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As soon as I tell him this, I wish I hadn’t. What will he do in retaliation?
“Text it to me. I want you to have my number anyway.” He rattles off his phone number.
I take out my phone and text him the plate, feeling strangely like I just signed someone’s death warrant.
That’s ridiculous, I tell myself. That’s not how this works.
I’m overthinking things. I have no way to prove he actually hurt the man that attacked me earlier. The girls have said he’s dangerous, but—I can’t let my imagination get the best of me.
My phone buzzes with a response from him.
Thank you—save this number.
This all almost feels like a strange dream. I’m going to wake up in my bed and laugh about this. And yet…
I save his number and stick my phone back in my pocket.
“I don’t want you alone tonight.”
I blink. I open my mouth to tell him I hardly know him and can’t stay with him, when he continues.
“I’ll put a guard on you,” he mutters as we resume our walk. “Are you afraid because of what happened earlier?”
I turn away so he doesn’t see the sudden flush of my cheeks.
I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t. I’ve already been wondering if I could crash on Gwen’s couch. Most of the other girls don’t have residences here. I don’t know how to tell him that, though.
“Of course you’re scared,” he says when I don’t respond right away. “I’ll station a guard.” I decide right then I’m not going to reject whatever safety measures he puts into place. Guards outside my door, a surveillance team, whatever. I don’t like the idea of going back into my room tonight after what happened.
“That’s very kind of you, but maybe we can have guards by Gwen’s door or something. I have to admit, I’m not too crazy about the idea of sleeping in my room tonight. I just need a little time.”
It’s strange how pedestrians cross the streets when they see us coming their way. I imagine a few people speak in hushed voices but stop when we draw near.
When we reach La Maison, it doesn’t surprise me that he opens the door for me to go in ahead of him. There’s something about him that’s almost aristocratic and distinguished, even though I saw him bodily throw a man a few hours ago.
How has a gentleman like him earned his reputation?
I make it my mission to find out.
“I’ll wait while you get in touch with Gwen,” he says, when we enter the lobby. The lights are dimmed, the floors recently cleaned and glistening after the evening cleaning crew’s done their work. I pull out my phone and text Gwen as Fabien sends a message on his phone as well. I’m grateful he’s giving me this small measure of privacy.
Me:
Gwen. Are you awake?
Nothing. I look around the lobby nervously while he scrolls his phone.
I send another message.
Me:
Gwen?
My stomach churns with nerves that she might actually respond.
She’s never asleep this early. Against my better judgment, I dial her number, but it goes to voicemail.
“Did you get her?” Fabien asks.
I shake my head. I pretend to be dejected. “Couldn’t get her.” I stifle a sigh and look away.
“It’s late,” he says thoughtfully. “It could take a while to arrange enough guards that would satisfy me. I’ll tell you what.”
My heartbeat thumps. I can’t throw myself at him, but I need to get close. I need his connections. If he offers for me to come up to his room…
“Come up to my room. I could stand guard in yours, but my room is much larger for the two of us to have privacy.”
The truth is, though… I don’t want to be alone tonight. The thought of his larger-than-life presence warding off any fear is actually a bit reassuring.
If he has a good-sized room, maybe we can both sleep peacefully.
It’s one night. I’m safe with him. This is nothing unprofessional and will never be. He’s only doing his job, making sure one of his employees who’s been compromised is safe for the evening.
No more, no less.
This is not romantic.
This is not a proposition.
He’s not flirting with me.
Flirtation leads to romance leads to love, and I’m not making that mistake.
This is not romance.
I’ve made it this far in the business without losing my mind, I can go a little longer.
He’s a pragmatic business owner of an unorthodox establishment, making a move that is equally unorthodox.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Fabien
It’s almost too perfect. She never suspected I’d followed her to the shop, that I stalked her every step and made it seem coincidental. She hasn’t been to her room to see the flowers yet and tomorrow when she does, she’ll know I hadn’t planned on meeting up with her. It was all too easy to slip into the bookstore unseen, take my place in the coffee shop with my back to her, and suggest to the proprietor he gently guide her my way.
