“And I was telling him that he obviously doesn’t,” Gabe retorted, his face stormy. “Because if he did, he wouldn’t be making your life so difficult.”
“Now, Gabe,” Guillaume responded slowly. “Aren’t you the one who’s making Emma’s life difficult? By hounding her so much for an interview with me?” He had a point. I glanced at Gabe, but Guillaume wasn’t done. “In fact,” he continued with a little grin, “just a few minutes before you got here, Emma was telling me you were, how did you say it? The worst, I think she said.”
Gabe flinched and glanced at me. I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Guillaume!” I chided. He was smirking at Gabe now, pleased to have elicited a reaction. “I didn’t mean it that way, Gabe,” I tried to explain. “Just that you were hard to deal with sometimes.”
“I wasn’t aware I was such a problem, Emma,” Gabe said stiffly. “I certainly apologize.”
Guillaume hooted with laughter.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Emma!” he mocked. “I’ll never bother you again!”
“Guillaume!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t worry, Emma, it’s fine,” Gabe said stiffly. “He’s just being un imbecile.” He pronounced the word the French way, but it wasn’t difficult to guess at the meaning.
“Gabe!” I exclaimed. I’d never had a reporter talk to a client that way before—particularly not a client who was already such a big star.
“Don’t worry, babe,” Guillaume said, patting me on the arm and glowering at Gabe. “I can handle this.”
Gabe retorted with something in French that I didn’t understand, and Guillaume responded in French, too. The two men went back and forth for a moment with Guillaume smirking, Gabe glaring, and me trying desperately to interject, when finally Guillaume interrupted Gabe in English.
“That’s it. Interview’s over,” he said abruptly, glancing at me. “I’m tired. Time to go home.”
Gabe checked his watch. “But I have five more minutes,” he protested.
“No,” Guillaume said. “I believe your watch must be slow. Right, Emma?”
I sighed and looked back and forth between the two men, both of whom were gazing at me expectantly. I felt exhausted.
“Look, Gabe, if Guillaume says he’s done, he’s done,” I said finally. “I’m sorry.”
Gabe started to protest, but I held up a hand. “Guillaume,” I said. “Since you did guarantee Gabe thirty minutes, and we’re only at twenty-five now, would you answer one more question for him please?”
Guillaume tilted his head to the side, closed his eyes as if in deep thought, then nodded. “Yes. Okay. One more question.” He opened his eyes and looked at Gabe.
“Thanks,” Gabe said drily. “You’re too kind.” He looked back at his notes, and I began visualizing the worst. Perhaps he would ask something about Guillaume’s reputation for frequenting strip clubs (something we had, thus far, kept out of the press). Or rumors that he had to go to rehab for a coke addiction before KMG would sign him (something no one, including Poppy and me, had ever been able to verify). But instead, Gabe’s face settled into a look of calm. “So, Guillaume, do you talk to all women with the same disrespect you talk to Emma with?” he asked pleasantly.
I choked on the sip of coffee I had just taken. I looked at Gabe, my eyes wide, then I turned to Guillaume, who didn’t look offended at all.
Guillaume grinned. “Just the ones who like it,” he said, winking at me. My jaw dropped.
“Wonderful,” Gabe said tightly. He stood up. “Nice to see both of you. You can expect an article about Guillaume on tomorrow’s UPP wires. Thanks for setting up the interview, Emma. And thank you for your time, both of you.”
My stomach was tying itself into hard knots. “Gabe, you’re not going to write anything bad, are you?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. I didn’t know how things had spiraled to such an extent.
“I’ll only write what’s fair, Emma,” Gabe said, looking hard at me. I gulped. That wasn’t good. I knew as well as Gabe probably did that fair would mean skewering the crazy rocker.
Gabe reached out and shook my hand briskly, then Guillaume’s. “Until next time,” he said, turning to Guillaume and putting a hand to his forehead in a little salute. Guillaume cheerfully and grandly saluted back. I waved weakly, feeling shell-shocked. “Have a nice day,” Gabe added. Then he stood up and strode toward the door without looking back.
I waited until he was gone, then turned slowly to Guillaume. “What was that all about?” I demanded. “You acted like a jerk!”
Guillaume looked a bit offended. “Emma! Relax!”
“Relax? You want me to relax? You just ruined an interview with a guy whose story will literally be picked up all over the world! Seriously, Véronique will fire Poppy and me!”
“No one’s getting fired,” Guillaume said calmly. He smiled and reached across the table to put a hand on my arm. “Just relax, Emma. Gabe’s article will be fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I grumbled. “What was that all about, anyhow?”
“Ah, I was just having a bit of fun,” Guillaume said, shrugging grandly.