La Brat

by Ashe Barker

  I will be starting work in about five weeks. I hope it will not be a problem that I am in the next office, but if so I could request a move.

  We will be colleagues, as you say, and neighbors, perhaps. I hope too that we can be friends in time.

  Yours,

  Genie

  She hit send and started to compose her letter of resignation, ready to hand it in to the personnel department of the council in the morning. A few minutes later, the new message icon appeared in the corner of her screen.

  From: Aaron Praed

  To: Eugenie

  Date: 28 April 2013

  Subject: No new office will be required

  Brief and to the point. And exactly what she’d wanted him to say.

  * * * *

  The next few days passed in a blur as Eugenie put in place the arrangements for her relocation to Paris. She had to give notice to her landlord, send emails to countless utilities and official departments, complete endless change of address forms. Her boss declared himself sorry to be losing her, but assured her his reference would be a glowing one. He applauded her decision and the initiative she had shown in landing herself this plum prize. He wished her every success.

  Her other colleagues took much the same attitude, and Eugenie knew she would miss the friends she had made there.

  Most of them. She went online to discontinue her membership of the various kink clubs she had frequented, preferring not to appear in person anywhere on the scene. She was embarrassed, not proud of her behavior over the last couple of years. Sexual promiscuity was not really a concept that meant much in her circles, but even so, she wished she’d been a little more discerning in her choices.

  She owed herself more respect, let alone the Dom’s she’d used in her self-destructive antics.

  But that was done with. Over. She was starting afresh. La Brat was history.

  Chapter Eight

  She was here. She’d arrived. It was real.

  Eugenie sat heavily on the bed in her studio apartment in the staff wing of Totally Five Star Paris and gazed around her. The fitted furniture was modern and sleek. Gleaming whitewood doors fronted the wardrobe and drawers waiting to be filled with her stuff. The place was compact, but perfectly adequate. It was also ridiculously inexpensive for a self-contained flat in the most sought after district in one of the world’s most sophisticated cities. She was not a stone’s throw from the Champs-Élysées, could take a morning stroll through Les Tuileries if she wished, the Eiffel Tower was no more than twenty minutes or so from where she now sat.

  She’d brought a large suitcase with her and arranged for a few other possessions and the rest of her clothes to be sent on. She busied herself putting her things away, opening and shutting drawers, checking the contents of the kitchenette. Although utensils and cookery were provided in the furnished studio, she could see she would need to buy some provisions quickly. She’d ask at reception where the nearest mini market was. She didn’t expect to be doing much cooking as staff could get a discount at any of the hotel restaurants. Eugenie suspected she’d be a regular at the garden bistro. In fact, she wondered if they’d be open now.

  It was Sunday evening. She’d been traveling all day and was tired. She was also hungry, and her stomach won out. She changed into a fresh skirt and blouse, tugged a brush through her hair and set off in search of sustenance. She hoped no one saw the little happy dance she did along the corridor leading to the lift. She had a dignified position to uphold now and she was a member of the senior staff at one of the most prestigious hotels in the world. But still…

  * * * *

  The following morning, at eight o’clock on the dot, Eugenie presented herself at the desk of Elise Rougin’s PA. She was ushered straight through into the general manager’s office, where a crowd awaited her. Elise came across the room to meet her and launched into a round of introductions.

  Pierre Rivaux she had met already. Eugenie’s smile of recognition was warm as she shook his hand. Next, she was introduced to Claudette Leclerc, a statuesque woman who she learned was in charge of marketing and public relations. Jean Raymond, a middle-aged man with hair just starting to turn gray at the temples, managed customer services, which he went on to explain meant anything to do with the reception staff, entertainment, spa facilities—pretty much everything that wasn’t connected with eating, drinking or sleeping. Eating and drinking was the domain of a gregarious Italian called Antonio Alecia, an accomplished chef who now presided over all the hotel’s restaurants and bars. A small, bustling woman, Annette Giraud, was in charge of all matters related to housekeeping and the creature comforts enjoyed by guests. Fleur Mansouri she had met at the interview, and of course, she already knew Aaron Praed who, Elise explained, was responsible for keeping the guests and staff safe.

  Eugenie reckoned he’d be good at it.

  This group made up the entire senior management team, and now Eugenie was part of it. Elise explained that it was their regular habit to meet each Monday morning at eight to go over the events of the coming week, address any issues, and generally keep in touch with each other. The meetings were informal and brief, but a necessary part of the routine. She would be expected to make them a priority. Eugenie had no problem with that.

  They all took their seats around the circular meeting table in Elise’s office. Eugenie was told to sit anywhere. The first few minutes were spent on a quick round of news and highlights from each department. Eugenie tried to take notes but soon abandoned that and opted to listen instead.

  Anton had decided to change their fresh meat supplier for one more local and known to adhere to compassionate farming methods. Elise nodded, and explained to Eugenie that this was an important principle at TFS Paris. Annette Giraud chipped in that she was hoping to recruit three or four more maids later in the week, and Fleur confirmed that defibrillators were now installed on each floor and staff trained in their use.

  The round-up completed, Elise turned her attention to the most pressing matter on their current agenda—the wedding.

