International Guy: Paris (International Guy Series Book 1)

by Audrey Carlan

  Life definitely has a way of balancing things out.

  Royce claps his hands and rubs them together. “We ready to get down to biz-ness?” He grins. “I’m ready to get my hands filthy dirty in your finances and executive holdings.”

  “We have the limo waiting. Is Bo going to join us?” Sophie asks.

  Royce grabs Sophie’s arm and places her hand in the crook of his elbow. “No, sweet thang; money is my gig. Bo wouldn’t know what to do with his own capital if I didn’t manage it for him. Besides, he’s got company this morning.” He grins and waggles his eyebrows at me.

  What Royce really means is that Bo likes to sleep in, and if he has company of the female variety, he won’t roll out of his room until well after lunchtime.

  “Park and I will handle the business aspect of things,” Royce confirms. “Bo will be back . . .”

  “Tomorrow for your hair and makeup lessons,” I add, filling in the plan.

  “I cannot wait.” Sophie beams.

  Roy pats her hand. “That’s the right attitude.”

  “Sophie, look at this.” Royce sets a folder full of spreadsheets, graphs, and numbers on the desk in front of her. I yawn and settle back into the couch, responding to my email while keeping an ear tuned to what they’re working on.

  Royce points to a set of numbers. “This is your cost-benefit analysis on the last three new products. You see this one?” Royce taps his finger on the paper in front of her. “It’s not performing as it should.” He grabs another folder. “And here’s the marketing plan for this product. The team is falling short on innovation, planning, and follow-through. Your father set aside a steep budget because this item has the potential to be your next top seller. It’s the perfect product.”

  “Yes, I know. This does not make sense, though. It is a perfume line that crosses generations, ideal for teens, mothers, and grandmothers.”

  Royce nods and adjusts his slim and sleek rimless glasses before handing her a sheet of paper, his eyes looking hard as steel through the lenses. “Check out this concept from one of your interns.”

  “An intern?” She frowns and takes the sheet, scanning the document quickly. “Interns usually hand over their concepts to the team lead. If the lead likes it, the intern gets to work on the plan as part of the official product launch. It is a way to help bring light to the potential of our incoming youth. My father was an advocate for taking advantage of all resources, especially new innovators. Why was this not brought up? The concept is brilliant.” Her lips form into a flat white line.

  Royce nods and crosses his arms. “I checked back, and that same manager has submitted this intern’s work, but changed the name on the top to his own. This one particular intern is responsible for the last two products being successful. Somehow, though, she’s getting zero recognition and has three disciplinary marks against her personnel record from that same supervisor. I think you need to bring her in and have a chat with her. Not only does she seem to have the best ideas out of your entire marketing department combined, but her last two concepts are the reason you’re making a mint on the other two products. For some reason, the last idea was not put into play, and the entire product line is failing.”

  Sophie frowns, picks up the phone receiver, and presses a button. “Stephanie, can you please have Christine Benoit from the marketing department sent up to my office immediately? Merci.”

  I smirk, enjoying that she’s making a very clear effort to speak everything in English for our benefit.

  Roy leans forward. “I think you’re going to end up having to speak with one of your board members too. This particular marketing manager is the son of Louis Girard.”

  Her expression falls into one of disdain. “This board member has given my family nothing but trouble since they invested in our company. My father hired on his son, Enzo, to extend an olive branch and show solidarity. And now it seems it is backfiring in our faces.” She sighs and props her head in her hand, her elbow resting on the desk. I can tell by the glazed, faraway look in her eyes she’s thinking of the best way to get out of this situation.

  Royce flips through more documents and then frowns. “Well, it’s about to get tricky. I pulled Enzo’s personnel file, and he has seven complaints from seven different women for inappropriate sexual advances. He was given only a warning each time by the head of your personnel department. Looks like a Mr. Moreau is protecting the guy. A lot, based on what I’m seeing. What’s your policy on sexual harassment?”

  “Very strict. One warning, one official disciplinary note, and if a third time occurs, they are fired.”

  “And he’s had seven warnings in the past two years. Sophie, this guy is bad news.” He hands her the personnel file he’s reading from.

  “Oui. Très mauvaise nouvelle en effet.”

  I run back through my memory bank of high school French. She said something about bad news.

  “Sounds to me like you know what you’re going to have to do,” I remark.

  Sophie taps at her bottom lip. “It is not so simple as destroying him.”

  I grin. “SoSo, I think you mean terminating him or giving him the ax.”

  “Oui. That.”

  “Why?”

  Royce jumps in. “If this guy has had seven warnings, how many employees are not telling his buddy in human resources about their experience? I’d bet my Breitling watch there is a horde of women in this company who have been on the receiving end of his bad behavior, just not bringing it to light out of fear.”

  She inhales long and slow. “His father is on the board and very vocal. I am going to have to figure out the best way to handle this.”

  I stand up and make it over to stand behind her. I put my hands on her shoulders and massage them until she loosens up and the tightness I see marring her face eases away.

  The buzzer on her phone rings, and her assistant’s voice pipes through.

  “Ms. Benoit is waiting to see you.”

