“See?” Amy pointed to the hours etched in gold on the glass of the door. “Open at eleven.”
“They will open for me.” Emile rapped on the glass.
It was Carlo who opened the door a crack. Emile had hoped for one of the girls. Not that it would matter in the end. It would just go faster with someone he’d put in plenty of flirt time with.
“Mr. Giroux,” Carlo said. “We open at eleven.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.” He stepped inside and pulled Amy along with him. “Yet we are inside.” He gave Carlo a smile, but he did not bother to bite his bottom lip. “See?” He swept his arm in an arc to indicate their surroundings.
Carlo looked around wild-eyed.
“Do not worry, Carlo. We will find our way to our seats. Please bring us bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, and some of that ciabatta that you use for the jerk chicken sandwich, toasted. Orange juice. And a pot of tea for the lady.”
Carlo opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “Mr. Giroux, we don’t serve breakfast.”
Emile put a hand on his shoulder. “Carlo, my friend. Think outside the box. You have bacon cheeseburgers, so there is bacon. Same for cheese. Every kitchen has eggs. We’ve already talked about the bread.”
“It’s all right, Carlo.” Oh, good. It was Teresa, one of the managers—older than the wait staff and very sensible. “Go tell Griff to make the food.” She turned to Emile. “If it’s not the French Kiss out and about bright and early. So, you are having an egg emergency today?”
“No so much an egg emergency as a tea emergency. The eggs are extra.”
Teresa nodded. “I’ll just check and make sure Carlo remembered everything.” She looked over her shoulders. “And let me warn you. We don’t have a teapot. We only make iced tea, but we’ll do the best we can.”
Emile escorted Amy to his regular booth—against the wall but in the middle. He liked to sit directly under his framed autographed sweater that was surrounded by framed pictures of him in action.
Amy didn’t even glance at his wall.
“Do you always get what you want?” she asked.
“Non. Not even today. I wanted an omelette with wild mushrooms and brie, but I thought that might be too much to ask.”
“But insisting on eating in a restaurant that isn’t open isn’t? Do you do this often?”
“Never before.” But never before had he wanted to please someone so much—and that was a scary thought. In the past, he’d just concentrated on pleasing someone if he’d happened upon them. He’d never gone out of his way to create a situation. At first, she had been an inconvenience. Beautiful, but an inconvenience. Then something had happened as he watched her in the bank this morning. She’d been so sure things would work out the way she wanted, because it was the right thing. But when it hadn’t gone that way, she’d bravely accepted it and shook hands with the bank president and thanked him. She had blamed no one except herself. Quiet grace was the phrase that came to mind. “This is my first time to break in to a restaurant.”
Amy fiddled with the silverware roll. “I guess pity will make a person do strange things.”
The comment took him aback.
“Pity? You think I pity you? Absurdité. Why would I pity you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Non. No.” He translated just in case she hadn’t understood and shook his head for good measure. “You are very beautiful. You are obviously smart and talented. You ran a business and made a lot of money once. You can do it again, if you like.”
“Maybe. In five years. Well, more like four now. And there are those who might debate whether I’m smart.”
“But those people are not here. If they were, I would make them leave.” This time when he smiled, he did bite his bottom lip. She didn’t seem to notice. “As for the four years, you have your whole life. How old are you? I would say not even thirty.”
She grimaced. “Twenty-seven. And that’s what Cameron said—that I have the rest of my life.”
“Even a clock is right twice a day.”
She smiled a little. “That’s a broken clock.”
“Yes. That. As time moves on, you will learn more skills and get better and better. I am the one to be pitied. The average goalie retires at age twenty-eight. I am thirty—already living on borrowed time.”
“But some do play longer. Cameron told me that once.”
“The second time the broken clock is right. Oui. Some do. Many do. They say my teammate Thor is closer to forty than thirty-five. He’s been lucky. If I am lucky, if I stay healthy, if some eighteen-year-old wonder infant doesn’t come swinging in on a trapeze, I figure I have five more years.”
She nodded. “What would you do then?”
“Maybe finish college. Maybe become a chef.”
“Can you cook?” she asked.
“Not yet.” This time she seemed to notice when he bit his bottom lip. He could tell because she touched her own bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. Such a simple little gesture inspired a not so simple response in his groin. He wondered if he could make her do it again.
“Would you go back to France?”
“Back? Non. Not back. I might go to France for the first time.”
She widened those purple eyes. “You aren’t French? I don’t understand.”
“Oui. I am, but not the same as from France. I am Québécois.”
“Would you go back?”
“To Québec? No. Too cold. I knew nothing but the coldest of winters until the NHL. I played my junior hockey in North Dakota. I played at the University of North Dakota for only one season before I decided it was not for me and signed with the Blues. St. Louis. Not so cold as the places I lived before, but cold. Then I came to the Sound. Best weather yet. My sister is nearby, baking her little things. I don’t want to leave here, but I might.”
“Oh?”
“There are rumors that the Sound could be sold to someone who wants to move us to Massachusetts.” He sighed. “If they move my net to Bruin country, I must go tend it.”
