Elise tips her glass to mine. “Those are my favorite moments.”
But as she drinks, I swear I see something else in her eyes. Something sad. Something that makes me wonder why Elise believes so strongly in living for the moment.
I’m not sure I’ll garner the answer today, so I reach into my bag for a tiny tube. “Pilfered it from the lab,” I whisper, handing it to her.
“Naughty girl.” Her eyes twinkle, the sadness wiped away.
“Something new I’m working on. Tell me what you think.”
She uncaps it, and runs the top under her nose. “Mmm.”
Her murmur makes my heart do a little jig. That’s the sound of someone pleased. She closes her eyes. “It’s a summer evening, when I waited for a man to meet me at the fountain. The sun dipped lower in the sky as I checked my watch. The water and the stones behind me were damp and earthy, and my heart filled with longing, then desire, when he arrived and kissed me like the world disappeared.”
When she opens her eyes, she offers a wistful smile. “He’s long gone, but this perfume is here to stay.”
20
Griffin
Getting called into the boss’s office is never a good thing.
It’s not like I have a history of being some sort of hooligan at work. I just find the less the boss needs to see me, the better I’m likely doing.
Especially since Jean-Paul pushed off the meeting. Shortly after he called me away, he messaged to say he couldn’t meet till five. Now it’s five, and all I’ve been able to think about for the last few hours is that he’s reassigning me. Or Joy’s company is sacking me. Or Marisol found out I’m crazy for Joy, and she thinks our relationship is inappropriate.
Which doesn’t sound likely at all, but my brain is a Tilt-A-Whirl, whipping through scenarios. All of them start with this tension in my chest and this pit in my stomach and this stupid fear that I’ve put Joy and myself at risk.
Even though nothing has happened.
Even though there are no explicit rules forbidding a relationship between us.
Still, the mind slapdashes where it fears to go the most.
I take a seat in Jean-Paul’s office.
“Glad you could make it even in the rain. It’s brass monkeys outside today, isn’t it?” He winks, clearly proud of himself for dropping that Britishism into his conversation with me.
“It’s absolutely brass monkeys.”
“And I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
No, nothing. Just the best kiss in my entire life. Just my entire afternoon where I sat in a café and stared at my phone constantly as I worked on written translations and contemplated what the hell to say to the woman I’m mad about, all while I worried about my FUCKING job. “Not at all. Always happy to chat. What can I do for you?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he says with a wink, as if he’s going to tell me Today’s Tawdry Tale. Leaning back in his chair, he clasps his hands behind his head and parks his feet on the desk. “Tell me about your work at L’Artisan.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering why he’d need to know those details, since I send him regular reports. Unless Marisol has complained. I sit up straighter and give an overview of my work, from the team meetings, to Joy’s one-on-one conversations with her scientists, to the translations in the lab.
“And would you say your work has helped?”
I furrow my brow, almost wishing he’d toss out one of his inappropriate comments about a wife of his so I’d know this conversation was normal. But it doesn’t feel normal. It feels like a precursor to bad news. “Absolutely. The company has embarked on a number of new projects. It’s introduced new processes through the woman I work with. Her staff is doing well at implementing the protocols, she tells me.” Maybe I’m selling it too hard. Maybe I’m like a credit card peddler in a shopping center now. But hell, I’ve witnessed the changes Joy has brought to her company in eight short weeks. She’s fantastic. “Plus, Joy is doing well and conversing, and she’s actually learning French now, too,” I add, though I don’t say that she’s getting special lessons.
“Interesting.” Jean-Paul hums, looking mildly impressed. “Most of them just want someone to be their mouthpiece. She must be a sharp lady.”
“She is.” I try to tamp down the personal pride I feel.
“My second wife was like that. A pretty little American. She was dying to learn French. Good thing I was willing to introduce her to all the joys of our language.”
I nearly groan inside.
Be careful what you wish for. Now he’s going on and on about how he taught his second wife more than the language. How he taught her the spice of life. When he’s done, he slaps a palm on the table. “But you know how it goes with women. She wanted more and more, and it all just went to bollocks, right?”
Second idiom in five minutes. I’ll have to tell Christian our boss is in rare idiomatic form today. “Totally bollocks.”
He wags a finger at me. “Right you are. Too right,” he says, affecting an English accent on the last one. I decide to award him a third point. “Anyway, I don’t mean to be cheeky”—and a fourth now—“but I wanted to share some good news. I checked in with the client, and my contact there indicated they were so thrilled with your work that they’re going to hire Capstone for more work as they bring on new American employees, so thank you for being a great ambassador.”
I swallow down my surprise. “Is that so?”
He rises and offers me a hand to shake. “They think you’re as fantastic as all get-out. Wait. That’s an American saying. I’m going to have to hire you for my own idioms now.”
“Well, that’d be the cat’s whiskers,