  “Send her in,” Sophie calls out. I head back to the couch. Royce continues pawing through her financials and files as Sophie stands to meet her employee at the door.

  A timid young woman enters. She’s an absolute sprite. Tiny and beautiful. Her hair is in a braid down her back, the ends touching her ass. She’s wearing a nice pair of high-waisted navy slacks and a white cropped blazer. Simple beauty.

  Sophie holds out her hand. “It is lovely to meet you, Ms. Benoit; I am Sophie Rolland.” She addresses her in English, which I appreciate.

  “These are my associates, Mr. Ellis and Mr. Sterling, from an American firm I have hired. They will be sitting in on our discussion.”

  The intern follows her lead, speaking in perfect English and sitting across from her. “Good to meet you all. May I ask what this meeting is about? I must say I was rather surprised to be called into the president’s office.” One of the woman’s legs jitters beneath her where she sits, nerves already taking hold.

  It reminds me of how I once felt being called into the principal’s office back in grammar school. Except I was there for looking up the skirt of one of my classmates. I guess even then I was eager to figure out the difference between boys and girls.

  “Ms. Benoit, I understand that you have been submitting your marketing plans to your team lead, Mr. Girard?”

  Her jaw goes visibly hard, lips tightening at the corners.

  “Yes.”

  “And two of your plans have helped the product line immensely,” Sophie continues, direct and professional.

  “You know those were mine?” Christine’s eyes widen in shock.

  “Thanks to the efforts of my researcher over there.” She raises her hand toward Royce. He winks at the client. Flirt.

  I hold back a grimace. He’s not interested in Sophie. She’s not his type. He likes his women with serious junk in the trunk and far more than a handful up top. Caucasian, African American, Hispanic, Asian, Pacific Islander—the ethnicity doesn’t matter to my man Roy. It’s all about the curves. Kind o
f like the song “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-a-Lot.

  Christine twiddles her fingers, and Sophie clocks the movement. “I also know that the same manager is passing off your work and ideas as his own and has made an inappropriate sexual advance toward you.”

  Her staff member coughs and looks away, a heavy scowl marring her pretty face.

  “You can speak freely with me, Ms. Benoit. I am not my father, and I do not hold steady to the old edict.”

  “Well, you made it sound like it has only been one advance.”

  “Has it not?” Sophie frowns and her eyes narrow.

  Christine straightens her spine and clenches her hands so hard I can see her knuckles turning white. “He has made more advances than I have fingers and toes. At one point, I kneed him in the genitals when he cornered me late after work.”

  Sophie’s entire face pales, and her lips form a nasty snarl. “He has laid his hands on you?”

  Christine nods and looks away.

  “Touched you more than once?”

  Another nod.

  “Where exactly?” Sophie’s words come out calm and collected, but I can tell by her demeanor and the way she’s holding both her hands in fists that she’s anything but relaxed.

  Christine sucks in a breath, glances my way and then in Royce’s direction.

  “Would you feel more comfortable if we left?” I stand up from my seated position on the couch.

  She shakes her head. “No. I am just . . . embarrassed.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re here to help, but we need to know everything in order to make a good case against him. His father is on the board of directors.”

  Christine makes a gagging sound. “I know. That is why I knew he would never get in trouble even though I have told Mr. Moreau every time he made a pass at me and all of the times he has fondled me.”

  “Fondled?” Royce grates through his teeth.

  Oh shit. One thing you do not do where Royce is concerned is touch women in a manner they don’t appreciate. His mother was a domestic abuse survivor, and he does not stand for women being physically hurt or touched without consent.

  “Roy . . . ,” I warn.

  “Christine.” Sophie uses her first name for the first time. Smart. Get on a personal level with the woman. “How did he touch you?”

  The intern swallows and waves a hand over the general vicinity of her chest. “Here. And I have lost count of how many times he has grabbed my derriere. The only time it was really bad was when he cornered me, like I said, but I took care of that by kneeing him in the balls.”

  “And you told these things to Mr. Moreau?”

  “Every time.”

  “Christine.” Sophie stands abruptly, and her employee follows. “Thank you for your time. I appreciate your honesty. My office will follow up with you. Your commitment to this company and your innovative ideas have not gone unnoticed. Within the next two weeks, you will be receiving a formal offer to join our staff. I need to spend a bit more time getting up to speed, all things considered,” Sophie says, referring to her father’s recent passing.

  “Merci, merci, madame. I never dreamed—”

  “Never stop dreaming.” Sophie cuts her off with a smile. “My assistant will be in touch soon to discuss your title, pay, and benefits package.”

  “Thank you. Merci!” Christine stands and leaves the office, a brilliant smile painted across her face.

  “Good work.” I stand next to Sophie, grab her hand, and kiss the tops of her fingers. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Yeah, you sounded to me like the woman in charge,” Royce adds.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” She pats my hand. “I obviously have a lot more work to do.” Her face a mask of fierce determination, she picks up the phone. “Stephanie, get Mr. Moreau in my office in the next thirty minutes. A half hour after that, I want Mr. Girard waiting.”

  I grin. “Rack ’em up!”

