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“What sort of volume does your company handle, mademoiselle?”
“About twenty or so fewer full containers a month than last year. But I’m hoping that once we speed up the freight process, we’ll double that load.” She cleared her throat, started to speak, smiled. “Actually, I will take that offer of a drink.”
“Of course. One moment.”
When he walked out the door, Remi saw a stack of papers on a low file cabinet in the corner next to the window. She quickly walked over, looked out the open curtains, saw a glimpse of the Seine between the buildings across the street. She looked down, moving the papers with her fingers, quickly reading the addresses. Just from this short stack, she saw that Rossi had two warehouses in Calais and one in Brussels. Somehow she needed to narrow down which warehouse or they’d never arrive in time to get the Ghost before Oren took possession. Before she had a chance to search further, Marchand returned with her water. He stopped short when he saw her standing by the file cabinet.
She nodded out the window. “I was admiring the view of the river.”
“Most of our visitors do,” he said, barely sparing a glance himself. “Your Perrier. My apologies, as we have no glasses.”
“Merci. The bottle is fine,” she said, taking it from him.
“You were saying? About your business?”
“Yes. About our recent downturn,” she replied, twisting the top of her bottle to break the seal. The water fizzed slightly. “Something I hope to turn around.”
“You’ll forgive me if I seem too inquisitive, but in order to know if your company will be a good fit with ours, I need to have some idea of what volume—”
“Assuming your warehouse can handle loading thirty or forty containers a month,” she said, citing what she’d read that morning about the company she was modeling hers after. Marchand leaned forward with interest on hearing the number of containers she’d mentioned, and she took a sip of her water, letting her words sink in, before asking, “Are there certain ports you use more frequently than others? If they line up with ours, it might be easier to seamlessly move our shipping to your facilities.”
“It all depends on the origin and destination of the load,” Marchand replied.
“Calais?”
“One of our busier ports. Do you mind my asking why you’re searching for a new logistics company?”
“As I said, a slight falling-out with the former company, combined with a desire to move my business to Paris—not that I’d consider it without thoroughly investigating the logistics company.”
“We’re very well respected. Your business would be in good hands. Of course, I should let Monsieur Rossi welcome you personally. We’re fortunate that he’s making a rare appearance here today. He usually works out of our offices in Rome, but he’s scheduled to meet with a client later this morning. I expect him any minute, in fact.”
Definitely not what Remi was hoping to hear. Rossi was arriving far earlier than she’d expected. Realizing that she needed an alternative plan—and quick—she took her phone and accessed the calendar. “I may have a conflict . . . Let me call and see if I can cancel my appointment.” She turned toward the window, pretending interest in the view again, as she called Sam. “It’s Rebecca. About that appointment I have this morning . . . Is there any way I can change it? The man I hope to meet, Monsieur Rossi, is on his way as we speak.”
“If he’s in that black BMW,” Sam said, “then no. It just pulled up.”
Remi scanned the street, noticing a dark sedan double-parked directly below, its emergency flashers blinking. The driver opened the back passenger door, and two men in
business suits got out. Granted, identifying the tops of their heads from the third floor wasn’t the same as seeing them face-to-face, but with one being dark-haired and the other blond, reminding her of the shooter on Rossi’s balcony, she suspected Rossi and his bodyguard had just arrived.
66
With only one elevator, Rossi’s arrival meant Remi was going to have one heck of a time trying to get out without being seen. Sam, still on the other end of the line, said, “You have about three minutes. Just saw him walk into the building.”
“How unfortunate,” Remi said into her phone, thinking what a waste to have come all this way and be so close to having the information they needed. She looked back at Marchand, who was eagerly watching her, and gave him an apologetic smile, before turning back to the window. When she saw the curtains falling to the sill behind the chair, she knew exactly what to do. “Since I can’t cancel the appointment, please inform them that I’m on my way. And regarding that personnel matter we hoped to resolve, they should keep the line of communication open. I just don’t want to hear anything on my end.”
There was a moment of silence. Remi wondered if she’d been too subtle, until Sam responded, “Will do.”
She looked at Marchand, as she lowered her phone. “I am so sorry. My appointment can’t be changed. Will Monsieur Rossi be here later this afternoon? Perhaps I can return then?”
“I would have to ask him,” Marchand said. “It would be a shame if you were to miss this opportunity.”
She turned back to the window, leaning against the sill. “I do hope I can work things out. Such a lovely view,” she said, sliding her phone out of sight, into the right-hand corner of the sill, beneath the curtain, before turning back to Marchand and smiling. “My apologies for rushing out.”
“Mademoiselle, I look forward to meeting you again.”
“Soon, I hope.”
He gave her his card, and she left. The long hallway was deserted, as she approached the elevator, noticing it was heading up. If Rossi was on it, she’d never make the stairs without being seen. Wondering if there was a doorway she could duck into, she spied the fire alarm on the wall nearby. She pulled it, walked quickly toward the staircase, as a high-pitched electronic chirp sounded, followed by the metallic clang of a bell overhead. As the alarm blared, several office doors opened, and the hall filled with people, creating a barrier of bodies between Remi and the elevator, as its door opened. When she reached the stairwell, she caught a glimpse of Rossi striding toward Marchand’s office, a look of annoyance on his face at the disturbance. Remi hurried down the stairs, until she reached the ground floor, and emerged into the alley.
