9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Elsa
I f you asked anyone I knew, they'd tell you that I was even-tempered, calm, happy, cheerful, and full of sunshine. They'd tell you I rarely got angry.
This was one of those rare times.
"He's not traveling; he's staying at his suite at the Ritz," Madame Lefèvre informed me smugly when I asked her how long Duncan was gone for when he usually traveled on business.
That's all I needed to hear to start packing my bags. I called Thierry, and he said he'd bring his car over to drive me home. This time, he didn't ask me to try to make it work. Duncan was gone for a week, and he was staying at his suite, where he fucked escorts.
I was done. And , I was angry.
"That didn't last long," Madame Lefèvre declared when she saw me with my bags.
"What is your problem with me?"
She quirked an insolent eyebrow. "I don't want to deal with the likes of you. The criminal class has no place as an Archer. If Mrs. Archer found out, she'd kick you out so fast, girl, it would make your head spin."
"Criminal class? Me?" I laughed. "Lady, you're out of your mind."
I was about to storm out when a man walked into the living room where Madame Lefèvre and I were having our unpleasant conversation. The man looked familiar. He was in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He had the same body build as Duncan, but this man didn't work out as much as my adulterous husband did. His hair was messy. His face was younger.
I decided he was Duncan's brother, the younger one. When I had done a Google search after discovering who my baby daddy was, I saw pictures of the middle brother who lived in San Francisco, but not this one's. Even on the Archer company website, his photo wasn't there.
He held out a hand. "Dean Archer."
I shook it politely. "Elsa Sainte-Croix." I hadn't officially changed my last name to Archer, though that was the plan. Now, I was glad I hadn't wasted my time. One week of marriage and my husband couldn't keep it in his pants. This relationship was not going to work. My father could shoot the son of a bitch for all I cared.
"Madame Lefèvre," he murmured, and it was obvious he didn't like Mrs. Danvers. That warmed my heart.
" Monsieur Archer, so nice to—"
"Did I just hear you tell Duncan's wife that Mom would kick her out of his apartment?"
She gasped.
"Did I, Madame Lefèvre, hear you insult my sister-in-law?"
I took a step back, entertained even if I was still mad.
Duncan behaved like Madame Lefèvre didn't exist. He just went about his business. And she behaved like she ran this place and was somehow superior to me.
"Well, she is a criminal's daughter, and she trapped—"
"You're fired," Dean said softly.
" Monsieur ," she cried out. "Your mother will—"
"Agree with me," Dean finished for her. "Please leave. Mom said we'll give you six months' pay and references if you need it."
"Mrs. Archer would never do that," Madame Lefèvre said confidently.
Dean shrugged. "You have her number; you can call her. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have a conversation with my new sister-in-law."
Madame Lefèvre huffed and went in the direction of what I assumed were her quarters, though those rooms had not been part of the tour I'd been given.
I eyed Dean speculatively. "Did you just fire her?"
"Yeah," he grinned widely, "Man, I've been wanting to get rid of Madame Tight Arse for years." He held up a hand and began to text furiously. He finished and then smiled at me. "Needed to let my mother know the 411." He then looked at my bags. "What's going on?"
My phone rang just then, and I took the call because it was Thierry. "I'll come down. No, I can bring it all down. Just wait for me."
"You're leaving."
"Good guess," I muttered sarcastically and then stopped, "You came to the boulangerie yesterday."
"Yeah, I loved the cinnamon snails and the slice of Opéra cake I had was…" He made a chef's kiss gesture.
"I baked the cake because I lost a bet," I grumbled. Food had not gotten me into Duncan's heart. And since I didn't give him a blow job, we'd never know if that would have worked.
"What kind of a bet?" he asked curiously.
My phone beeped. "I have to go. A friend of mine is waiting downstairs."
Dean came to me and picked up one of my bags. "I'll help you."
As we took the elevator downstairs, he asked me, "Does my brother know you're leaving?"
"Your brother hasn't been home in a week. He's been at his suite at the Ritz, probably nailing every hooker he can hire. He doesn't deserve to know."
"He is at the Ritz. He is, however, not nailing hookers." Dean leaned against a wall of the elevator. "Duncan is an asshole, no doubt about it. But he won't cheat on his wedding vows."
"It's not a real marriage."
"I think it is. More importantly, he thinks it is."
"My father made him marry me," I blurted out.
Thierry was waiting in the lobby when I stepped out. He looked at Dean suspiciously. I introduced them, and they shook hands but seemed wary of one another.
"Thierry Lisange," Dean mused as we walked to Thierry's blue Peugeot 3008.
I stopped. "How do you know Thierry's last name?"
Thierry started to stuff my things in the trunk of his car.
"I read it in a file a private investigator put together. You have a criminal record." His tone was casual, as if he was commenting on something trivial like the color of Thierry's eyes.
"Stop." I raised my hand before Thierry could speak. "You don't get to throw that in his face, not in front of me. You know nothing about my friend."
"I know that your father hired him to keep an eye on you," Dean challenged.
Thierry's jaw tightened, and I saw the panic in his eyes. I smiled. "Yeah, I know."
My friend stared at me.
"Of course I know." I waved a hand in dismissal. "But he stopped paying you years ago. You stayed because we're friends."
"How do you know this?" Thierry opened the passenger side door.
"Papa told me. He didn't like it that we became friends. Mentioned you killed someone."
Dean looked at me in confusion.
"I didn't kill anyone," Thierry remarked.
"I know. Angelique's client confirmed," I looked at Dean, "Angelique, my friend is an escort, and one of her clients is a policeman. He checked it out and told me." I turned back to Thierry. "And even if you killed someone, I wouldn't care. I'm certain you probably had a good reason."
Thierry glared at Dean. "You need to stay the fuck away from Els. Got it, man?"
"No. She's my sister-in-law. I'm not staying the fuck away. Actually, can I drive with you?"
Both Thierry and I gaped at Dean.
"You have some big brass ones," Thierry commented, and I could see his reluctant appreciation.
"They're also hairy," Dean deadpanned. "Duncan said you're an awesome cook."
"And now you want me to cook dinner for you?" I demanded in disbelief. Yeah, this man did have big brass hairy balls.
He gave me a cheeky smile. "Or we could go out for dinner. I know some really good places in the Marais."
"You're going to teach me about my neighborhood?" I cocked an eyebrow at him, liking him despite myself. He had the same arrogance that Duncan had, but there was something boyish about Dean. He was more approachable and less serious.
He raised both hands, palms out.
Someone honked at us for blocking part of the road, and I sighed, "Fine, you can enjoy Paris traffic with us."