Son of a bitch. I pushed him away, separating myself from him.
“You’re trying to steal the case from me!”
Now it was clear to me. André had trusted me, but if hisdear nephew showed up on Monday with a stellar defence, no matter how much it had been me who helped him prepare for the trial… it would destroy all the trust I had fought to earn.
And maybe I deserved it. How could I have been so foolish as not to see what was right in front of me? The Dubois had had some kind of connection to Julian Garros, and I didn’t even know.
“It’s nothing personal.”
“Oh, come on. Eat my ass.”
Bastian made a face.
“If André had given you any other case, I wouldn’t have minded, but… the Counterfeiter! I don’t know if you realize how important that trial is for Saidi.”
Of course, I knew. I brushed my hair from my neck, tossing it over my back. Bastian put his hands in his pockets, watching my panic as if it were amusing.
I was about to give him something to laugh about.
“Does Eloïse know you’re using her to dig up dirt on her family?” I said.
His glasses gleamed with the reflection of the lights on the lenses, hiding his gaze. His forehead wrinkled.
“What…?”
I cut off his words by throwing myself into his arms. I kissed him in the dirtiest way I could: all teeth and saliva, and to my surprise, Bastian responded with even more aggression.
He bit my lower lip and let out a surprised groan at his own actions. My hands lifted his jaw, while his gripped my back tightly.
Then I took a step back.
My pink lipstick had marked him like a pig in a slaughterhouse.
“What…?” Bastian tried to articulate again. His expression was one of total confusion, and I admit I felt the same. Confused by how easily he had reciprocated the kiss. Confused at the way my chest pounded. But, at the same time, satisfied with what I had achieved with my little display of PDA.
Eloïse Hawtrey-Moore stormed toward us, as if Medusa had stepped off a Greek temple and into our reality. The intensity of her glare could have sliced through steel.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Bastian, his face smeared with traces of my makeup, clumsily tried to wipe it away with the heel of his hand. He turned to face her.
“This…”
My brief moment of satisfaction evaporated quickly. Sure, I had enjoyed throwing Bastian off balance, but the consequences of my prank were beginning to sink in. A crowd had gathered, and the eyes of the charity event’s guests were now firmly fixed on the three of us. They watched Eloïse with the kind of pity reserved for someone of her rank, while I was scrutinized with a mix of disdain and morbid curiosity. The contrast was striking, and it was clear whose social standing carried the most weight in that room. They didn’t see us as any more than a trope. The cool girl versus the dumb blonde. Versus the girl who loves pink. Versus the woman who has nothing to offer but her appearance. She’s the villain of the story. She’s everything people despise in a woman: excessive femininity, confidence in her own skin, and determination.
I knew that’s what the party guests were seeing. A big-breasted blonde in a tiny pink dress who had just put on a show. And I knew that’s what everyone expected from me. What else was this poor walking stereotype supposed to do but create tension around a man?
But I was much more than that.
I stood up, regaining my composure.
Fortunately, Laurent Dubois still hadn’t shown up anywhere. I didn’t think causing a scene would help me achieve my goal with him.
“Not here,” Eloïse interjected, her voice shifting to a sickly-sweet tone as she relaxed her stance and pulled Bastian’s elbow towards her. “Let’s save this for later.”
Despite the change in her demeanour, her eyes glimmered with something bordering on madness.
I wished Gina had been there with me. I know she’s into that kind of thing.
