She asked something in French, her voice tense and clipped.
“She wants to know if you deny the reports that there were four women in the room,” Poppy translated softly.
“Yes, it was just the three of us,” I lied.
“And ze reports that all of you, were, er, without your clothing?” the reporter pressed on in thickly accented English.
“Well,” I said slowly, making sure to appear perplexed by the question. “The suite was rather warm, and we’d been working for hours. I do admit that Poppy and I took off our jackets and that Guillaume was in a T-shirt.”
“Reports say you were in your underclothes,” the reporter persisted, glaring at me. “And that there was some sort of card game going on.”
Crap, I thought. I forced a smile.
“Um, well, I actually had a camisole underneath my jacket, so it may have looked like I was in underclothes,” I said, keeping my voice slow and patient. “And as for the cards, yes, you’ve got us there.” I smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “We took a break and played . . . er . . . Go Fish.”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. Go Fish? Why had I said that? Who plays Go Fish?
“Go Fish?” asked the man in the front row, the one with the glasses, the dimples, and the suspicious expression.
“Yes, it’s a card game where—” I began.
“I know what it is,” the man said in English, sounding surprisingly American for someone who seemed to fit in so well with the European press corps. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t realize Guillaume knew how to play. Guillaume, have you learned Go Fish?”
Guillaume started to respond, and Poppy elbowed him in the ribs.
“Please direct all questions to Emma or me,” Poppy said, fixing the reporter with a stern look.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “The whole thing just sounds a little suspicious. In fact, it sounds sort of like Guillaume was probably up there with several girls playing drunken strip poker, and things got out of hand.”
I gulped and glared at the reporter, who was staring evenly back at me with a small smile on his face.
“I’m sorry if that’s the impression you’ve gotten,” I said through gritted teeth, refusing to break eye contact for fear it would make me look like I had something to hide. Which, of course, I did. “But I’m afraid tonight was simply a rather boring evening of organization and planning on our part. Nothing to get excited about.”
I looked deliberately away from the reporter and scanned the room. “Are there any more questions?” I called on a few more reporters, whose queries Poppy translated into English for me, and gave several more safe answers. Yes, Guillaume had been fully clothed the whole time, except for when he had spilled a glass of water and needed to change his shirt. No, we didn’t expect this evening to ruin his appeal to younger listeners, because of course nothing had happened. Yes, he was excited to make his English-language debut. No, he wasn’t ashamed to be standing here, because of course nothing had happened.
I glanced nervously at the dimpled guy a few times. As he gazed evenly back, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right through me.
“You were great in there!” Poppy whispered to me twenty minutes later as the crowd of reporters reluctantly dissipated and we hustled a subdued Guillaume into a stretch Hummer that Edgar had summoned during our impromptu press conference. Véronique had called Poppy to tell her that she’d gotten Guillaume a room at the Four Seasons George V Hotel for the night so that he could stay there in seclusion, with Edgar and Richard guarding his room, until the interest in this story had died down.
“I didn’t feel great,” I grumbled as the Hummer made its way down the darkened, tree-lined Avenue des Champs-élysées toward the Arc de Triomphe. “I felt like a liar.”
“You did lie,” Guillaume pointed out helpfully. I glared at him.
“I’m aware of that,” I said. “Which I wouldn’t have had to do if you hadn’t been such an idiot.”
There was a moment of silence, and I could see Poppy’s face tense up. I knew I had crossed a line. I immediately regretted it. You simply didn’t talk to the talent that way. I held my breath, waiting for Guillaume to freak out and demand that I be fired.
But instead, he started laughing.
“I like you, Emma!” he said, grinning at me. “You have spunk!”
I could hear Poppy exhale beside me, and even the impassive Richard smiled slightly.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I muttered, glancing at Guillaume. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” Guillaume said, still smiling at me. “I am an idiot, as you say. But, Emma, it’s what keeps things fun!”
“Fun?” I asked.
“After all, if I was some boring guy who didn’t know how to have a good time,” he said with a wink, “you’d be out of a job!”