They told you to run.
But no, I reason, it’s not possible that hefollowedme here. Obviously, he was here before me. He had no way of knowing I’d come here. It’s just a coincidence.
I sit in the chair across from him, on the edge of the seat in case I need to fly away.
It’s unnerving how he makes me feel shy. Sometimes, I have to nearly beat myself over the head with why I’m here, so I don’t lose my courage.
I’ve been with so many men by now, I’ve lost track. I thought the shy side of me was gone for good, that I’d adopted a more confident persona.
I thought wrong.
When Fabien Gerard leans toward me, his brow furrowed in concentration, I have to make a concerted effort not to swallow my tongue.
“How are you?” he asks in a low, resonant voice. Below my peripheral vision, he folds his fingers loosely, a man at rest, as if those very fingers didn’t inflict terrible violence and maybe even death just hours ago. This man couldn’t be the same that threw another man against a wall. This man in front of me’s refined and sophisticated, a gentleman with impeccable manners.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice wobbles. Maybe I can let him think he can protect me. That I need him. “Just a little… shaken is all.” It’s not a complete lie at all.
A look of concern washes over his face. “I’ve already contacted my brother and Gwen. We’re putting heightened security measures in place immediately.”
I nod. “Thank you. It’s rarely necessary, but?—”
“I won’t allow anything like that to happen again.”
Why is he treating me like this? Is this a show? But no, it doesn’t look as if he’s inauthentic.
“I’d appreciate that. We all would.”
“Consider it done. What can I get you to drink?” I like the way he speaks English, with only the slightest hint of a French accent.
“Oh.” I blink. I already know he’ll insist, and I do want a tea. Typically, the French drink coffee only in the morning, and I do my part to act the local. “Just a cup of tea with cream, please.”
“And to eat?”
Am I supposed to sit here in front of him and eat by myself? My stomach growls, as if to tell him I am, indeed, starving.
“I’ll have a croissant, please. And Monsieur,je parle français.” He doesn’t have to speak English around me.
“Je sais.I like to keep my English well-tuned. And please, call me Fabien. I appreciate that they all call meMonsieur,but it’s unnecessary.”
He places our order and leans back in his chair. I glance down to see a copy ofPhilosophie: une Anthologie.
I’m happy to change the subject. “Oooh. Do you like reading philosophy?”
“I do. I like reading many things. And you?”
My heart thumps. He can’t know I’m a reader, can he?
Well, duh.We’re in a bookstore.
But he wouldn’t know I enjoy reading philosophy… would he?
You’ll become his obsession.
I’m way overthinking things. There’s no way I’m honestlythat special.I’m a call girl in his damnbrothel,for goodness’ sake, not some woman he’s become fixated on for some bizarre reason. Not so special that he’d seek me out in a bookstore…
I realize he’s staring at me, waiting for an answer to his question. I feel a bit flustered. I can tell he’s someone who’s used to being respected and obeyed.
“I do. I like to read. Very much.” Uh, apparently, I like to read Dr. Suess? Who am I? I’m not someone who stammers in front of a man. But there’s something about him…