  “Knock ’em down!” Royce finishes.

  Sophie places her hands on her hips, looking a lot like a superhero. She’s fired up, and I love every second of seeing her come into her own before our eyes.

  5

  “Mr. Moreau, please take a seat.” Sophie gestures to the couch opposite the chair she’s standing behind.

  If I had to guess, I’d say the older gentleman is in his early fifties. He’s dressed to impress, with his suit, close-cropped, neat hairstyle, rimless spectacles, and a pair of expensive shoes that shine like a newly minted penny.

  The man unbuttons his jacket, sits back on the couch, crosses one leg over his knee, and places a hand on top of it. The puffed-up position of his body language would have one assuming that he were the king of the castle. “To what do I owe the pleasure, ma chérie Sophie?”

  I cringe at the term of endearment. Sophie didn’t mention she was close to the head of personnel, nor did she act as though she were saddened by the news of what they’d discovered. Sophie was downright angry at the news, livid even. I watch as she narrows her eyes and places her hands on the back of the chair across from Moreau. She holds a position of power, standing taller while he sits. Good girl.

  For the last thirty minutes Royce and I had coached her on how to handle the situation when it comes to a high-level employee and her options. The two of us went over how he could respond, what her choices were, and how they could affect her and her company. We also confirmed company policies and discussed the best way to deal with a scumbag like Moreau. Once we were done, she’d firmed her chin, straightened her spine, and told us that she was ready.

  As I watch from my seat on the couch across the room, I can see that she truly is.

  “I am not your darling. You will address me as Ms. Rolland or not at all.”

  The man bristles and sits up. “Please, excuse me if I have overstepped.”

  “You have.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, and I want to cheer her on, but instead stay silent as she gives this guy the what for.

  “Forgive me.” His jaw tightens as if it’s painful for him to say.

  She nods abruptly. “I have brought you here today because it has come to my attention that one of our staff has received not one, not two, but seven different complaints of sexual misconduct.”

  He frowns. “Not possible. He would have been fired after three.”

  Sophie purses her lips and walks over to her desk, where Girard’s file is. She hands it to Moreau.

  A twitch of his lips shows his irritation at being called out. “This is the son of one of our most esteemed board members. I assumed your father, and now you, would want to excuse Mr. Girard due to his standing in this company.”

  Sophie tips her head back and laughs.

  Moreau’s face turns a beet red as he watches Sophie’s response. His mouth twists into an ugly scowl. “You find this funny?”

  Her head snaps down, and a fiery, righteous woman stands before us. “Mr. Girard has seven complaints. Seven.”

  “They were not from the same woman. I took the liberty of accounting for that fact. After each of those warnings, none of those women had a complaint again except Ms. Benoit. He has a wandering eye and a penchant for crassness. Should he be punished for that or taught a lesson?” His manner is droll.

  “You are making excuses for him?” she shoots back.

  Win for Sophie.

  Jesus, this man is a tool. Dirtbags like him give men in powerful positions a bad rap. As a man who runs a company, and a man who loves and respects women, I’d like to take him out to a dark alley and show him what a real man thinks of his morals and philosophies. Teach the scum a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Moreau coughs and stands. “Is it not my job to protect the company from a scandal? I hardly think one offense deserves the backlash that will come from Mr. Girard’s father.”

  Wrong. One harassment charge can bleed a company dry.

  “That is not for you to decide. You, Mr. Moreau, are supposed to do your job!” Sophie’s voice rises,
but she’s not quite yelling. God, she’s amazing.

  “I did do my job.”

  “By giving Mr. Girard tacit permission to ruthlessly harass the females in this company? And one woman in particular, who has given a verbal statement that she was harassed and fondled multiple times. None of which you recorded in Girard’s file.”

  He blusters and walks around the table to where Sophie is standing. Royce steps up next to her, not saying a word, arms crossed over his chest. He looks very imposing. When a six-foot-four, built man is staring you down, and you’re almost a foot shorter—definitely a waif compared to Royce’s buff state—you back off. Quick.

  Moreau paces the other direction, and I relax against the couch but don’t take my eyes off them.

  “Repeatedly you neglected to report cases of sexual harassment,” Sophie continues.

  “If you are referring to the intern, Ms. Benoit, she had it coming. He clarified the entire thing to me. Said she was always flirting and making passes at him, then acting affronted when he responded.”

  Total and utter bullshit. He’s fishing, and it makes my skin crawl to think a man like this is the head of HR.

  “And did you interview her? And watch what you say; I have already spoken with Ms. Benoit,” Sophie continues as my internal disgust for this slug ratchets up a hundred degrees.

  His eyes widen momentarily, then an emotionless mask falls into place.

  “Yes, I did, on multiple occasions. I explained to her that it was all just a misunderstanding. Besides, she does not even work here in an official capacity. Who should we believe? The board member’s son, who has worked here for a few years, or the just-out-of-college, immature intern? I think the answer is obvious.” He waves a hand in the air in a gesture of dismissal. “And your father would too.”

  “Did you bring this situation to my father’s attention when he was alive? It has been going on for two years, based on the timeline of the complaints.”