Paris Lights Page 10

  ‘And I will want to see all the rooms tomorrow,’ he said.

  Oh boy, tomorrow was going to royally suck.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I had been so confident.

  I had even managed to lift the spirits of the staff momentarily, but now as I sat on my bed, legs crossed, I felt deflated, glaring at my door and kind of horrified about what lay just beyond it. So close, too close. When looking for any kind of distraction or pick-me-up, I thought I would most likely find it in the email that sat in my inbox from my sister, subject: winky face.

  ‘This ought to be good.’ I sighed, double clicking on the email.

  Now are you sorry? it said, next to a link.

  Intrigued by Sammi’s cryptic message I clicked onto the link that led me to GQ magazine.

  ‘Wow!’

  There on my screen, bolder – and dare I say more beautiful – than real life was a picture of Louis, mid-stride, buttoning up his suit jacket and looking directly at the camera with his bedroom eyes. The photo was so striking, so stunning, I swear I felt my breath catch. He had never looked at me with anything other than contempt, but I would defy any woman who was on the receiving end of such a gaze not to fall in love with him. I swallowed, glancing at the door, hardly believing that he was only in the next room.

  I scrolled down the article to other pictures. The next was of him leaning against a sports car, hair in slight disarray, looking off into the distance, one too many buttons undone on his shirt. Free to openly stare at the image of Louis, I was able to examine him like I never could in person. He wasn’t classically handsome, with thick, dark, wavy hair that was greying at the temples; it offered him a real distinction, as did the way he held himself: even in a photograph he was straight, proud, like a dancer. It almost made me think even his way of storming from one place to the next seemed graceful. He had beautiful hands, long and slender with impeccably manicured nails. His heart-shaped face and broad-set eyes, his prominent nose: he was the epitome of classic European beauty.

  If I didn’t know who he was he would most definitely be turning my head in the street, and that really annoyed me. He had an ugly personality, it was just a shame his looks did not match it. A fine-looking specimen of a man, until he opened his mouth. There would be no use trying to tell Sammi; she could go on fantasising about the man being a saint. I snared the last of the chocolates and idly read the article with a smile on my face, but halfway through my smile completely evaporated.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  As it turned out, Louis really was a saint; despite his bad-tempered, rock-star attitude, he was a huge giver to charity, aiding the homeless, literacy for children, cancer research and a foundation that raised money for children’s wards. Millions upon millions: donations from his own fortune, not to mention what he had funded using his celebrity status. By the end of the article I didn’t hate the man, I was damn well in awe of him. Louis Delarue was not to be feared: he had a tremendous amount of humanity in him. And wasn’t that why he was here, to save the flailing Hotel Trocadéro?

  I closed my computer, an inner peace settling over me along with a new optimism about meeting with him tomorrow.

  While the others acted like they were marching to their death, I was light on my feet, bright eyed, my ponytail swinging as I entered the restaurant to see all the glum, worried faces.

  ‘Bonjour!’ I sang, sitting next to Cathy, ready with my pen and notebook. She looked at me like I was a freak and turned away. I was ready, almost giddy, to look at Louis in a new light, see past the mean-man facade and just not be so uptight about him any more.

  I heard Cecile’s heels on the tiles, quick, determined steps followed by heavier steps. I knew who they belonged to, and sure enough, right after Cecile came into the restaurant, Louis appeared, his face its usual stone, a few days’ worth of stubble on his chiselled jaw a stark contrast to the clean-cut, black-and-white images I had seen last night. Unbeknown to me I had straightened; a huge, goofy smile spreading on my face as he came closer to stand at the head of the room. He glanced my way and frowned. My eagerness faltered a little, and I felt a bit silly that I had been staring at him like that.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ Cathy whispered, leaning over to me.

  I cleared my throat and plastered on my poker face, distracting myself by dating the top of a fresh page on my notepad. ‘Yeah, fine.’

  Cecile’s usual cheery demeanour was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes were cast down, her face flushed – had she been crying again? I felt my blood boil underneath my skin, caring little now of Louis’s sainthood; I just wanted him to get on with weaving his magic.

  Louis stood at the front of the room. He clapped and rubbed his hands together expectantly as his eyes skimmed over us. ‘Okay, are we ready?’

  The room was silent as we all looked at each other, seeking the answer. Some nodded, but rather than let the silence drag on I blurted out the first thing that fell into my mind.

  ‘Yes, chef!’

  I inwardly cringed the moment the words fell out, but much to my surprise I wasn’t met by the usual darkened stare; instead, a crooked little smile appeared across Louis’s face, but it was gone so quickly I thought I had imagined it. Only the spark in his eyes told me I hadn’t.

  He nodded to me in acknowledgment. ‘Tres bon,’ he said, which I knew meant ‘very good’.

  What had been a knee-jerk reaction had paid off. I sensed good vibes about today. I thought if we showed respect, he would give respect, and I was suddenly confident in the advice I had given the staff last night. He will respond to passion, not fear.

  I felt a new hope swell in my heart. Cathy smiled at me and I knew she felt it too. We were going to be all right; we could do this; we were all going to be all right.