She looked surprised. “Cameron has a Sound client. He must have known this, but he never mentioned it.”
“Cameron did not mention many things.” Amy looked like she’d been slapped, and Emile regretted the remark. “I’m sorry. I should have not said that. We were having a nice conversation, even if it was about me.”
“No.” She busied herself with unwrapping her flatware and laying out her utensils. “It’s true. I suppose he was too busy plotting how to get away from me.” Amy arranged her napkin in her lap. “Why do you suppose he did it?”
Emile spoke before he thought. “I can’t imagine. If you were mine, I wouldn’t want to get away from you.”
Surprise shot through him—not because he’d uttered the words. He said things like that to women all the time in the name of flirting. Non. The surprise came because he meant it. People always said that Emile fell hard and fast, because he gave the full court press to women when he thought they might be a possibility—like Abby and Hélène-Louise. But the truth was, he’d never fallen at all. He’d only wanted to. He wouldn’t know how to behave if he really did.
He might have been disappointed when Abby ended up with Rafe Beauford and Hélène-Louise with Bennett Watkins, but he never exactly missed the women. He certainly never longed for them. He missed the hunt, the possibility, but not Abby and Hélène-Louise themselves. But he couldn’t see how Cameron Snow could keep from missing Amy. Any man would.
He probably shouldn’t have said that to her, but he reiterated it nonetheless. “No man in his right mind would want to get away from you.”
Amy smiled, and her eyes darkened from deep purple to inky purple. “That’s a sweet thing to say to a down-on-her-luck woman you’ve known twenty-four hours.”
Good. She hadn’t believed him. That was for the best. It was also for the best that, just then, Teresa and Carlo showed up with their food, because Emile didn’t have to answer.
“Perfect,” Amy said, though even Emile knew that wasn’t how you went about making hot tea. He wondered if Amy always said things were perfect to make people happy. He had a lot to learn about her. Amy poured tea into her mug and added a slice of lemon, but she didn’t drink. Instead, she wrapped her hands around the mug and met his eyes. “You evaded my question. You must have some idea why he did it.”
That again. “Which part?”
“All of it. Left me without a word. Took my money.”
“I’d say one was because of the other. He left you without a word to get your money.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense for a couple of reasons. First, he makes plenty of money. He has a long client list, including Reynolds Fallon from the San Francisco 49ers, Saxon Creed from the New England Patriots, and Patrick Jackson from the Atlanta Falcons. Those are his big names.”
They were big names to be sure, and based on the percentage that Emile paid Miles, that alone should have Snow sitting pretty.
“My agent only has hockey players. Unusual that Cameron would have hockey and football players.”
Amy nodded. “Unusual but not unheard of.”
“True enough.”
“Besides he had a reason. He’d like to start an agency eventually. He wants connections with as many sports as he can get.”
“Then there’s your answer,” Emile said. “He wanted your money to start this agency.”
She shook her head. “Again, it makes no sense. I offered him the money to do just that. He said he wasn’t ready yet—that he needed a basketball player and a baseball player at least before setting up shop and hiring other agents.” She took a sip of her tea and didn’t even grimace. Either she liked it or she was very dedicated to being a good girl who never expressed dislike or caused trouble. “Besides,” she went on, “he could have just taken the money and stayed here. He’s proven he can do it, and I’ve proven that I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Did he ever talk about where he wanted this agency to be?”
She picked up her fork and set it down again. “Yes. He liked Nashville. Not too big, not too small. Pro hockey and football. Minor league baseball. Convenient airport. At least that’s what he said.”
“And there’s the weather.”
She nodded and took a bite of her eggs. “He must have wanted away from me really bad. I wonder if he knows I would have left peacefully.”
But not without your money. Emile had enough sense not to voice that. He ate a piece of bacon and kept quiet.
“But I wouldn’t have gone without my money.” Now, that was uncanny. She sipped her tea again. “I still don’t get why he wanted it so much.”
“I doubt he had accumulated as much as you had. That job doesn’t come without expenses. And for some people, no matter what they have, it isn’t enough.”
“Do you think he planned it from the start?”
“The start of what?”
“From the time we were dating. Not that I had it then. I was doing well, but we were dating before I had the offer. It’s true he encouraged me to sell, but he couldn’t have known that was going to happen.”
Emile shook her head. “I don’t know, Amy. But I do think you need to find out if you have any recourse.”
“I’ll get right on that.” For the first time he heard bitterness in her voice. “I’ll write a big, high-powered lawyer a huge retainer check so he can tell me what we both know: I put the power in Cameron’s hands. I wasn’t crazy, coerced, or tricked. I made what was mine his, basically because I was lazy and thought we were going to get married and have babies. That’s what I wanted—for what was mine to be his, ours. To share everything like my parents do, like my grandparents do.”
She picked up her teacup, gave it a look of disdain, and slammed it down again. Good for her. She wasn’t going to drink bad tea to prove what a good girl she was.
“And do you know what I don’t get? What I really don’t get?” The anger in her voice made the hair on the back of Emile’s neck stand on end—and it wasn’t even directed at him. “Do you?”
He nodded. “I think so?” Was that the right answer? Maybe not. “Non. Why don’t you tell me?”
