Chapter Seven
So who was that reporter guy last night?” I asked the next morning after Poppy and I arrived at the office. I’d finally put up a few photographs in my cubicle—one of my nephew, Odysseus, one of me with my mother, and one with me and Poppy from a decade ago.
“Which one?” Poppy asked absently.
“The dark-haired guy with glasses who was staring at me like I was lying?”
“You were lying,” Poppy reminded me.
“Yes, but he wasn’t supposed to realize that,” I said.
Poppy shrugged. “He always seems to suspect something,” she said. “Frankly, he’s rather a pain. He’s a reporter for the UPP wire service. His name is Gabriel Francoeur.” She pronounced it fran-KOOR.
“Is that the service that provides stories to newspapers around the world?”
“Right,” Poppy said. “Like the Associated Press. But with better international distribution. Especially in Europe. In other words, Gabriel Francoeur can single-handedly make or break Guillaume Riche. Which means that for the next few weeks, he’s your new best friend.”
“He was kind of cute,” I said, glancing away.
Poppy looked at me sharply. “Yeah, but he’s a pain in the arse.”
I ignored her. “He barely had an accent. Is he American?”
Poppy shook her head. “No, French, I think. He must have lived in America for a while, though. He does have your Yankee accent, doesn’t he?”
Just then, there was a loud buzzing sound from overhead. I jumped, startled.
“What was that?” I asked.
Poppy sighed. “It’s our front door. I keep asking the building to get that bloody buzzer fixed. It sounds like an air raid siren.”
“I didn’t even know we had a buzzer,” I said. After all, this was my fifth day here, and not once had anyone appeared at our front door.
“I’m sure it’s a delivery,” Poppy said. “I’m expecting a shipment of eight-by-ten glossies of Guillaume. Can you answer it? I’ll get my checkbook. The copy shop always sends the photos COD.”
I crossed the tiny room and pulled open the front door. I blinked a couple of times at the tall dark-haired figure with glasses in the hallway before I registered who he was.
“Well, speak of the devil,” Poppy said somewhere behind me.
“You two were talking about me, were you?” Gabriel Francoeur said with an innocent grin, glancing past me and into the office. “I’m sure you were saying only wonderful things.”
“Ah, you know me too well,” Poppy said drily.
Gabriel refocused his attention on me. “So,” he said. “You’re Emma. Guillaume’s new publicist.”
“You’re quite observant,” I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. I couldn’t shake the feeling of transparency I’d had last night with his eyes boring into me.
Gabriel studied me for a moment and then smiled slowly. “I pride myself on my powers of perception,” he said.
“Do you?” I asked, trying to affect boredom. I couldn’t help but notice his evergreen eyes and the way they sparkled behind his glasses when he looked at me.
“I do,” Gabriel confirmed with a nod. He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, one of the things I happened to notice last night was that your little story about Guillaume didn’t completely add up.”
I struggled not to blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded stiffly.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Gabriel said, looking amused. We stood there staring at each other for a moment until I began to notice the little waves in his thick hair, and the way I could already see a dark shadow beneath the surface of his strong-looking jaw, although he had clearly shaved this morning. I could feel heat creeping up the back of my neck. I shook my head and glanced away.
“So,” Gabriel finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I opened my mouth to say no, but somewhere behind me Poppy preempted me.
“Of course,” she said smoothly. She elbowed me in the back. “Come in, Gabriel, of course.”
He nodded, glanced down at me with a smile, and walked into the office, brushing against me a bit as he did. I felt a little uninvited shiver run down my spine. Geez, I was attracted to him. How was that possible?
“I don’t know why we need to invite him in,” I muttered to Poppy as Gabriel settled himself into my seat at my desk, without even asking.
“Because,” Poppy whispered, leaning close into my ear, “he basically holds Guillaume’s career in his hands. We have to be very, very nice to him.”
“Even if he’s a jerk?” I whispered back, eyeing him warily. He ignored us and leaned in to look more closely at the photos on my desk.
“Even if he’s a jerk,” Poppy confirmed.
“Good to know,” I said. “Because he is.”
“Is what?”
“A jerk.”
Poppy looked at me closely. “Methinks thou doth protest too much,” she said with some amusement.
I made a face and took a few steps closer to Gabriel.