39. Shannon
CHAPTER 39
SHANNON
The reply from Francois arrives at five in the morning, and when my phone vibrates, I sit straight up in bed, heart pounding.
The email is short and to the point.
From: Francois Dumas
To: Shannon Barker
Subject: RE: I’m in NYC for a few days and I’d love to catch up
My beautiful Shannon, of course I have time for you. Would you like to come to a dinner with me tomorrow at the New Museum? Or were you thinking something more private?
F
I’m taken back a decade to when I met Francois for the first time. I was twenty-one. He was in his late forties, and sounded like a prince. He wasn’t in New York very often the first year we knew each other, but the year after that, his time in the city increased and he bought an apartment.
I’ve never seen the inside of it, though. We always met here. A decade ago, I didn’t wonder why that was. He’s not married, or if he is, it’s not public knowledge. I don’t think he has any children.
But it may have simply been to prevent attachments—either on his part or mine.
Francois is a deeply emotional lover. It would be easy to think he loves you.
At five in the morning, though, I know he’s a workaholic who can go eight years without talking to a girl, and then slot her in with ease.
Something more private.
My stomach turns.
I hit reply and fire off a quick acceptance of dinner the following night. I need the probably false hope that what I’ve come here to do can be accomplished outside of this hotel suite. At the very least, I need a day to prepare myself. And I need a new outfit.
I need an Olivia Nash dress.
“Shannon!”
“Livy!”
She’s waiting for me at a cafe just down the block from her East Village boutique.
“I can’t believe you’re awake,” I say, squishing my designer friend in a tight hug.
She laughs and returns the embrace. “Do they hug harder in Canada? This is a good one.”
I exhale happily and let her go. “Yeah. They do hug harder. Well, the friends I’ve made there do, anyway. But it’s so good to see you.”
“At seven in the morning, too.” She waves her hand at me. “What’s up with this? Why are we up?”
“It’s a long story for another time,” I say. “Have you ordered coffee?”
“Yep. I took a guess and if you don’t like what I’ve asked for, I’ll drink both of them.”
“I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”
It’s a hazelnut oat milk latte, and it is perfect. I savour the first couple of sips, then put it down. “How about you? You didn’t say why you were up when I texted you.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s kind of dorky.”
“I’m sure it’s not.”
“My dad has been tapped to be the next Ambassador to France.”
“Wow.” I blink hard. “Wow!”
“I know. It’s sort of extra. And there’s a friendship dinner tomorrow with the UN Ambassador and some business leaders that I’m going to with my parents. So I’ve been watching French TV in all my spare time to get caught up on the latest world events from their perspective.”
Of all the dinners in Manhattan tomorrow, what are the fucking chances?
“At the New Museum?” I ask faintly.
She laughs, surprised. “How did you know?”
“I, um, have also been invited. As a plus one of an old friend. That’s why I need a new dress. I didn’t bring anything appropriate.”
Livy claps her hands. “I can totally help with that.”
I’m grateful she doesn’t ask any more details, and then the waitress comes around to take our breakfast orders, which gives me a chance to think about how I’m going to navigate the dinner with Francois and Livy both knowing me.
Livy reminds me a lot of Becca Kincaid in her youthful exuberance. She’s an earnest, eager young designer who dressed me for a charity fashion show three years ago, while she was a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology. We’ve kept in touch since, but our friendship is ninety percent clothing oriented. Based on the fact that she immediately started a boutique with a friend after graduating was a clue that she came from money, but I didn’t know she had family who became ambassadors.
I smile at her over my latte. “And how is the French news familiarization exercise going?”
“I have enough to work with. Most people just want a small prompt and then they will fill the conversation with their own opinions if you let them.” She winks. “I’m very good at letting them.”
“A girl after my own heart.” I take a deep breath. “Speaking of opinions and letting people talk, do you know Francois Michel Dumas?”
If she says that he’s her godfather, I’m calling quits on this whole thing and heading back to Canada to live out a year-long separation in purgatory.
But she shakes her head. “I know the name, thanks to the news. Sports?”
“Among other things. That’s who I came to see. I asked for a meeting and he offered dinner, which turns out to be…your dinner.”
“Is this about hockey?”
It’s about so many things. Sex, jealousy, money, power. Fame. Legacies. “Yeah. It’s about hockey.”
“Cool.” She flicks her gaze up to my hair, then down my body through the cafe table. “I have a pink and white and rose gold gown that would look stunning on you.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Amazing. I can’t wait to try it on.”