“My panties! Why did he take my panties? Who would want my used panties?”
Emile had heard of vending machines in other countries where used underwear was sold, but he did not think he wanted to share that with Amy.
“And my bullet journals. There’s nothing secret in them, but nothing interesting either to anyone except me—recipes, movies I want to see, gift ideas for my family. He took my bullet journals!”
As far as Emile knew, there were no such vending machines for these bullet journals. But what did he know? He’d never heard of the things two days ago.
“Wrapping paper, ribbons, my three-hole punch, and label maker. My chain-smoking great-aunt’s crystal ashtray that I used for my loose change.” She looked at her plate and continued to intone her lost belongings like she was casting some kind of department store catalog spell. “Stickers, rubber stamps, Outlander DVDs, high school yearbooks, the ugly bridesmaid dress from Lulu’s wedding, toiletries. And my retainer!”
Amy looked up and met Emile’s eyes. “For what possible reason in the name of the archangel Michael would he want my retainer?”
He wondered if he kissed her if she would calm down. Probably not.
She had paused, so maybe she even wanted an answer. “I don’t know, Amy. But we can find out. We can also find out if you have any legal recourse. I’ve got a guy.”
She went blank. “A guy? You’ve got a guy? Where do you keep him?”
“My agent. He’s a lawyer, too. He will find out. I believe he is in Montreal, but I will call him. He will fly in. Miles can confer with you and look into this.” He picked up his phone and began to scroll.
“No!” She placed her hand on his arm, and a little shiver went through him. No matter that she only touched him to get his attention and stop him from calling Miles. “I absolutely do not want to confer with a lawyer. I want to forget it and let it go. I didn’t have sense enough to protect myself, but I’ve got sense enough to know when there is no recourse.” The fire went out of her face, and then she just looked defeated. “I’ll figure something out.”
He’d already gone to the bank when she hadn’t wanted him to, so he wasn’t going to push the issue with this new, mad-one-second-and-defeated-the-next Amy.
“As you wish, chérie.” Her hand was still on his arm. “You may stay with me a while longer—until you figure something out, as you say.”
She removed her hand. “I can’t do that. You’ve already done too much for someone you don’t even know.”
That might be for the best. “So, what then? Are you ready to go to your family?” She’d just spoken of parents and grandparents who shared everything. It sounded like a nice place to be.
But she physically shuddered.
“I understand,” Emile said. “But what will you do? Because if you don’t want to stay with me, where you are most welcome, or go to your family, where you would also be most welcome, I don’t know what else. Maybe a homeless shelter.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but her head snapped up and he could see the wheels turning. She was actually considering this! She looked hopeful.
“I could do that. Yes. They will let me stay there until I get on my feet—which I will do, because I’ll get a job.”
“A job? You said you could not do this organizing work for five years.”
“Four, now,” she corrected him. “I can’t work as an organizer, but I can do something else. My parents were right. No one should sit around idle. I need to work at something. And that’s what I’ll do.”
He put up his hands. “I cannot allow you to go to a homeless shelter. I was joking.”
“
Allow me?” Purple lightning shot from her eyes.
“Oh, now you get all up in the air about someone telling you what to do. You didn’t have any trouble turning your life over to Cameron Snow.” Emile slammed his fork down.
“You are not Cameron.”
“Damn right I’m not. I am no thief and I’m trying to help you.”
That stopped her cold. She looked at him without blinking as she sat silently. He didn’t know if that was good or bad, but when she spoke again, her voice was low and tired. “Emile, I’ve explained it to you. If there is any other option at all, I cannot call my family and ask for a plane ticket. I cannot tell them I don’t have so much as a change of underwear or a toothbrush.”
“You have a toothbrush. I gave you one last night.”
“But it isn’t really mine.”
“Do you think I want it back?” Though the thought of exploring her mouth was appealing, he had no desire to share toothbrushes. “I gave you another option. And you did not explain why you couldn’t do that.”
“Stay with you? Unacceptable. I’ve never freeloaded off anyone in my life. Even at the homeless shelter, I’m sure everyone pitches in to keep the place clean and make the meals.”
Emile opened his mouth to tell her she had to go to south Georgia. Any idiot could see that that was for the best. But that wasn’t what came out of his mouth.
“What if you stayed with me and ‘pitched in,’ as you say?”
“And do what? Be on the lookout for new Pottery Barn products?”
“Sure.” He was pleased and impressed that she recognized his décor style. “I have my groceries delivered. The Star View staff arranges for my errands—dry cleaning, having my car washed, having the house cleaned. All that costs. I could pay the same to you. Not that I would expect you to clean or wash my car. Just oversee that it’s done.” He tried hard to think of something else. If he had a dog, she could walk it. Maybe he could get a dog. “I am not good at packing for road trips. I always forget something, and my clothes are always wrinkled. I bet you are good at packing.”
“Actually, I’m very good at it.” He was amazed at the joy that went through him when he realized she was actually considering this. Might as well face it—for whatever reason, he wanted her to stay.
Face Off: Emile (Nashville Sound Book 1) Page 7