When our waiter arrived with a basket of French bread, we both ordered café au lait, which arrived within seconds. Amazing the kind of service you got when you lunched with a superstar.
“Okay,” I said once we’d each taken a sip. “Gabriel will be here in twenty minutes. We need to go over some things first.”
“Whatever you say, beautiful Emma,” Guillaume said, flashing me a winning smile. “Then perhaps we can make sweet music together again, you and me?”
I rolled my eyes. He was so strange sometimes. “No, Guillaume.”
He pouted. I ignored him.
“So I think it goes without saying that you can’t admit to Gabe that you were drunk on any of the occasions he’ll be asking you about,” I began.
Guillaume recoiled in mock horror. “Drunk? Me? Never!”
“Riiiiiiight.”
“Really, Emma, excessive alcohol consumption is wrong,” Guillaume said. He batted his lashes sweetly. “Drug use is wrong.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure Gabe will be won over by your puppy-dog eyes.”
Guillaume looked confused. “Puppy-dog eyes?”
I realized the expression didn’t translate. “I mean, innocent expression.”
“I am innocent,” Guillaume said. “I’ve never hurt anyone.”
I thought about this for a moment. I supposed it was true. All of Guillaume’s antics seemed only to harm himself—and of course the PR people who had to clean up the messes he made.
“You know, Emma, your eyes look very blue when you smile,” Guillaume said softly, gazing at me so intently that I started to squirm. “They are beautiful. Like little pools of sparkling Mediterranean water.”
I could feel my cheeks heating up. “Okay, Guillaume,” I muttered. “Let’s just stick to preparing for this interview.”
He leaned over closer. “But you are so lovely, Emma,” he said, still staring into my eyes. I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Sure, he was insane. But he was also gorgeous. And there was something about being gazed at by the most handsome man you’d ever seen that made your heart go pitter-patter, even if he was completely nuts.
“Guillaume, cut it out,” I said, hating that he could certainly see that my cheeks were on fire.
“Cut it out?” He looked confused. It was another expression that didn’t cross the language barrier.
“I mean, stop it,” I clarified. “We’re here to talk business. I don’t know why you’re saying these things all of a sudden.”
“I just say what’s in my heart, beautiful Emma.” He smiled softly at me, and I tried to tear my eyes away.
I cleared my throat loudly and took a big sip of my café au lait, burning my tongue in the process. I coughed and tried to recover quickly. “Okay,” I said, all business again. I avoided Guillaume’s eyes. He was still staring at me in that unnerving way. “Here’s what you need to say: You need to mention how excited you are to be reaching such a broad English-speaking audience. You need to say how wonderful it is to be helping to bridge a cultural gap with music. You need to talk about how ‘City of Light’ is about finding love in Paris and how you haven’t found your own special woman yet.”
“But you’re very special, Emma,” Guillaume interjected.
“Please stop.”
“I can’t stop my heart from beating for you, can I, Emma?” Guillaume said, reaching out to fold his hand over mine. I yanked my hand away as if his touch had burned me. He grinned.
“Be serious, Guillaume,” I mumbled.
“Okay, I am totally serious now,” he said, furrowing his brow.
“If Gabe asks you about any of the recent incidents you’ve had—the hotel room, the Eiffel Tower, or the whole rope thing the other day—just laugh and explain that it was all a misunderstanding,” I continued, trying to sound as businesslike as possible.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Guillaume said.
“Right.” I nodded. “Good start. Just explain that the hotel was nothing—simply me and Poppy working with you, with our clothes on. The Eiffel Tower was research for your video shoot. And the rope thing was a joke gone wrong. Okay?”
“Whatever you say, beautiful lady,” Guillaume said.
“Oh, and one more thing. I know you and Gabe are both French. But can you speak in English, please? So I can make sure to stop Gabe if he’s asking anything inappropriate?”
“Anything for you, my dear,” Guillaume said, bowing his head. “I can never refuse the requests of a beautiful lady.”
Before I had time to respond, I spotted Gabe striding confidently through the front door of Café le Petit Pont. He was scanning the room for us, and I had to admit he looked really good. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a pale green button-down shirt that made his green eyes stand out sharply behind his glasses, even from across the room. I felt a little shiver run through me, and I pinched myself to get rid of it.
Guillaume waved. Gabe spotted us and came over.
“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes early,” he said as he reached the table. He shook hands with Guillaume and then with me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, like, for instance, the two of you plotting what you’re going to say to me.”