Under My Skin: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 2) (15 page)

“I wish you could,” she said.

“I’ll disappear from your life, completely.
I’ll stay away from
La Bohème
,
from all of Rob and Lena’s
events, and from Amanda’s
,
too. It’s the only way.”

“Great plan.”

“You’ll forget me before the summer’s out.”

“You bet.”

“Take good care, Jeanne.”

“No,
you
take care.” She spoke slowly,
so that her voice wouldn’t give away how bitter she felt. “Take
very good
care of yourself and your perfect girlfriend. She’ll make you such a fitting
wife.”

She hung up before he
could say anything else.

***

Chapter Eleven

August

Jeanne paced the bistro, nearly shaking with
apprehension. Pierre had asked her to meet him at seven in the morning so that
they could have a quiet talk. She kept urging herself to remain calm and
positive. But the past month had been so lousy, she was now primed to expect
the worst.

Pierre arrived at five past seven, unshaven
and disheveled.

“Bad night?” Jeanne asked.

He nodded and gave her a tired smile.
“Judging by your dark circles under, your night wasn’t any better than mine.”

Jeanne placed two croissants and two cups of
coffee on a tray and picked it up. “Backyard?”

“After you.”

As soon as they sat at the teak table, she
gulped down her espresso and looked the proprietor in the eye. “It’s the moment
of truth. What’s your decision, Pierre?”

He rubbed his chin. “Are you absolutely sure
you can’t partner with Didier?”

“Positive.”

“I see.” He nodded slowly. “Then it’s yours.”

“What?” The verdict was so unexpected she
wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Could you say it again, please?”

“
La Bohème
is yours, Jeanne.
I
love you like the daughter I’ve never had.
La Bohème
has
always been yours. I was just hoping you could take
Didier along—”

Jeanne jumped up from the bench, ran around
the table, and gave Pierre a tight hug. When she released him, her eyes glistened
with emotion.

Pierre’s were downright wet.

He wiped his tears with the back of his hand
and blew his nose into a napkin. “This is embarrassing. I’m getting sentimental
with age.”

“I can’t thank you enough—” Jeanne
began.

“Wait till you’re neck-deep in debt, can’t
take vacation for a few years, and are forced to learn the art of plumbing. You
may curse me then.”

Jeanne shook her head. “No chance of that.
I’ll take good care of this place, and it will be a joy—even fixing the
plumbing.”

“I’ll help you as much as I can for the next
few months. But after Christmas, you’re on your own.”

“While you’re sipping a
rosé
poolside
in your Baux-de-Provence villa . . .”

“It’s a small house, and I don’t think I’ll
be sipping anything poolside in the middle of winter.”

“You should go visit my parents in Nîmes.
It’s what, a one hour drive?”

“Thereabouts.”

Pierre finished his croissant and brushed the
crumbs off his protruding belly. “Listen, Jeanne,
I know you’re planning
a major refurbishment, and the place does need one—”

“If you’re worried I’ll change everything, let me put your worries to
rest.” Jeanne cut in. “I will change
some
things, but I’ll make sure
La
Bohème
keeps its soul. It’s why we all love it, right?”

Pierre let out a relieved sigh. “That’s my girl.” Then he sighed
again—heavier this time—and stood. “I should go talk to Didier now.
And it’s going to be a much less pleasant conversation.”

You bet.

Jeanne shifted in her seat. “Do you mind if I dash home to call my
parents? And my bank. And everyone else I’ll be borrowing from. Oh, and I could
get some cleaning products or office supplies on my way
back . . .”

Pierre smirked. “Take a look in the supplies closet. I’m sure we’re
running out of something or other. Scoot now.”

When Jeanne returned to the bistro two hours later, Didier barreled
toward her, his face red and his right eye twitching. He stopped only a few
inches from her and jabbed her with his finger.

His voice trembled when he spoke. “How did you do it? Did you sleep with
him?”

Jeanne took a step back. “Sure. Why else would he choose
me
over
you
?”

Didier clenched his fists. His eye twitched so rapidly it was painful to
watch.

After a few long seconds he said, “I’m quitting my job.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You’re kidding me? How can I stay here with you as a boss?”

“Please, Didier. Take some time off. You can decide on this later.”

“Oh, you’re already telling me what to do. Well, my answer is no. I won’t
take time off. I’m walking.”

He removed his apron and handed it to Jeanne. “I give you a year before
La
Bohème
goes under. I’ll have a good laugh then.”

Jeanne said nothing as he turned around and marched out.

Would I have felt this bitter in his place?
she wondered.
Probably.

Would she have reacted the way he did?

Depends which part.

Asking him if he’d slept with Pierre? She thought not.

Quitting her job? Most certainly yes.

The rest of the day rushed by in a haze.
Pierre
asked the staff to stay for a few minutes after closing at midnight and
announced that Jeanne was going to be the new proprietor of
La Bohème
.
He handed everyone an envelope with a good-bye bonus and promised a big party
before he left Paris.

After the cheers subsided, Amar said with a
lopsided smile. “There may be a God in this universe, after all.”

“Wow. What made you a believer?”

“Science. I conducted an experiment. I prayed
for Pierre to choose you over Didier, and it happened.”

“You may regret that experiment in a few
months,” Jeanne teased.

“At least I’ll have a job for a few more
months.” Amar countered. “Didier would’ve fired me on the spot
.
”

Claude smiled—an occurrence as rare as
a Yeti sighting—and said, “I hope you won’t abolish our coffee breaks.”

