Chapter 4
An Irresistible Deal
Practically shoving Bastien into her room, Celine shut the door and turned the key to lock it.
He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, and she was certain she wouldn’t come out victorious without begging him for secrecy.
But she had to find a way to make him stay quiet, other than taking a needle and sewing his lips shut.
Moving away from the door, Celine smoothed down her hair.
“I am flattered, baby vamp, really,” he said, placing down a porcelain ballerina he had taken from her shelf.
“But don’t you think it’s in bad taste to lock yourself in a bedroom with another man when your boyfriend is right outside?
I must say, it exceeds even my…” he tilted his head upwards, pretending forgetfulness. “What is it you like to call them?”
“Depraved tastes,” Celine reminded him flatly.
“Ah, yes, my depraved tastes. Then again, forbidden romances do pique my interest. Very well,” he began to loosen his tie, “if my brother cannot satisfy you—”
Celine slapped his hand down before the embroidered fabric could slide off. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Isn’t this why you locked the door?”
“Wha—” Celine wheezed. Incredulity felt hot in her veins. “Mon Dieu, you—you vile, degraded, sinful—”
“Sinful,” he echoed. “I do like that one.”
“To assume I would even want to—Agh!” She threw up her hands. “Sit down and don’t you dare move a limb until I’m done talking.”
The smirk on Bastien’s lips widened as he complied and situated himself on the edge of her bed, too comfortably for Celine’s liking.
“Bossy,” he murmured. “I can work with that. Proceed.”
Celine didn’t return his jibe. The sooner she got this over with, the faster they could return downstairs and ward off any suspicions. “You cannot tell anyone you saw me at Folies-Bergère.”
Bastien quirked a keen brow. “Why? It is not as though you’ve never been to a cabaret before.”
She didn’t want to give him all the details, but she feared Bastien wouldn’t cooperate if she requested his secrecy with a simple please. He wanted entertainment and gossip, anything lewd or scandalous that would make enough of a bargain to keep his mouth shut.
“It’s not about where I was, rather what I was doing.” Grabbing a book from her bedside table, Celine opened the volume in half and produced the announcement paper for the contest. “Remember this?”
Bastien’s eyes moved back and forth on the text. “Ah, oui. The famous competition.”
“Only you and Ana?s know about it, but if my mother finds out she won’t so much as let me step foot outside the door. She has no qualms about tying me to a chair to prevent me from spending ten weeks in the company of flappers and fashion designers.”
“I’m guessing you don’t want Jacques to know either, otherwise he would have been up here with us.”
“How perceptive of you,” she said drily. But Celine could also see he was intrigued now. Good. “I will tell Jacques on my own time. You, on the other hand—”
“Me?” Bastien clicked his tongue. “See, there’s a flaw to your logic, darling. Ana?s is the blabbermouth here, not me. And lucky for you, neither is Jacques. On occasion. So you might want to reconsider this whole dragooning me into secrecy thing, and take my sister up here instead.”
“Then you agree to keep quiet.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But—” Her confidence deflated. Anxiously, Celine began tapping her foot, her heel dipping into the plush carpet that lined the floor. “Why can’t you just keep this one secret for me?”
“Because it makes life dull.”
Sometime during their exchange, Bastien had reclined back completely and was now hugging one of her throw pillows.
Celine had a mind to pluck it from his hands and smack some sense into him.
But she abstained, lest it give him one more reason to blab.
She began fidgeting with the string of beads that hung from her neck.
“Do you always sprawl yourself on young ladies’ beds like this?”
“On occasion,” Bastien replied flippantly. “But this is a first. Usually they're sprawled beside me with a little less clothing than you have on right now.” He gave the mattress a soft pat. “Care to have this conversation from that point of view?”
Celine’s whole body convulsed. “Ew. Never.”
Bastien shrugged. “By the by,” he drawled, already moving on to another topic. “It says here on your slip that you need a model. Is the one you have chosen by any chance pretty? If you give me her name, perhaps it will compel me to forget I ever saw your lovely face at Folies-Bergère.”
Celine froze.
The model! She had completely forgotten to look for one.
Her fingers came automatically to her lips and she started chewing on her nails.
If she were to receive the letter by tonight, there was a good chance she might need a model for tomorrow.
A dry, ironic laugh almost escaped her lips.