  Louis walked casually to the side of the room, his hands in his pockets, his demeanour lighter than I had seen before, as he sighed and turned back to us.

  ‘First things first.’

  Everyone straightened expectantly in their seats, ready to carry on the good vibes.

  And just as I felt the butterflies swirl in my belly with the new-found hope of what was to come, Louis turned toward Philippe.

  ‘You’re fired!’

  Chapter Nineteen

  He couldn’t do that! Oh my God, could he do that? He totally just did that.

  All hell broke loose – heated words were exchanged in French between Louis and Philippe, with a surprising interjection by a very upset Cecile, followed by Gaston grabbing Philippe by the arm and guiding him away, until Philippe snatched his arm away and stormed out. Of all the times I needed to understand, I couldn’t, and there was no time to translate.

  ‘Claire.’ Louis was saying my name. ‘Will you show me the rooms, please?’

  My mouth was still agape; was he serious? Fire someone, then business as usual?

  ‘Um, do you think now is a good time?’ I said, hoping the others would back me up on this, but they seemed resigned to their own thoughts. The good vibes had gone out the fucking window as soon as Philippe had exited the building. I glanced at Cecile, who was heading back from reception. She stood before me and handed me a key. My eyes dipped to the key, confusion lining my face.

  ‘This is a skeleton key designed to open every room,’ she said, a vacant look in her eyes. ‘Start on the first floor.’

  I slowly stood, lowering my voice to speak to her. ‘Cecile, Philippe just got fired, do you really think that we should be doing this right now?’

  ‘Oui,’ she said, and I suddenly felt terribly sad. Was Cecile really prepared to sacrifice anyone to keep Lord Louis happy? Her attention turned to Louis.

  ‘Once you have inspected the rooms I will organise individual interviews to take place.’

  He nodded, seeming pleased with the arrangement as he walked out to the lounge, only stopping to look at me quizzically, as if to say, Aren’t you coming?

  I was so upset I could barely believe what was happen
ing. When I’d told the staff last night to be agreeable, I hadn’t expected them to shut down altogether. I feared that my advice was doing more harm than good. And just like the obedient zombies they had become, I found myself walking out of the restaurant and following Louis’s long strides. I almost crashed into his back when he stopped abruptly, pressing the lift button. I couldn’t believe how calm he was; he had just fired someone and done so without even blinking, and now he wanted to run a white glove over window sills and inspect the rooms. I wanted to kick him.

  ‘You are unbelievable,’ I said, shaking my head.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ he said, looking at the numbers above the lift door.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you are going to have to speak a little slower, your accent is very thick.’

  The doors opened and I followed him into the lift. ‘I can’t believe you’re joking at a time like this.’

  ‘I am deadly serious.’

  ‘How can you ruin someone’s day, potentially their life, and then go on like nothing has happened?’

  Louis rolled his eyes; it was reminiscent of how Liam would respond to me if I questioned something, and despite my soapbox moments with the staff about being nice and collaborative, something inside me snapped just as the doors opened to the first floor.

  ‘You know what? Why don’t you just save the really dehumanising, humiliating stuff for the cameras, you seem really good at that,’ I said, making my way straight to room one.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is it my accent?’ I asked, slotting in the key, twisting and unlocking it first go. Pushing inside, I switched on the light, thinking I couldn’t care less if he followed me in or not, until my foot kicked something. A shoe, lying on its side next to a bra …

  Oh my God.

  I looked up to see a man standing frozen in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, toothbrush in his mouth as his widened eyes gawped at me. The frightened scream of a woman covering herself up in the bed drew my gaze to her.

  ‘Oh, I am so, so sorry, pardon, pardon.’ I held up my hands, backing out the door so fast I don’t think my feet touched the floor. I slammed the door behind me, to find Louis standing casually to the side, leaning against the wall – no, make that using the wall as support to keep upright because he was laughing so hard.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ I screamed, my hands balled into fists.

  ‘This would make for great television.’

  Oh God, all the more reason to not have any part of this.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m having no part of that so …’

  ‘Ah, what a shame.’ Louis wiped a tear from under his eye as he tried to regain his composure. ‘Please tell me you have a list of the vacant rooms?’

  ‘Vacant? Cecile just gave me a key and said to go to the first floor.’

  Louis shook his head. ‘Shall we see what lies behind door number two?’ he said, his eyes alight with mischief. God, how I hated him.

  ‘I think this little adventure is over, don’t you?’ I said, walking back to the lift.

  ‘On the contrary, I was just starting to enjoy myself.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you got your kicks from firing staff members,’ I threw over my shoulder, startled that he now stood at my side.

  He had finally sobered, this time not looking at the illuminated numbers above the lift, but down at me.

  ‘He was not a good man, Claire.’

  I blinked, somewhat taken aback and a little unsettled, hearing my name from his mouth; his creamy accent saying my name did funny things to my tummy.

  ‘W-what do you mean?’

  Louis remained guarded, but said, ‘Leading up to deciding whether I wanted to choose this hotel, I looked over the financials, did a case study of the business: the incomings, the outgoings. The business is a failing one at best: competition is fierce and the financials were a disaster. I asked to review the security footage to see how the staff operated, more so to see the comings and goings for a day, not to actually catch someone stealing from the business.’

