The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (52 page)

The two of us laughed over that one, and didn't care that the tables around us were staring.  Had they heard our risqué conversation?

If so, I could only hope the old man seated across the table from a younger lover would take our words to heart.

***

I hadn't seen Jean-Louis yesterday and I missed his sexy smile.  As well as his iron-hard abs that undulated like well-oiled machinery as he pumped above me.  And his rigid cock.  And his throaty groan when he came.  And the sparkle in his eyes when he glanced over his shoulder at me while cooking.  And the sable rum scent that lived in his pores.  And...

Yep, I was over being miffed at him for his abrupt departure during what should have been a romantic dinner for two.  The poor man.  That wife of his was putting him through hell.  And I wanted to know all the details.

Then I didn't want to know anything.  Because to know would make me a party to the conflict.  And as much as I wanted to know what sort of woman he had fallen in love with and married, I also didn't think it was right to be included in what should strictly be a matter between the couple.

I could tell myself that, but did I buy into it?

Hell no.

I did want the juicy details.  And I was thankful for another shift today at the map shop.  It kept me from dashing across the street to my lover's loft and drilling him.  I didn't even know the wife's name.  I didn't want to know it. 

Jean-Louis and I had kept our names secret for a month before revealing all.  Names were so powerful.  And I think if I knew her name, it would become an earworm in my brain.  She'd haunt me.  I didn't need that kind of headache.

Before landing at work, I ventured a block further to Shakespeare and Company and—score!  They had exactly what I had hoped to find.  The day could not get better.  I had found the perfect Christmas gift for my lover.  And now I could set that worry aside and concentrate on work.

Hours later, snowflakes fell heavily outside the map shop window.  I'd only helped one customer since arriving at noon for my shift.  Richard, the shop owner, had sounded rattled, and said he'd be in later, around six, to take over for me.  I'd said I could handle a full shift until eight or even ten if the tourist crowd was heavy, but he'd insisted.

Days like today could be maddening if the shop didn't get a few customers every hour.  Tourists bustled about on the snowy sidewalks.  Photographers captured their opus works of the nearby Nôtre Dame festooned with a white draping of snow, and the bateaux mouches even glided up and down the Seine in this weather. 

I suppose if you're crazy enough to vacation in Paris in the wintertime, you'd want to do it all, even the hop-on/hop-off bus tours that stopped up the street from the shop.  Tourists could get on the bus and hop off at a popular landmark, then get on another bus when they were finished, and do a circuit of the city. 

I spied a crazy couple, bundled in winter coats, knit hats, scarves and mittens, sitting on the open top of a bus. 

"Must be from Iowa," I muttered, and smiled at my own joke. 

Yeah, we Iowans were known to jump in freezing lakes clad in only our swimming suits for the heck of it.  We held turkey bowling tournaments on shiny ice rinks.  We even ran marathons during blizzards.  Because we're cool like that.

I was thankful Paris didn't see as much snowfall as Iowa.  And living in the city, I could take the métro anywhere without having to walk out in the elements too far.  Life was grand.

Toss in a handsome Frenchman who adored me?  I must be living the high life.  And please, don't shoot me down.  I intended to float on this cloud as long as possible.  Even if Melanie poo-pooed the long term relationship.  At least my man didn't need a little blue pill to get it up.

Heh.

The afternoon crept by.  I had dusted every framed map on the walls, all the stacked upright map files, and even Richard's desk in the back room.  The pink eviction letter still sat in his in-box.  He'd not said anything to me about it, but when I did the math, I figured he needed to vacate the store before Christmas.  Happy Holidays!  Not.

I would ask him about it when he showed later.  I needed to know that he was going to be okay, that he had finances, a means to survive.  He was a good man.  I had overlooked the odd pass he'd made at me a few weeks ago.  He'd remarked about my tight sweater and sexy shoes, and had stared at my breasts an inordinately long time.  I'd marked it off as a bad day.  Or maybe he was taking the blue pills, too?

Laughing, I shook my head, and sat down behind the cash register, catching my chin in a palm.  The snow had stopped.  Street workers shoveled the sidewalk and chattered around the cigarettes hanging out the corners of their mouths.

I laid my head down on my forearm and...dozed.

The shove to my arm woke me like a pitiful movie heroine, hair smushed against my cheek and muttering, "What?"

"Do you often sleep while working, Hollie?"

Richard.  Shit.  It was never cool to allow the boss to catch you snoozing.

"This is actually the first time it's ever—"

"An explanation isn't necessary," he said in sharp tones that heightened his British accent.  "It'll make what I have to say all the easier.  No patrons today?"

"A few." 

I pulled the sweat-sticky hair from my cheek and tugged down my blouse.  Whew!  I must have fallen into some REM.  I actually felt a little disoriented. 

"I don't sleep on the job, Richard.  In fact, I got a lot done—"

"I'm going to have to let you go, Hollie."

Arm extended to display the excellent dusting I'd done today, it hung there, caught in the odd moment as I rewound those words through my head.

"What?"

"You're sacked, Hollie.  Sorry.  Have to do it.  Can't have my employees sleeping on the job."

"But I never sleep.  Trust me, it was so slow and I was watching them shovel outside, and...  You aren't seriously going to fire me because of this?"

He strode into the back room, and I shuffled around the cash register after him.  "Richard?  Come on, it's almost Christmas.  I promise it will never happen—"

He put up a palm, stopping me.  I stepped back at the rude dismissal.  I'd never seen him act so confrontational.  But beyond that, he was just being unkind.

"Is something wrong?" I tried.  My eyes veered toward the pink eviction notice.  "If you need to talk about it."

"Hollie, please."  Richard's shoulders sank, his back to me.  When he exhaled heavily, I could feel his pain as a dark cloud entering my heart.  He turned, head bowed, and splayed out his hands.  "It's not because of you sleeping.  It's because..."  The man winced. 

