Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(39)

“There’s a difference between singing someone’s praises and not being suspicious and contemptuous of them at every turn. It’s somewhere in the middle, Olivier, and you should learn to live there.” He sighs and sits back in his chair. “Same goes for you, Seraphine. Now, Gautier, Pascal, and Blaise were really pushing for the autumn releases to coincide with our first online store. That’s not going to happen now; it’s not going to happen ever. Suffice to say, I have the final word, even over my brother, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Until, of course, you take over my job.”

This again. I immediately stiffen, my hands growing clammy, my pulse skipping against my wrist. Soon my father will find out I’m forfeiting all my shares to Gautier, and he won’t understand why. He’s already deeply disappointed that I’ve distanced myself from the company, and yet I can tell he thinks I’ll come around soon, maybe when I’ve lost interest in the hotels. It’s going to kill him when I have to hand it all over.

Seraphine clears her throat loudly and gives my father a pointed look.

“What?” he says. “Oh, you know Olivier has been groomed for this from the very start. It’s written into the contracts; it always has been. Gautier even signed off on it. Once I’m out of the picture, Olivier takes my place.”

“Even though he doesn’t know a thing about how to run a company,” my sister says snidely.

“Hey,” I tell her, pointing my finger at her, “I run my own damn company. I don’t need this one.”

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But this is the Dumont brand, and we have done things our way for as long as I can remember. You have no idea what it’s like to run this place.”

“We’re not having this argument again,” Father says. “I’m not going down this path, and we all know that I’m not going anywhere. I just had my annual checkup. Mentally and physically, I’m as fit as a fiddle and sharp as a razor.”

“Good,” I tell him. “Because I have no plans to take over. Especially when my sister here would shoot me in the face if she had to.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says.

“Back to the point . . . is this heat driving everyone insane? There’s a reason why everyone in this city leaves in August. We’re the only poor souls stuck here, slaving away for fashion,” my father drones on.

“You’re slaving away for money, don’t forget that,” I remind him. “And yet another reason why I’m happy running my hotels: I don’t have any fashion weeks or launches to worry about.”

My father glances over his shoulder at the fan on the window. “Maybe I should get another fan and start a cross breeze.”

“Father,” Seraphine reminds him, “stay focused. Olivier obviously has places to be.”

“Right, right. And here I was talking about how sharp I was. Anyway, there’s a lot of fighting in-house right now, dear boy, and it would be nice to have another hand on deck. If you could check in here every other day and see what Seraphine needs you to do, that would be fantastic.”

Seraphine exhales sharply. “Right. Well, for starters, I could use some help with the masquerade ball. I have my assistant going through the guest list, but I know you’re more in tune with high society than I am. Perhaps you could go through it and see if there are any potential problems. Actresses who don’t get along, models who are out for revenge. That sort of thing.” She pauses. “You’re obviously bringing a guest.”

I shake my head. “No.”

She frowns. “That’s very unlike you. Are you sure you’re well?”

“And there you were so certain that there was someone in the picture.”

“No date, Olivier?” my father muses, back to reading his papers and scribbling something in a leather diary. “Are you planning to turn into Blaise?”

Blaise is always getting needled over his lack of love life. The tabloids have speculated that he’s gay and afraid to come out of the closet, but I don’t think that’s it. I’ve seen the way he looks at women, and, at any rate, half the male workforce here is gay. No one really cares.

But just because I won’t publicly have a date doesn’t mean I’ll be going alone.

If I’m in charge of the guest list, I can easily place Sadie’s name on it.

And since it’s a masquerade ball, no one will be the wiser.

Fueled by this new revelation, I excuse myself from the meeting and tell my father and sister that I’ll be here for them whenever they need me, even if it means stopping by the office every few days. Lord knows the last thing I want to do is spend any more time away from Sadie, especially as I have my own work to attend to, but I don’t have much choice.

I will make it up to her, though.

On the drive back to the apartment, I stop by a charcuterie and wine shop, picking up bread, wine, cheese, meats, and a picnic basket.

Since we’ve been in Paris these last two days, I haven’t been seen with Sadie out in public. It’s too risky. So while I’m gone, she’s been exploring Paris by herself. This morning before I left, she lamented that she wanted to have a picnic with me beneath the Eiffel Tower, like she’d seen all the tourists do.

I had to tell her I couldn’t be seen with her in public. I felt awful. I’ve explained to her that the paparazzi watch me like a hawk here, and I want to protect her from that, but it’s not even close to the truth. Sometimes the paparazzi will take my picture, but it’s usually at an event—and I go to a lot of events. But walking down the street, eating at a restaurant on a date? No. The media here is far more respectful than they are in England and the States.