“Fuck off before I have Cercle Interalliée ban you.” He knows I can do it. I have that kind of power.
The man’s smirk falters. He backs away, grumbling about my lack of a sense of humor.
Philippe lets out a slow breath. “At this rate,youare going to end up on the front page for being an asshole,mon ami.”
“Clérisseau won’t dare!”
“He already did,” Philippe points out.
Our wine arrives, and I can barely taste the beauty of it.
I miss her.
I want her to be here with me, tasting the wine, telling me that there is minerality on the nose.
“He had no choice with that. But he’s not going to announce that I threatened him, and he ranaway with his tail between his legs. He knows if he fucks with me, Iwillhave his membership revoked every fucking where.”
I might still do it, I think, just because he’s an asshole, and he deserves it.
Philippe studies me for a long moment, swirling the wine in his glass.
“That’s a twenty-year-old wine, Philippe, I think it’s got enough fucking air,” I snap.
He drinks some of the wine and nods appreciatively, and then, to piss me off, swirls the wine again. “She didn’t leak that story, Gustave. You know that don’t you?”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Conneries?*!” Philippe gives me a withering look. “You know her, Gustave. You. Know. Her.”
I stare into my glass. The whiskey trembles faintly because my hand is shaking. “I can’t believe that Simone would bring Aubert into this nonsense.”
“You don’t want to,” he accuses.
I close my eyes for a moment, and I see Tara’s face when I asked her to get out of my office.
“I broke her.”
“Oui!”
“She broke me first.” I sound like a toddler when I say that.
“What ifshe didn’t?” he asks.
Thankfully, the server comes with our steak tartares and saves me from answering his question that I have no answer for.
* Goodbye (French)
* Two steak tartars and toast (French)
* It’s not a question of hunger (French)
* The fucking asshole (French)
* Bullshit (French)
CHAPTER 23
Tara