As if she had a hefty list of people she could call at random on a Sunday night.
And where would she even find a model who wouldn’t tell anyone about it.
Then she’d have to contend with two people...
instead of just Bastien…who needed to keep her secret…
Celine’s eyes lit up.
“You!” she exclaimed, standing before him and splaying her arms wide.
Bastien’s brows shot up. “Me?”
“Yes! It’s perfect!”
She was already close to begging him to keep his mouth shut.
And recalling what Jacques had disclosed about Bastien’s foul mood tonight, Celine could make sure he not only kept their encounter at Folies-Bergère a secret, but also agreed and became her model without much persuasion. It was a win-win-win!
“You’ve lost me,” Bastien said.
“You will be my model,” she clarified. “ And you are depraved enough not to care if you are seen in a dress.”
“You want me to wear a dress?”
“Yes. And, if anything,” Celine sat next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer and flaunted her other hand in front of them as though to paint a vision, “it will be revolutionary. You will start a new trend. You enjoy that sort of thing, do you not?”
Bastien took his sweet time processing a reply.
“True,” he drawled eventually. “But why do you want ownership of Maison Baudelaire? You can just as easily open your own House. There are more young ladies following what you wear than there are customers in boutiques. You would have buyers in no time.”
Oh, the idea had occurred to Celine too—to use her status as Glamour Girl and attract clientele. But she had no funds of her own to rent a place big enough to be divided into a studio and a boutique, and the thought alone would prostrate her mother on the spot.
“My parents would never allow me to use my trust fund for that,” she said, and it was enough for Bastien to purse his lips and nod in understanding.
It irritated her that women had no say when it came to money, save for blowing it on dresses and parties.
Sure, her mother had no qualms about her chipping away at the family wealth and having yet another pair of shoes delivered to the house, but when she asked to sew the dresses herself it was the most serious offence.
Not to mention, with the losses her father’s company was suffering, Celine couldn’t ask for such a favour.
“An established place like Maison Baudelaire is my only option,” she muttered. “Plus, it would be a dream to be taught by Claude Baudelaire himself. You can tell by his designs that that man adores women.” She gave Bastien a quick once-over. “Not that you would understand.”
“Oh,” he said, “I worship women.” Then turned his head to the side, his nose barely a breath away from hers. “But you forget one thing, baby vamp. You are not in yet. And I won’t agree to becoming your mannequin without making sure—”
A knock on the door stopped him from uttering another word. Celine went to unlock it, cracking the door just a sliver to see who it was. Francine entered promptly without invitation, as she always did. Once her gaze landed on Bastien, sprawled on the bed, she hovered awkwardly by the threshold.
“I’m fixing his hair,” Celine said, sticking to the same excuse she had told Jacques. The simpler the lie, the smaller the chances of getting caught.
Francine eyed the visible distance between them, as well as the absence of hairbrushes, but decided on keeping her lips sealed.
“Sure you are,” Francine said, extending an envelope towards her. “But you might want to pause for a moment and read this.”
The letter.
“I hope it is the answer you wished for, Mademoiselle.” Francine nodded at the door. “I’m needed downstairs, but tell me later.”
Celine’s heart jumped to her throat. Fingers trembling, she made to rip into the envelope, then handed it to Bastien. “You read it. I can’t.”
“Alright.” He flipped it open. “Dear Mademoiselle LeBeau, I hope you blah, blah, blah…I have found your design truly inspiring.”
“Ah!” Celine let out a squeal of excitement, interrupting him. “Go on.”
Bastien rolled his eyes. “It was one of the few who felt like a breath of fresh air. I hope to see you and your model on Monday, at Maison Baudelaire, where you will be introduced with your first challenge. Do not be late. Claude Baudelaire.” He placed the letter down. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Celine said, lifting her chin up.
“Don’t get cocky now.” Tentatively, he brought himself to his feet, towering over her.
“You’re in. But are you so certain I won’t blurt out anything?
” he taunted. “Don’t get me wrong, I am perfectly fine with wearing a dress.
Throw in a corset and some stockings while you’re at it. But I don’t do something for nothing.”
Celine met his gaze, unflinching. “You will hold your tongue, if you wish to win that money you owe your grandfather.”
Bastien’s smile dropped. “Come again?”