I looked at him suspiciously. There was no way our hard-partying rock star was entertaining himself with a room full of blasting music and a bottle of champagne. “Come on, Guillaume. I’m not here to get you in trouble. But please, whatever girls you have in there, just send them home before the situation gets worse.”
“Emma, I promise you,” Guillaume said, looking me dead in the eye. “It’s just me. I swear on my life.”
I locked eyes with him, and when his gaze didn’t waver after a moment, I sighed and shrugged. “Fine, whatever you say,” I said, not quite believing him. “But could you turn the music down, at least? Hotel security is getting calls.”
Guillaume stared at me for a long moment then shrugged and disappeared back into his suite, leaving me standing in the open doorway. I waited and waited for what felt like an eternity, but the volume never went down, and Guillaume never returned. I waited a bit more. Then, looking from side to side to make sure no one was watching who might get the wrong idea, I left the door ajar and walked into the suite and down the hallway to find Guillaume—or at the very least, to find the volume knob on the stereo, which was currently blasting an old Rolling Stones album.
“Guillaume?” I called out above the music as I made my way down the suite’s long hallway and into the living room. “Where did you go?”
Just before I reached the living room, Guillaume appeared from around the corner, scaring me half to death. I jumped, startled. Guillaume grinned and thrust a full flute of champagne toward me.
“Guillaume? What are you doing?” I demanded, eyeing the bubbly warily. Inside the glass, it fizzed mesmerizingly.
Guillaume thrust the glass forward again insistently. “Drink up, Emma!” he said cheerfully. “We must toast!”
“Guillaume, I—”
“Listen, Emma,” he said. “The hotel gave me two complimentary bottles of this wonderful champagne. Now, it’s up to you, of course, but if you don’t have a drink with me, I’ll be forced to drink both bottles myself.”
“Guillaume—” I began wearily, but this time he interrupted before I could even get to the frustrated eye rolling.
“We both know what happens when I drink too much, oui?” he continued. “So really, if you think about it, it’s in your best interest to drink with me, because that’s less champagne for me, now, isn’t it?”
I started to say something, but the protest got lost in my throat. After all, he was right, wasn’t he? I couldn’t exactly argue with the more-for-me-equals-less-for-him theory, could I?
“Fine,” I said, reluctantly accepting the glass. “But only if you promise to turn the music down.”
Guillaume beamed at me. “As you wish, my dear.” He raised his glass and waited until I reluctantly raised mine, too, in a toast. “Here’s to you, my dear Emma,” Guillaume said. I made a face as we clinked glasses, and Guillaume looked delighted. He waited until I took a small sip from my glass.
“The volume, Guillaume?” I reminded him.
“Ah, of course, of course!” he said. He dashed toward the living room. The moment he had turned his back, I emptied half my flute of champagne into the potted plant at the end of the hallway. Then I innocently righted the glass and put my lips to the edge as if I’d been sipping it just in time for Guillaume to return.
“Emma, you do drink!” he exclaimed, eyeing my glass with delight. “Very good! Very good!”
I smiled wanly at him.
“Well, aren’t you going to come in?” he asked. “Or do we have to drink standing up in the hall?”
I didn’t see that I had much of a choice. With any luck, I could sit beside another potted plant and proceed to get rid of as much of Guillaume’s champagne as possible before he could drink it and do something stupid. I followed Guillaume into the living room. He grabbed the open bottle of champagne from where it sat in a bucket of ice, and topped off my glass.
“Have a seat, Emma,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “Please, make yourself at home. My suite is your suite, my sweet,” he said, laughing uproariously at his own pun.
“Thank you.” I tried to stifle a yawn. It had been a long day, and I should have been falling asleep in my own bed, not playing AA sponsor to my client. This surely wasn’t in my job description, although I had to admit that very little of what I’d had to deal with in the past few weeks fell under the umbrella of officially outlined duties.
I sat down on the couch, beside another potted plant, feeling a bit surprised at how comfortable the cushions were.
“So,” Guillaume said, settling down beside me. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to begin guessing?”
I looked at him, startled. “Nothing’s wrong. What do you mean?”
Guillaume shook his head knowingly. “You were sulking today.”
“I wasn’t sulking!”
Guillaume laughed. “Yes, you were. You were sulking. You cannot deny it.”
I sighed. “It’s nothing.” I took a long sip of the champagne—one sip couldn’t hurt—and felt a small tingle of warmth spread over me.
Guillaume watched me closely. His near nudity was beginning to get to me.