“Never.” Jeanne took his hand and gave it a
little squeeze. “I count on you, Claude. Don’t you dare quit on me like
Didier.”

He gave her a quick nod.

She raised her voice, addressing the whole
room. “I count on you all, guys. We’re in this together.”

Everyone looked at her expectantly.

She toyed with her apron strings.

Manon grinned. “Is this all you can come up
with for your inaugural speech?”

Jeanne took a breath. “I promise I’ll do
everything to be a worthy successor to Pierre.”

“That’s better,” Amar said.

“And don’t be tardy,” Jeanne added.

After a moment of silence, Manon cheered,
“Yay!”

Claude smiled once more and went back to the
kitchen.

“Great speech,” Pierre said, his mouth
twitching.

“I thought so, too.”
Jeanne deadpanned.

***

Mat and his mom had worked their tails off on
this account. It was for very big fish—their biggest ever. The founding
CEO of a large regional investment bank wanted a PR campaign portraying him as
a cultured philanthropist.

According to everything Madame Gérard was
able to dig up on him, the man was neither cultured nor a philanthropist—by
any standard.

Mat nearly gave up after several days of
racking his brain about how to build a public image out of thin air. Then it
hit him. He needed a two-step plan: First, turn the CEO into a patron of the
arts
,
and only then sing his praises
.
Which was why Mat produced a mammoth of a proposal that went far beyond his
regular PR strategies.

The first part was a blueprint for a free art
exhibit permanently housed in the bank’s spacious HQ in Rouen. It included a
detailed floor plan, specific artwork, interior design suggestions, and a lot
of funky green tech solutions. On a whim, he threw in a life-size dancing T.
rex—an extravagant, non-fundable idea by a local artist—as the
central piece of the art collection.

The second part was a traditional PR and
media outreach plan.

The budget was Pharaonic.

“Do we absolutely need the T. rex?” his mom
had asked when she saw the proposal.

They ended up keeping it only because it was
too late to redo the whole thing.

Mat submitted the project last Monday, as
agreed.

And waited.

Friday morning he received a text from the
CEO himself.

Love the T. rex. Let’s do it.

Mat’s slowly expelled his breath as a huge
wave of relief washed over him. It wasn’t just because this would be his most
ambitious and lucrative project yet. Something much more important had been at
stake—his drive and his self-confidence. This order was his first victory
after the election debacle. It proved he hadn’t lost his mojo.

Mat booked a table at
Le Cheval Bleu
and sent a text to his mom. A celebration was in order.

Over dessert, Madame Gérard gave her son a
long, meaningful look. “Talk to me.”

Mat raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been talking
nonstop for the past hour. I thought you were listening.”

“Very funny. Mat, what’s going on in your
life?”

He shrugged lightly. “I haven’t given up on
politics, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking if you’re happy.”

“Considering the circumstances—”

“To hell with the circumstances! That’s not
what I’m talking about.” She placed her hand over his. “Are you happy with
Cécile? Is she the woman you see yourself with in twenty years?”

“I . . . Mom, what is this
about?”

“You.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in
Cécile?”

“Good question. Could it be because you
haven’t mentioned her name in weeks?”

The remark gave him pause. “Haven’t I?”

She shook her head. “I started to wonder if
you were still together.”

“Of course we are. I guess I was just
overwhelmed by recent events.”

“Mat, are you sure she’s the right girl for
you?”

“Why? You don’t like her?”

“I didn’t say that. I admire her many
qualities. It’s just . . . she lacks warmth, and a bit of
sincerity wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“You don’t know her.”

“Do you? Are you two happy together?”

“We have some issues . . . but
we’ll work them out.”

“Issues, huh? Do they happen to be named
Jeanne?”

Mat nearly jumped at her name. “How do you
know about Jeanne?”

Madame Gérard smirked. “Your dad heard you
repeat that name when you’ve sleep over at his place.”

Great
.
There was no such
thing as privacy for sleep talkers. He might as well tell her the truth. At
least the gist of it.

“Cécile and I, we’re great together in every
way except . . . the physical. And Jeanne . . .
I’m attracted to her, but we have nothing in common.”

“How do you know her?”

“She’s a waitress at the bistro where Rob
used to work.”

“I see.” Madame Gérard pushed her eyeglasses
up. “Mat, I may not be the wisest person on Earth, but I can tell you this: If
a couple’s chemistry is wrong, sooner or later that couple will fall apart, no
matter how well they get along in other ways.”

“Mom, I love Cécile. I learn from her, I rely
on her. She’s so driven, so together.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“And I’m . . . I’m not tough
enough for politics. I need a woman like Cécile, Mom. When I’m down or
demotivated, she tells me to get my act together. She eggs me on and pulls me
up.”

“Do you believe Jeanne will pull you down?”

“No. It’s more that I’m afraid we won’t have
much to go on once we’ve finally . . . done it.” Mat’s ears and
cheeks grew warm. It was seriously weird discussing this with his mother.

“It could happen,” she said. “But being with
one woman and fancying another isn’t so great either, don’t you think? How long
have you had this crush on her?”

“Since September
.
”

Good Lord, next month would be a year—a
whole year since his relapse. He sighed and added, “Not counting the two years
in grad school.”

“I see. Have you kissed her?”

He nodded.

“Have you done more than kissing?” She
stifled a smile.