Chapter 8
Lucia
My head bounced between Allison and Evelyn like a ping pong ball. The pair had to be pranking me.
Evelyn waggled her perfectly plucked brows. “So, you wanna tell us why His Royal Highness has requested you to go with him to Paris?” she said, nudging Allison’s elbow like I was blind.
“I don’t even want to know. I’ll be grateful for the break with Monica,” Allison muttered, stabbing a chip so violently it flew off her plate and onto her tray.
“This is what he’s driven me to. Deep-fried carbs.”
“Apparently he told Monica that it would be helpful, since you dealt with the original proposal,” Evelyn said—stirring more than just her soup.
“Guys, I don’t have a clue. The man barely spoke to me,” I said, dunking a chunk of crusty bread into my potato and leek soup.
“Why don’t you see if you can persuade him to switch posts?” Allison asked, the hope in her eyes practically glowing. “I’m telling you, ladies, I’m too menopausal for his shit. He needs a professional nanny, not a PA.”
I couldn’t stop the giggle. She wasn’t far from the truth.
“I heard a rumour—”
“Stop it, Evelyn. I don’t want to know any more about the Anti-Christ,” Allison snapped.
I kicked Evelyn under the table. “Take a good look—that’ll be you in a few years.”
She shot me a glare, but it was worth it.
?? ?? ??
To: Lucia Hart
From: Allison Durant
Subject: ? Paris Trip – Buckle Up, Babe
Hey Lucia,
So… it’s official. You’ve made it to the inner circle of madness.
Here are the details for the Paris trip:
·Flight Time: 13:45, Friday
·Airport: Stansted (Private Terminal – instructions attached)
·Driver: Booked. Pick-up from your flat at 11:00 sharp (I gave them your postcode—don’t kill me if they arrive early)
·Luggage Limit: Technically there isn’t one, but I’d avoid a full trunk of outfit changes unless you plan to seduce the French government.
Now… the fun bit.
Your hotel room has been confirmed as adjoining to Mr Dubois’s suite. (Yes, I asked twice.) Apparently, it’s for “workflow efficiency”—whatever helps him sleep at night.
Please behave. Or don’t. Just leave breadcrumbs for me in case I need to rescue you.
Bon voyage,
Allison Durant
Chief Handler of Dubois Drama?
Dubois Enterprises
I read it three times, but the words didn’t change.
Was I excited about travelling to Paris? Yes.
Did I trust Mr Dubois? Absolutely not.
There was no itinerary for the meetings. No structured plan for the four-day trip. That was something I’d need to raise with the odious man himself when I saw him.
I fired Allison an email back, thanking her for the details—but it didn’t stop the low hum of impending doom. The whole thing felt off.
Still, I tucked it all to the back of my mind and started making a list of what I’d need to pack.
Whether I liked it or not, I was going to France.
?? ?? ??
Friday came too quickly, but I managed to get some more information from Allison.
Tonight was an introduction dinner. Saturday morning was the presentation. Sunday and Monday, however, were blank—time carved out in case anything went wrong.
I glanced at my suitcase. I’d packed a mixture of outfits to suit the occasion: casual, professional, and elegant. I was hoping for at least one free day to explore the city.
Movement caught my eye.
A long, sleek black car pulled up.
I grabbed my suitcase and keys and rushed to the lift.
By the time I reached the front door, Garrett was already waiting. Mr Dubois had sent his driver instead of the usual service we used.
Just as I unlocked the door, Garrett pulled it open for me and took the case from my hand.
“Good to see you again, Ms Hart,” he said with a wry smile.
“Hi, Garrett. I see you’re still surviving. You’ll have to tell me your secret one day.”
“I know when to speak,” he said with a wink, already turning toward the car.
He wasn’t wrong. Mr Dubois had little time for fluff. He was all business—and the rest was just noise to him.
While he put my suitcase away, I opened the car door.
My jaw dropped.
Laurent Dubois sat in the back seat, his eyes glued to his phone. He glanced up to pin me with those dark brown eyes.
“Lucia,” he purred.
No one had ever said my name like that—ever.
He’d always called me Ms Hart.
I’d only been working with Monica for three weeks. I couldn’t help but wonder what had changed his attitude.
“Are you joining me?” he asked, patting the cream leather beside him.
Garrett stood behind me, waiting.
Work, Lucia. This was work.
“Yes, Mr Dubois,” I replied, stepping in and taking a seat.
“Please, call me Laurent.”
I began to choke and cough. My eyes watered, and I met Garrett’s in the rearview mirror. They were creased in amusement.
Mr Dubois thrust something into my hand.
It was a bottle of water.
I stared at it, wondering if water could cure hallucinations.