  For Eugenie’s benefit, she explained that Lucas Belanger, the captain of the French football team and a center forward playing in the top flight of the Italian league, was known to be looking for a venue for his wedding to Farah Ajram. The bride was less high profile, but probably substantially wealthier as her father owned half the oil production in the United Arab Emirates. This was to be the wedding of the decade, and Totally Five Star Paris wanted to land it.

  Lucas and Farah were due at the hotel in two days’ time, complete with their usual entourage, and Elise was pretty sure the hotel was among the final one or two venues they were still considering. Their location was an asset. Farah had studied in Paris and loved the city. Transport links were as good as any in the world, which would be a significant factor in assembling guests from every continent. The facilities offered here were known to be superb, their reputation was second to none, and now that they had an accomplished events organizer on the team, this might just swing it.

  The Arab contingent had voiced concerns about security, so Aaron too would have his work cut out to convince Farah’s family that their little princess would be protected at all times. There had been terror threats, and unrest in the Arab world was always an issue, though the UAE was stable enough.

  Elise’s expression was deadly serious as she directed her attention first at Eugenie then at Aaron. “I need you two to get your heads together and work out how to dazzle them. The hotel wants this wedding. If we can pull this off, it will be the highest profile event on the social calendar for months to come. We’ll be inundated with inquiries from every bride who wants to be a princess for a day. Aaron, do you perceive any issues we should be considering?”

  Eugenie glanced at Aaron sitting across the table from her. He looked incredibly handsome in his sharp business suit and crisp white shirt. His red tie looked perfect for restraining a submissive, and despite her best intentions, Eugenie couldn’t help wondering if he had anothe
r sub now. She supposed he must have.

  He sat forward, his elbows on the table as he replied to Elise’s query. “There are issues, but none that are insurmountable. We would have to instigate additional checks on all guests, staff and suppliers whilst the wedding party is here, and I’d recommend we limit all other bookings for that period too. I’ll schedule sweeps and searches of the premises at random intervals, and staff should expect to be searched as they come and go. Ideally, guests too, but that could prove tricky, which is why I suggest we limit the numbers. Only staff who need to be there will have access to any of the wedding party’s suites. Our standard passkeys and ID checks should be thorough enough, but I’ll review those and let you know if I find any aspects that need tightening.”

  “Excellent. I’d like you and Eugenie to lead on this. Pull out all the stops to secure the business then make sure it goes without a hitch.”

  Aaron nodded. Eugenie gaped.

  The wedding of the decade. Here. And Elise was looking to her to organize it. Talk about hitting the ground running.

  “Problem, Eugenie?” Elise looked at her, a slight frown furrowing her otherwise unruffled brow.

  “What? No, no of course not. What information do we have about what they’re actually looking for? Is there any theme? Number of guests?”

  “No theme that we know of, but it is posh. Catwalk stuff. Think of the Oscars red carpet, and you’ll be about there. The Muslim ceremony will be held first, in her uncle’s palace, and will be a massive affair, I gather, though largely hidden from the press and paparazzi. This second ceremony is to satisfy that more public appetite for celebrity glitz. Number of guests is to be confirmed, but won’t be fewer than five hundred, so we’ll need the ballroom for the actual ceremony, and the banqueting suite for the formal meal to follow. We can handle those numbers, but they’ll be looking for that something extra, that sparkle that sets us apart from any other places they might be considering. That’s your job, to come up with the hook that lands them.”

  “Of course.” Eugenie murmured the words, her mind racing with possibilities. She was itching for the meeting to conclude so she could find her way to her new office. She needed to start planning her campaign to get Lucas and Farah to tie the knot at Totally Five Star Paris.

  * * * *

  The list seemed endless. Every time she closed her eyes to visualize the wedding she came up with yet another possible theme. Colors, eras, vintage, rock music, rustic, more outlandish ideas such as pirates or fairies, or perhaps a sporting theme would be more appropriate. Or the arts. Maybe the bride would like something romantic, a bit whimsical. Without knowing more about the personality and lifestyle of the couple, Eugenie really had no idea.

  Lucas Belanger was easy enough to research. A Google search came up with literally hundreds of results, though primarily concerned with his prowess on the football field. Successful, skilled, one of the top players in the world, and the most expensive. His earnings put him in the multi-millionaire bracket, though he was still only in his mid-twenties. He’d clearly enjoyed the lifestyle that went with his wealth. He was pictured in top nightclubs, driving the sexiest cars and lounging on the most exclusive beaches. As far as Eugenie could tell, he’d never been embroiled in any of the scandals that seemed to attach themselves sports personalities, or maybe he was just more discreet than most. His playboy lifestyle seemed to tail off in the last eighteen months or so, possibly due to the influence of his bride to be.

  On Farah Ajram Eugenie could find almost nothing. There was a record of her having attended the École Normale Supérieure, Paris’ most prestigious seat of learning, where she obtained her master’s degree in the history of art. Eugenie whistled under her breath, Farah must be bright as well as beautiful. But apart from this little nugget, the bride seemed shrouded in mystery. Who knew what sort of wedding might suit her, or even whether she wanted it to be themed at all? And given that she would already be married under Islamic law by the time this second ceremony took place, what was she actually seeking from it?

