Page 139
“How does he know all our guilty pleasures? Is he psychic?” Niels exclaims.
“Oh, I’ve learned a thing or two about you all,” my lover answers, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.
“Then maybe you can tell me whose this is?” Clem points at her rounded belly…
And the awkwardness returns.
“Sorry, that was dark.”
“Umm, can we talk about this sweater?” Vadim suddenly asks, his eyes fixed on the garden gnomes.
Laughter fills my little living room, and the conversation starts up again. It goes on until the middle of the night. Vadim just invited himself into my home as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and now he’s chatting away, teasing me, laughing, watching me, entertaining everyone, letting his guard down, kissing me, and showing his true self to the people who mean so much to me. Little by little, he is entering my world. Tearing down the barriers.
Making my wildest dreams come true.
***
“Next candidate, please! Amandine Mercier? No Amandine over there? No? Not on this side either?” Cleo’s high-pitched voice rings out from just behind the half-open door of the large conference room.
Vadim is looking for a new assistant. To avoid any unpleasant surprises, he has tasked Sofia Kebir, King Production’s HR director, with selecting the crème de la crème of all the applicants. The interview process allows us to forget, just for a moment, about Katarina and Dimitri Monkov.
For over two hours, the candidates file into the impressive conference room with its floor-to-ceiling windows. The interview panel consists of Vadim, Sofia, and me. By the end of the process, we’ve shortlisted one young man and two young women. Vadim plans to make a decision today. Time is of the essence; he can’t afford to drag out the suspense.
Around noon, I leave the office to meet Clémentine at her favorite Thai restaurant. She calls me as I’m on my way.
“Alma, I have to cancel. I’ll explain later. I’m sorry.”
She’s bailing on me? There’s nothing too unusual about that, but Clem didn’t sound like herself. Her voice was unsteady, and she seemed to be in a hurry to hang up.
I decide to do my fellow workaholics proud and head back to eat a sandwich while going through my files. But when I see Kate stepping into the elevator, I do a U-turn and embark on an unplanned shopping spree.
I head to the Ternes neighborhood, just a few minutes from the Champs-Élysées. Lily would be proud of me: in less than an hour, I manage to buy a mohair sweater with shoulder pads, a tomboyish top with thick, black-and-white stripes, boyfriend jeans, and a retro, burgundy dress. I try to take Clem’s mind off of things by sending her live photos from the fitting room, but she doesn’t respond to my messages.
Clem, what are you keeping from me?
Time is ticking, but I still have thirty minutes before my two o’clock meeting. Just enough time for a croque-monsieur with a salad and a small latte. I pass several brasseries, most of them packed, then settle on one I’ve already tried with my coworkers. My arms laden with shopping bags, I hurry toward La Lorraine’s scarlet-painted façade. A smiling server opens the door and invites me in. I follow him inside, unbuttoning my coat while scanning the room to find a table for one, and then… I see her.
At a table tucked away in a corner, it’s Clémentine’s fiery red hair I spot first. She’s sitting with her back to me, across from Clarence, who is staring at her intently. He doesn’t notice me. No surprise there. He’s way too busy staring at her like she’s the only person in the room.
Don’t get involved, don’t get involved, don’t get involved…
A second server comes up to me and offers me a table near the window, where it’s cooler. I mumble some lame excuse, thank him, and make a quick escape. From the street, I take one last look at the two of them. Their arms are stretched across the table, their hands intertwined. Like a couple… in love.
***
Back at the office, I have three appointments in a row, followed by two excruciating hours one-on-one with Kate, going over the past quarter. Two hours during which she pretends to be someone she is not. I bury my bitter anger, remain polite and professional, then turn down her invitation to grab a drink after work. I give her the completely fabricated excuse of a family dinner.
“Still here, Lancaster?”
Vadim appears in the doorway of my office, just a few minutes after my boss leaves. Keeping his eyes firmly on mine, he unbuttons the collar of his white shirt to make himself more comfortable.
“You too, Arcadi?”
His beautiful, gray eyes sparkle with mischief, as they always do when I call him by his other surname.
“It’s time to go home.” He taps the screen of his watch, a playful smile on his lips.
“I’m not in a hurry…”
