That weekend, Poppy and I went out a few times, to a disco near the Place de la République and to a Latin American bar near Bar Dix. Both nights, she flirted with guys like crazy in fluid, rapid French, while I blushed and tried hard to make myself understood in English.
On Monday night, Poppy had a date and I was planning to stay home alone and watch Amélie, a French movie Poppy had insisted I needed to see. So, figuring that there was no rush, I decided to work late at the office to finish the following week’s junket interview schedule. Hours after Poppy had flitted out the door in a cloud of perfume, I was still hunched over a list of TV reporters who had requested interviews with Guillaume. Suddenly a deep voice above me startled me so much that I nearly fell off the edge of my chair.
“I figured you’d still be here.”
I looked up in shock and saw Gabe Francoeur smiling down at me. I was so shaken that I stood up too quickly and knocked over a box full of ballpoint pens in the process.
“Sorry,” he said, bending down to help pick up the pens that littered the floor. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Uh, no,” I said. “You didn’t startle me. I just, uh, wasn’t expecting anyone. How did you get in?”
“The door was ajar,” he said. I rolled my eyes; Poppy must not have pulled it closed behind her when she left, starry-eyed, for her date. “Still,” Gabe added, “I should have knocked. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, whatever,” I grumbled.
Gabe straightened up and handed me the pens he’d retrieved. I righted the box, put them back inside, and tried to give him my best impassive expression.
“So I see you’ve been ignoring me?” he said, arching an eyebrow at me.
I cleared my throat. “Um, no,” I said. “What would give you that idea?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe the fact that you’re never available, no matter how many times I call?”
“I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. “Besides, I’ve called you back.”
“Yes, this may surprise you, but I’m not generally in the office after eight in the evening,” he said, looking almost amused. “But then again, you know that, don’t you?”
I ignored him and sat back down in my seat. I gestured halfheartedly to Poppy’s chair, which he dragged over so that it was facing me. He settled into the seat. “So, what is it you want?” I asked, trying to sound mean. “Clearly it’s something important, since you’ve called twenty times.”
“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t believe a word of what you’ve said,” he said pleasantly.
My eyes widened and I stared at him. “What?”
“About Guillaume. I don’t believe you. I know you’re covering for him.”
“Well, it’s not really my concern what you do or don’t believe,” I sputtered, feeling my temper rise. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was making me nervous.
Gabe smiled. “I realize that,” he said. “But I’m working on a profile of Guillaume for the UPP. I think he’s going to be big in the United States. Really big. And don’t get me wrong. I think he deserves to be. He’s quite talented. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not buying the things you and Poppy are saying. I know you’re lying.”
I felt a little sick. I stared at him for a moment. “So that’s it? You don’t have a question for me or anything?”
Gabe shrugged. “Nope. Just wanted to let you know.” He stood up and added nonchalantly, “Oh, and I’ll be needing that interview with Guillaume, too.”
“What, I’m supposed to give you an interview now despite everything you’ve just said?”
He grinned. “No. You’re supposed to give me an interview now because of everything I’ve just said.”
I glared at him.
“And even if I’m right about all his insanity, certainly a rock star like him should be able to charmingly explain it all, right?” Gabe continued, that same amused look on his face.
“Well, I—” I started to retort, but then I stopped and clamped my mouth shut. I thought about it for a moment. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Obviously, Gabe wasn’t going to stop until he had some kind of story. “He’s not insane,” I finally said in a weak attempt to defend my completely nutty client.
“Oh, I know.” Gabe nodded. “He adores the attention, though. And lately, he’s been going too far. So about that interview?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll try to schedule something for this coming week.”
Gabe seemed to consider this for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Okay,” I echoed. I swiveled back around in my chair to face my computer, hoping the man would disappear.
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to get the hint.
Finally, I rolled my eyes, shut down my computer, and said loudly, “Okay, well, I have to be going now, Gabe. Thanks so much for stopping by!”
“My pleasure,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
I just looked at him. “What? No, I’ll take the Métro.”
“Oh, c’mon, Emma,” he said. “It’s like a hundred degrees outside. And I’m talking Celsius. The Métro will be miserable.”
I shrugged. What was he, Jekyll and Hyde? He was ready to destroy my career one second, and the next he wanted to drive me home? “I’ll be fine,” I mumbled.
“My car is air-conditioned,” he said, raising an eyebrow.