My dad, surprisingly, is the one waiting for me when I get off the elevator. He’s looking as sharp and cool as ever in a beige suit with a blue shirt and, most importantly, a smile. “How have you been?”
I hug him because it hits me how much this little rift has bothered me. He hugs me back, tightly, and pats my shoulder. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “I’m worried about this. I know Damien said it was a good sign but…”
“It is,” Dad assures me and then clears his throat. “Axel didn’t come with you?”
"Damien told him not to." My dad's eyes widen and his jaw flexes for a minute. He turns to look down the hall. Through a glass wall at the end, I can see Damien, he's pouring a coffee from a carafe and chatting with a shorter blonde woman. "You didn't know that?"
"No, I didn't," Dad replies, clearing his throat, and hits me with a fatherly stare. "Was Greece… fun?"
“We were a perfect version of a committed couple,” I promise. “Every time we saw a camera, and there were a few paps plus the Sky interview, we made sure we looked like we were madly in love.”
We had started walking towards the conference room but when he speaks next my feet grind to a halt. “Was that hard? Looking like you’re in love? Or is it just the way things are?”
He stops now too, when he realizes I've fallen out of step with him, and he turns to catch my eye over his shoulder. His smile is soft and curious, not judging or angry. My dad has known I was bi since I was fifteen. I told him over dinner. A fancy dinner at his favorite restaurant in Paris, La Coupole. I just said, "I think boys are attractive as well as girls." And he nodded and said, "Fine." And that was that. So what he's curious about here isn't my sexuality. It's whether this thing he arranged has grown roots.
“Louis. Gabriel.” Damien’s head pokes its way out of the open conference room door. “She’s on her way up with her lawyer. Let’s get settled, shall we?”
I start walking again, entering the room with a stiff nod to everyone, and let Dad lead me to a seat on one side of the long dark wood table. Damien is next to him and the blonde, who pulls out a laptop, is beside me. I haven't seen Dominique Lambert since she walked off the private plane that night. She was still employed by Dad at that point. She'd screwed up his travel arrangements to the Miami Fashion Week, which was why he had to fly us all private, which he hates doing due to climate issues. She'd apparently screwed up a bunch of other stuff, which is why she was let go fourteen days after the flight. And she accused me five days after that.
She looks similar but not the same as I remember. She’s paler, which is strange for summer. She’s got her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and she doesn’t seem to be wearing much make-up. She used to be the queen of bright lipstick. Her suit looks like it’s a little big. She keeps her eyes down as she enters the room after her lawyer and they sit across from us.
“I’m still unclear as to why we had to meet in person,” her lawyer says swiftly in French. “If you’re looking for a settlement, I could have given you a figure over the phone.”
Damien smirks. It's a cold, hollow look on him. Not scary or intimidating just… mean. I glance at Dominique, who looks at me directly and then down at her folded hands. "We wanted you to see this in person so we can be certain you understand the gravity."
Damien is also speaking French, but his is broken since it’s his second language. He’s originally German. I think. He motions to the woman beside me. She is ready, immediately moving her laptop so it’s at the top of the table for all of us to see, and clears her throat. “What you and your client are unaware of is that some private companies use cameras in the cabin.”
“They aren’t always turned on, and some clients request that they stay off during a flight,” Damien explains. “And they don’t cover every inch of the interior.”
“But lucky for us, they cover the kitchen area,” the blonde lady says. “And they were on.”
She hits a button and footage of the galley kitchen on the private plane appears. It’s grainy and black and white but it's good enough. You can clearly see Dominique standing there making tea, and I walk in and stand beside her. I browse through the candy selection and it's clear I'm talking to her, but there's no audio. And then there's a rumble of turbulence. We both grab the counter. The look on my face gets serious. She looks panicked. And then it's like we are suddenly in a bouncy castle. Everything in the kitchen from the tea bags to the snacks to the tea in her mug jerks up suddenly and then down, very fast. I pitch forward and reach for anything to keep me from face-planting. She lurches sideways, hitting the counter with her arm. She grabs for me at the very same time I grab for her. Her hand hits my elbow and mine hits her bicep, but when she falls sideways, it moves to her chest. It's so quick and grainy on the video you can barely see it. My hand is gone, back on her arm instantly, and I keep her from tumbling to the ground entirely.
The turbulence stops, we straighten, and you can see my lips moving. I remember asking her if she was okay, her nodding, and then telling her we should sit down and following her out of the kitchen.
The screen goes black. The blonde dramatically snaps the laptop closed. “We have a team of techs working on slowing down the footage and a lip reader ready to transcribe every word they said, including Ms. Lambert thanking Mr. Allard. Repeatedly.”
“This… this could be fake,” the lawyer stutters.
“We have people working to prove it’s not,” Damien announces and then he shrugs. “We are perfectly willing to give you a copy to analyze yourself.”
Dominique has her eyes down. “I’m… I would like to leave.”
She starts to move her chair back. Damien stands abruptly and his voice grows mean again. “Not yet. Not until you sign papers dropping all claims of harassment and return your severance.”
My head spins to my dad. I’m thankful he looks just as baffled as I am. Dad clears his throat. “Damien…”
Damien smiles, proudly, at my father. Like he thinks that's something we want. Dad stands too. Dominique finally looks up at me. "I'm sorry. It was never about you. I… worked very hard for your father and it was never enough. And I admit I struggled. My mom died the year I got the job and maybe I wasn't ready for so much pressure. I could have done better but I was angry he let me go. My severance was nothing. Paris is so expensive and I didn't want to move back to Bayonne and have to tell my whole family I failed. I just… I'm sorry. But the severance is gone. It was gone months ago."
“Dominique…” Her lawyer shakes his head and starts packing up his belongings. He didn’t care about her struggle at all. He only saw her as a paycheck and now that it’s clear the payday isn’t coming he has no urge to stick around. “I’ll be sending you my bill.”
He marches out without another word, and Dominique steps closer to the table. “What do I have to sign?”
Damien smugly shoves a piece of paper toward her and hands her a pen, which she takes with shaking hands. I lean forward to stare down the table at my father, pleading. He nods. “I know,mon coeur.” Dad stands up. “Dominique, we willnotbe requiring the return of the severance. This ends here. Now. And we all go our separate ways.”
“And I’ll pay your legal fees,” I add.