The tension that tightened his jaw and reddened his face made him look older than his forty-some years.

"It's because you have to close the shop?" I asked.

"Close the—  What?  Hollie, what are you—?  Oh."

"I opened the eviction notice.  I'm sorry.  I do sometimes open your mail."

He shook his head and gestured curtly with a slice of hand.  "I'm handling that.  I've had to cut back to two employees.  I should be able to manage."

"Oh."  And out of the half dozen employees I hadn't made the cut.

My shoulders dropped.  As did my heart.  Rationally, I knew this wasn't about me.  The man had to do what he had to do to survive.  Emotionally, I wanted to cry.  I'd never been fired before.  I'm the exemplary employee who always goes above and beyond.  I look forward to employee reviews, knowing I'll get a raise.  And the customer is always right.

"I tried to get you to leave a few weeks ago," he muttered, unable to make eye contact with me.  "When I—er, made the pass at you."

"You—" 

Wow.  Now that had been sneaky and low.  And stupid.  I could have filed sexual harassment charges against him.  Well, not really.  It had been an accidental flirtation, or so I'd thought at the time.

"You could have been honest with me," I said.

"I didn't know what to do.  I was reacting.  And I thought if you didn't feel comfortable at work with me, you'd leave.  It was a stupid attempt.  Please don't make this any harder than it already is, Hollie.  Can you leave now?  I'll send your last paycheck through the post."

That was abrupt.  It was only four.  I had agreed to work until six.

What was I thinking?  I'd been fired.  I didn't need to stick around and make the man feel any worse than he already must. 

"I'll get my things."

I shuffled around Richard and walked numbly into the back room.  I wanted to grab my stuff and flee.  But the weather forced me to bundle up in my coat, mittens, and finally wrap a scarf around my neck.  I took off my heels and exchanged them for the boots.  The Shakespeare and Company bag I crushed against my chest, clinging to it as if a life preserver.

Richard stood behind the cash register, head down, as I passed by.  No thanks for the years of work and great service? 

What was I thinking?  He was in a bad place right now.  I should leave as quickly as possible.

I paused at the door, and turned to him.  "Have you heard anything about the map?"

The man twisted his head uncomfortably and nodded.  "It's not authentic.  Wrong year.  Da Vinci wasn't using the knotwork device when that map had been fashioned."

"Oh." 

He had been so hopeful for the map he'd found in an old Scottish castle.  If it had been genuine, he could have sold it and had oodles of cash to keep this store thriving.  I had been the one to encourage him to submit it for authentication after realizing the knotwork design on the map key was that of Leonardo da Vinci.  Or so it had seemed.

A vicious wave of justice rippled through me.  Served the man right for firing me.

"Sorry," I muttered, both for the wicked thought and for the tough times that had befallen him.  I pushed the door open and stepped into the brisk air.

By the time I got off the Metro in the 7th, the tears would not relent.  I blinked at them as I marched down the sidewalk toward my building.  I shoved the bookstore bag into my purse and zipped it up, thinking how the day had gone downhill quickly after the high of such a find.

Stupid Richard.  I didn't need that job.  I liked having the opportunity to get out of my apartment every once in a while and to talk with people.  Besides, I had the bible job for the fantasy writer that would give my income a boost.

Stupid Da Vinci map.  Why couldn't it have been real?

He'd made a pass at me in hopes that I would quit?  That was the most inane, idiotic...

Suddenly I was glugging tears.  I pushed a mittened hand over one eye.  I stood at the corner across the street from my building.  When I looked over a shoulder Jean-Louis's building concierge winked at me.

I rushed through the door, nodding to the concierge, but keeping my head twisted so he couldn't see my tears.  On the second (third) floor, I stood before Jean-Louis's door.  I had the digital code.  I could enter it and walk right in.

I tilted my forehead against the door.  Tears splattered the wood door.

Chapter Ten

I caught Hollie against my chest.  She'd been crying, and still was.  She was so quiet, but I felt the soft heaves in her chest against mine.  I stroked her hair and tilted my head against hers.

"Tell me," I said as I closed the door behind her. 

When next I saw her, I'd intended to surprise her with what sat over by the window, but I couldn't think of that now.  Something had upset her.  Was it because we hadn't spoken for days?  If anyone deserved an on-the-knees apology it was Hollie.  She had no reason for tears.  But if I had pushed her to this I would never forgive myself.

"Richard...f-f-fired me," she gasped out.

Whew!  I wasn't in the doghouse.  And yet...  "
Mon abeille
, I am so sorry." 

She clung to me, hugging me.  It felt natural to rub her back, providing a nurturing touch that wasn't at all natural to me, but rather surprised me of what I was capable.  Hugging and offering a reassuring shoulder to lean on?  Not my style.  Sure, the closeness and sharing came easily enough when we were making love.  That's what two people did when they had sex.  But to simply hold someone when they were in pain?

"He actually said," she whispered and then shuddered, "that's the reason he made the pass at me."

"A pass?"

"Oh, I never told you. Weeks ago Richard made a weirdly awkward pass at me.  Leered at my boobs.  He said he was hoping I'd want to quit then.  That it would make it easier for him so he wouldn't have to eventually fire me.  Isn't that awful?"

"And that didn't work so he sacked you.  How?"

"Just told me I was finished.  His shop is in trouble.  I understand.  He can't afford to pay me, but—wait."  Standing on tiptoes, she peered over my shoulder.  "Why do you have a fuck-me-sized ottoman in your living room?"

I smirked at her sudden swing to curiosity.  "I was going to surprise you—sort of an early Christmas present—but hadn't expected to greet you at the door with you in tears."