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Uh huh.
“Anyway, here’s breakfast. And some more paperwork to brighten your day. Remember, breakfast is compulsory. Your parents would kill me if I didn’t take good care of you.” We both chuckle, but the sinister truth behind the joke lingers in the air.
I sigh as I take a big sip from the rich, aromatic coffee while glancing at the folders. Boring, boring, and more boring. Christ, I could use another dancer to try to sue us just to brighten up my day.That was fun.I’m feeling restless, perhaps a result of this increasing pressure we all seem to feel. The coffee definitely does the trick, although it doesn’t do anything to lift my grumpy mood. Then my attention turns to a blank, white envelope tucked inside the pile of documents and I pick it up, turn it over, then look up. “What’s this? No case number?”
“That, dear boss, is a surprise. For you.” Ella waggles her eyebrows while I narrow my eyes.
“A surprise? What am I, like ten?”
“Luckily you’re not,” Ella teases. “In that case you’d definitely be too young for this gift. Let’s just say that your team wanted to welcome you as their new boss.”
Right. I fumble until my hands grab hold of a white sheet of paper. “That’s, uh, a real surprise.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “Turn it around, silly.”
I let the sassy comment slip and instead, do as she tells me. It’s a photo. I pull back in my chair and take a closer look at the image.
“Who’s this?”
“That’s your gift.”
“A fuckingpicture?” My voice goes a tad lower, making the hoarseness more apparent. My crankiness is back at full strength. “Who’s this? Don’t play me now.”
Too. Fucking. Early.
“Her name’s Angélique Lavigne. She’s French. And she’ll be yours for the weekend. To blow off some steam, you know.”
“You know that I can do that with anyone at any given moment, right?” Yet I’m looking at the photo again. A pale, heart shaped face framed by light brown hair. Big, almond-shaped eyes with a soft glow that give her a sweet demeanor. A faint smile formed on her lips, as if she'd heard a secret she wouldn’t share with the world. Sweet Jesus, she looks like an angel.
“Yeah, I know. But we figured you could use a change from the girls from the club. Perhaps see what other women are out there in the real world. Big got you this beauty, it’s him you should thank.”
“I’m not thanking anyone, and certainly not my mom’s bodyguard. That asshole,” I mutter. I hate that prick. “And the real world, huh? Who says I’m interested in another bitch when I can get a taste of our own whenever I want?” I drop the picture back on my desk but my eyes still linger on hers. It annoys the shit out of me. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have my way with this angel and if she really is as good as she looks, then I’ll thank Big. Now get out of my office and fix my lunch appointment with dear old Carter.”
CHAPTERTWO
FRIDAY MORNING – ANGÉLIQUE
I’m feeling guilty. And nervous as hell.
Guilty because the final emotion I shared with mother last night, right before taking off, was one of anger. And now the Airbus is flying somewhere across the Atlantic, and it’s too late to apologize.
It’s too late to apologize, it’s too late…
I rub my shoulders against the back of my seat, feeling sick and tired of apologizing. And for what? For going on this ladies’ weekend? For wanting to move into a convent, because it is the only thing in life that has ever felt like therightthing to do?
Because no matter what I decide, Mother will always wear this stern frown on her face. The scowl has become like permanent make-up. The look ofdisappointment. God, I hate that word. It tastes bitterly of regret, like unopened treasures.
It makes me wonder, though, whatwouldmake Mother happy. Well, it is too late now since I’m already on the plane and will shortly be arriving in NYC, baby.
I touch the cross on my chest lightly, somehow needing to feel the comfort. Or maybe a sign that I haven’t entirely lost my mind?
I’m a devoted Christian; I do my morning and evening prayer and attend weekly mass. But at this very moment, I’m feeling so lost, and so far off the right track. This trip should do the trick. I somehow need to be a hundred percent sure that life in a convent is for me, which is exactly what I’d planned out for myself. But then I met these other women and decided to come to New York. From Lyon. I know, it’s crazy, but also some self-proclaimed occasion to come out of my shell. To make myselfheard. Yet I wonder, would I recognize my own voice? I’ve always been so quiet.
Will there be something out there for me? Anything? I feel like I’ve been living in the shadows for my entire life. Of my parents, my passion, and my desires.
I turn my head and my gaze accidentally crosses paths with the man who’d so politely given up his window seat right before we took off.
“Thank you very much again,” I mutter for the fifth time, for want of a better expression. He gives me a small smile, just like he did during the previous four times, and this time he adds a casual shrug with his broad shoulders. And a reply in words. “Don't worry about it.” He turns back to his phone and I hide a smile, as I take in his appearance. He’s practically folded in half with his long legs pressed up against the seat in front of him. His large, bulky arms are locked in front of his chest as he’s rapidly tapping on the screen of his cellphone. When he eyes me curiously, I realize that I’m still staring at him.Merde. Embarrassed, I look away, feeling my cheeks grow hot.
