absolutely nothing positive about the inside of this home. The kitchen is too small, the bathroom needs remodeling, the walls need to be repainted, and there’s too much sunlight in the bedroom. Some are normal complaints, but seriously, who complains about too much natural light? Violette wills herself not to say anything.

He eats his croissant, a few crumbs sticking to his face, which Violette guesses hasn’t been shaved in at least two days. She considers saying something, but warns herself not to.

As he is eating, Violette shows him property after property, providing just one or two words of feedback. Nothing seems to be good enough. Violette can’t even zone in on the style that he wants and what he doesn’t like. There seems to be no pattern, no direction in what Luc Deneuve wants.

Could he be any more lackadaisical? Violette tries not to let her growing annoyance show.

Finally, she can’t take it anymore. She wants to walk away from this deal, but she doesn’t want to subject anyone else at Domaines D’Elegance to this nonsensical waste of time. Yes, she thinks he is good looking, but good looks can only get you so far. As they are clicking through the long list Jean-Philippe put together, Violette decides to take a new approach with Luc, who she certainly won’t deem client of the year. She can’t take much more of this spoiled-brat behavior from a grown man. To say she is over it is an understatement.

“Luc, I am here to help you. I am here to help make
your
transition to
your
house a smooth one. However, how comfortable this transaction is, is up to you and your behavior. Now, I would love the opportunity to help you. Please let it be known that I am not a mind reader nor am I here to wave my nonexistent magic wand. I can’t say, ‘abracadabra,’ and a house that you will love just magically appears. If I understand what you are looking for, then the chances of us finding your perfect home will greatly increase. I think we have seen enough for today. Please call me when you are ready to take this seriously.” Violette says all of this to her client in a kind, but firm manner.

She starts gathering her belongings as if she is going to leave and waits for a response from Luc, who she notices is looking a little stunned.

Mathieu, on the other side of the table
is
feeling rather stunned. No one calls the shots in his life except for him. He’s used to making the shots for Les Slinks and his life, and he lets himself admit that Violette surprised him. She has more gumption than he originally thought. He kind of likes it, and he doesn’t really want her to leave just yet.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Mathieu says, unable to stop the apology from tumbling out. He makes a mental note to himself to be more involved and decides to put a better effort into amending his truculent act.

“No apologies are necessary, sir,” Violette says, feeling pleased that he has responded positively to her monologue, which she worried sounded like the scolding of a small child in primary school.

“I liked the Tuscan-inspired cottage,” he says, offering a peacemaking smile to Violette.

Violette feels the tenseness is her stomach release.

“Now we are getting somewhere,” Violette says, offering a small grin back.

Mathieu notices that the smile lights up her entire face, it makes her look softer and lovelier.

Violette shows Mathieu three more properties, and the two make a list of properties to visit and tour.

“Well, at your convenience, I will schedule these appointments,” she says, handing him a business card with a website jotted down on the back. “At your leisure, feel free to take a look at this site. It has all the available properties, pictures, and information about the available homes. If you see any you would like to visit, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Violette,” Mathieu says, feeling sheepish of his previous behavior. “I’ll be in touch.”

As Violette makes her exit from the bistro and their meeting, Mathieu finds himself watching her. He notices that even in the ill-fitting suit, Miss Violette Deschamps has a shapely body with curves he didn’t notice at first. He looks at her with interest, intrigued by this woman. She is different than the women who are normally in Mathieu’s life and he realizes that he is genuinely looking forward to looking at houses, and not just to find his new home. He can’t wait to see this woman again and more importantly, Mathieu thinks, he can’t believe how much his mood has improved over their conversation. As he walks out of the bistro, Mathieu wonders what it is about her that is slowly driving him wild.