  At the back of Eugenie’s mind, something gnawed at her. She sat back in her chair, eyes closed, and let her mind drift. What was it about this couple that seemed so obvious, yet so elusive? A squeaky-clean footballer, his lovely, exotic, and oh so secluded bride—what were they coming to Totally Five Star Paris in search of?

  Privacy. Of course. And sheer, unadulterated excellence. Eugenie wouldn’t mind betting Farah wanted to satisfy the paparazzi, make her entry into the high-profile world of footballers’ wives and girlfriends, but be the WAG with panache. What if she aspired to quiet and discreet sophistication? Totally Five Star Paris could provide that. It was the hallmark of this hotel, its unique selling point.

  As soon as it occurred to her, Eugenie knew she was right. If Farah and Lucas wanted a circus to please the media, they would have said so already. Prospective venues would have been scrambling to sell them shabby chic or retro or movie-themed wedding madness. Instead, the couple gave no clues. Maybe they weren’t even sure themselves, but they’d know what they wanted when it was presented to them.

  Rather than trying to inject some new, untested and in her view quite ostentatious quality into the affair, Eugenie would showcase what they did best. She would offer them quiet, understated elegance. She could promise perfect service, a serene atmosphere, food and drink that was unequalled anywhere.

  Add to it all the confidence that every detail of their big day would be planned and coordinated by Eugenie personally, that nothing would be left to chance. Aaron’s enhanced security measures would ensure the safety and smooth running of the whole process. Farah and Lucas could relax. They could enjoy their day knowing they were in safe and capable hands. It was a simple plan, but Eugenie’s gut instinct told her it would work.

  “Taking a little nap? Are we tiring you out already?”

  Eugenie snapped her eyes open at the masculine drawl from her office doorway. Aaron leaned against the frame, arms folded, grinning at her. She sat up straight, smoothed back a stray tendril of hair that seemed to keep escaping the neat clasp at the nape of her neck. What was it about him that always put her on edge? She fought the urge to stand and lower her gaze.

  “I was thinking. Planning.” Was that a defensive note in her voice? She hoped not.

  “The wedding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too. What are your thoughts?” He came right into the room and took the chair opposite her desk. Eugenie didn’t recall having invited him in, but hell, he was so good to look at. She knew her knickers were moistening and she shifted uneasily in her seat.

  “Are you okay, Genie?”

  “Fine. Yes.” Now she sounded snappy, waspish. Shit. She hadn’t reckoned on him still having the same effect on her. Their relationship had been hot and intensely sexual, but it was over. Long dead. Or so she’d thought. Her pussy seemed to disagree.

  “Good. So, what are your plans then? How do you propose we reel in this footballer?”

  “We don’t need him. We need her. Farah will decide this, not Lucas.”

  “You think?”

  Eugenie nodded, her certainty growing. “Yes, I’m sure of it. And she’s not looking for anything over the top. There’s a reason she never appears in any of the celebrity magazines or tabloids. No one has ever heard of her because she’s intensely private. I reckon she’s looking for a secluded, intimate and above all tasteful wedding. Glamour, yes, sophistication, definitely. Elegance—off the scale. We have all of that, so we need to make sure she sees it, that she appreciates all the finer details and is absolutely confident in us. By us, I mean you and me. You to keep her and her guests safe, me to be on top of every detail for her, to make sure everything she wants is there, even before she knows that she wants it.”

  Aaron’s expression never changed. He regarded her carefully, assessing. Eugenie sat still, hoping she’d said enough to convince him but ready to marshal further arguments if need be. Her panties continued to dampen
as he scrutinized her.

  His face cracked into a brilliant smile. It lit up her room. “I think you may be right. In fact, I think you may be a bloody genius. Holy fuck, girl, Elise was right about you.”

  “What? I mean—Elise?”

  “She said you were gifted, a true talent. You haven’t even gotten to your first coffee break yet and already you’ve accomplished more than the rest of the team have in months of thinking about this. So, how do you suggest we sell it to them?”

  “Who? Sell it to who? The management team?”

  “No. Elise delegated it to you, and to me. She’ll trust us to come up with the best strategy. We’ll tell her what we intend once we’ve worked out the details a bit more. I meant how should we sell ourselves and Totally Five Star Paris to Farah Ajram?”

  “Ah, right. Well, we need a timetable for every part of their visit. They’ll be here for two days so…”

  Eugenie spent the next couple of hours mapping out a detailed program. Aaron contributed, clarifying points and supplying details she had yet to learn about the hotel, the facilities, the staff. He asked questions, drilled down into the detail, identified gaps that Eugenie plugged. By lunchtime, they had their strategy in place.

  “We’ll need to brief everyone that they are likely to come in contact with—every waiter, every chambermaid, every porter. All need to exude the same quiet, efficient charm, the same attention to detail and desire to please. Everywhere they look I want Farah and Lucas to see excellence.”

  “That’s your department. I need to make sure my security team is invisible, but doing the business behind the scenes. I’ll get on it.” He shuffled his notes into a pile and stood. “Have lunch with me, Genie?”