  ‘Philippe was stealing?’

  ‘Pocketing money from the safety deposit box and writing it off.’

  The lift doors opened, but I didn’t want to move, mainly because I was in shock, and also because Louis was actually giving me some candid information.

  He moved first, and I followed him.

  ‘So is that what was being flung around in French, the actual truth of what he had done? He seemed pretty angry.’

  ‘A defensive man is usually a guilty man.’

  ‘So everyone knows?’

  ‘Everyone who can speak French,’ he said, glancing at me with a cocky, crooked grin.

  It all made sense now: Louis must have given Cecile the heads up, that’s why she couldn’t look at anyone. He had wanted everyone to be present when he fired Philippe so they were aware that such deceit would not be tolerated.

  I blew out a breath. ‘Well, hopefully that will be the last of the surprises for a while.’

  And just when my thoughts seemed a million miles away the lift door chimed open and much to my confusion I looked out to the landing and then to the number lit up inside the lift. The sixth floor?

  I had been too shocked to even realise that Louis had pressed the button. He stepped out onto the larger, more modern landing and placed his hand on the door to prevent it from closing me in.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to show me your room?’

  ‘My room?’ I said, perhaps a little too sharply.

  He shrugged one shoulder casually. ‘At least we know it’s vacant; it is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but …’

  He headed down the hall, ignoring my stammering, until he arrived at my door. He turned to look at me expectantly. I was less concerned with having Louis in my room than scrambling to think what state my room was actually in. Had I left my undies on the floor in the bathroom? How badly were clothes flung all over the place, and takeaway containers stacked in the little bin? Oh God, there was a trail of empty minibar bottles and chocolate wrappers near the bed – classy.

  Louis leant against the door frame, his hands in his pocket, seemingly enjoying my discomfort. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I just don’t think there’s any point; my room is obviously the same as yours,’ I said.

  ‘Have you seen my room?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, no but—’

  ‘Well, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,’ he said. There was an element of tease behind his words, and a boyish grin spread across his face and I couldn’t help but smile a little. It was short-lived, however, as I slotted the key into the door and said a silent prayer before I pushed it open.

  The room was a disaster. The bed was unmade with clothes strewn over the end of it. Luckily there were no undies on the floor, but there was a bra hanging on the door handle that I quickly unhooked and shoved into my pocket before he saw. The only thing he really looked at was the line of empty mini bottles on the bench above the fridge, but I couldn’t see the expression on his face as he continued to walk into the dim room. I didn’t put the light on, I really didn’t want to highlight the mess, but then of course Louis walked over to the curtains and drew them open, flooding the room with natural light.

  ‘It seems a crime to leave the curtains closed with a view like that,’ he said, tilting his head to the impressive sight of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. I casually scooped things into my suitcase and pulled up the covers on the bed. I knew what he was saying: the view was the best part of this room. For someone who had dreamed of Paris all her life and was blessed with that view, the golden twinkling of the city lights were pure magic at night, it was a shame I couldn’t bear to look at it now. For me the Eiffel Tower meant heartache, and try as I might to push my reality down as deep as possible, I really didn’t need a reminder of Liam’s betrayal.

  ‘You have something again
st the view?’ he asked, turning to me.

  ‘It’s lovely, but can you please keep them closed?’

  Louis looked at me like I was mad and instead of doing what I asked, he pulled the curtains wider and opened the door out to the balcony.

  I had momentarily forgotten that you didn’t tell Lord Louis what to do; he was worse than a child. I scooped up the last of my clothes and hid them under the blanket, then went to the open balcony door, stepping out to stand beside Louis and watch as the morning sun sparkled across the roof tops. Seeing the tower in the distance wasn’t as crushing as it had been the first time, although there was something rather surreal about standing in the morning sun next to Louis, in silence, watching the world go by, brushing the hair from my eyes, and feeling so calm. I really was denying myself a lovely view, something I had let the ghost of Liam ruin for me.

  ‘See, you don’t know what you’re missing,’ Louis said.

  ‘Some kind of tourist I am, huh? Repelled by the Eiffel Tower.’

  ‘It offends you that much?’

  I sighed, clutching the edge of the curved iron railing, thinking I really didn’t want to get into this, but also not exactly wanting to come across as a complete freak. ‘My boyfriend broke up with me under the Eiffel Tower a few days ago.’

  Louis’s expression didn’t change; he still just stared at me like I was a lunatic, like my reasoning made no sense. Most normal people might say something comforting or say that they were sorry, but not him. I straightened, thinking maybe he didn’t understand the significance of how traumatic it had been. I felt angry at his indifference.

  ‘I had dreamed about coming to Paris all my life, and the one weekend he brought me here I was certain he was going to propose to me, not break up with me,’ I said. For some insane reason I wanted Louis to understand. ‘He took the one place I loved and tainted it.’

  Louis looked into the distance in silence, but I could see he was thinking, probably of a way to escape this conversation: a girlie deep and meaningful was clearly not within his realms of expertise.

  ‘There’s really only one thing you can do,’ he said eventually.