Daddy's Secret Deal

by J. D. Fox

  ​I’m on the other side of Paris from you, so it’s a little less than two hours to get to Rouen. I’ll grab a quick shower and meet you at the hotel in about 3 hours? That would give her more than enough time to get ready for her meeting with him. She could get a new outfit in town, take a shower, and sneak out of the house without Olivier seeing her or having to interact with her in any way. It would take some doing to get to Rouen, but Gen thought she could talk Louis into driving her. The older man had been nothing but polite and friendly to her, and she’d cultivated a kind of camaraderie with him since her arrival. Unless he was taking Olivier somewhere, he should be free to take her.

  ​I’d love that, and I can’t wait to see you, Clint messaged back, and Gen got to work on the things she had to do to get ready. She wanted to look as good as possible for him— not because she had any interest at all in getting her former fiancé back, but because she wanted him to think she did. Then, too, he was accustomed to a certain level of style from her. Gen couldn’t help smiling a bit to herself as she made her way towards the handful of higher-end shops in town. The real shopping opportunities would be in Rouen, but she couldn’t risk the possibility of Clint seeing her before she was supposed to be there. There was always the chance that he’d pass at least some of the time before her projected arrival wandering around the historic quarter, which was where all the best shops happened to be. She could find something in her current surroundings just fine, Gen thought.

  ​Then she would go home to get ready and sneak back out. She sent Louis a message in her slightly broken, grammatically suspect French, knowing that he would be able to at least make out the sense of what she was asking him. Vous seriez disponible pour me conduire à quelque part cet après-midi? She would tell him if he asked that she could figure out her own way back because Gen was fairly certain that the plan she had in mind would take her most— if not all— of the evening.

  ​Louis replied that he could drive her anywhere as long as it wasn’t too far, as Olivier intended to stay in that night. Gen thanked him and told the driver that they’d only be going to Rouen. Browsing through Zara, she found a deep green wrap dress that would— she hoped— hit the balance between casual and seductive, highlighting her assets in a way that wasn’t too obvious. Gen checked the time as she finished up her shopping, and saw that she had another two hours before she needed to leave for Rouen. Gen made a face, wondering how she would occupy herself for so long and debating meandering around town a bit more; but she knew from experience that before she knew it, it would be time to leave. She just had to keep doing the next thing on the list to set herself up as best as possible for her little tête-à-tête with her former fiancé.

  ​As soon as Gen was sure she had everything she would need to create the impression she wanted, she headed back in the direction of the Laurent house to get ready. It would only be a short time before she was around Clint again, and Gen knew that she needed to be prepared for whatever kinds of questions he might ask about her new life. She would have to be able to steer the conversation in the direction she wanted. It would be tricky, Gen thought— but she also knew that if she didn’t go through with it, she would regret it later. Be real with yourself: part of you is pretty sure that if you do this, you might find a way to keep working with Olivier and Mathilde. But you need to be realistic about the chances. Gen paused in her trek back to the mansion and looked at herself in the reflection of a shop window. It was true; some part of her thought that if she could catch Clint preparing to double-cross Olivier, her now-ex boss would go back on his decision to fire her. But even if he didn’t relent, and she still had to move out and find a new job in a few days, Gen told herself that no matter what, she needed to get to the bottom of things.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ​Olivier paced in his office, discontented and irritable. It had been a couple of days since he had fired Genevieve, and he’d regretted the rash decision since the very morning after he had told her to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it back. Mathilde would be home in the morning, and he had to find a way to explain to his daughter that the au pair she’d come to love wouldn’t be with them for much longer, which was likely to go badly.

  ​But he knew he couldn’t let Genevieve continue poking and prodding into his affairs. Especially with his last deal on the verge of being done, he had to keep as many outsiders as possible out of it. He was due to meet his partner in the enterprise in a matter of days, and they would sign their joint paperwork in the administrative offices to start the process of making the business an entity in both the US and France. Olivier sighed, thinking of that. There were still ways that Clinton could go about screwing him, and without Genevieve’s help looking over the documents, it would be harder for him to protect himself.

  ​But she had gone behind his back and found out things that she had no business knowing. Then, too, there was the fact that she had been engaged to the man he was partnering with, and Olivier couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that it was pure coincidence that the woman he had chosen to work for him had a connection to the man he was going into business with. Olivier sighed, shaking his head as he continued to pace. Comme elle m’énerve! It was too frustrating to deal with Genevieve. Even if he hadn’t already told her that she was fired, Olivier told himself, it was for the best that she would be leaving soon.

  ​It was too frustrating to think of her and the fact that she had always abided by the letter of the rules he’d set while cleverly violating the spirit of them. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since he’d told her that he didn’t even want to see her in the house during the week she had to move out, just as she had not said a single word about his business when he had made that rule. But he had heard her, occasionally; heard her leaving or coming in, and been tempted to come out of whatever room he was in to greet her. He couldn’t even accuse her of doing it intentionally, as there was no sign that she was making any more noise than she would normally.

  ​As if on cue, Olivier heard the front door open and close and the shuffling, muffled sounds of Genevieve removing her shoes and navigating the hallway to her room. Olivier considered the possibility of stepping out of his office, confronting her, and telling her that he had made a mistake: that Mathilde would possibly never forgive him if he just fired Genevieve without warning or explanation, and that he wanted her to stay on. But even as he started to move towards the door, Olivier stopped himself. He couldn’t just let Genevieve get away with what she had done, and he also knew that regardless of his daughter’s grief at losing her au pair, his life would be much less complicated with Genevieve out of it.

  ​Olivier sighed and let Genevieve pass his office without any attempt to stop her, turning his back on the door. He sat back down behind his desk, closed his eyes for a moment and tried to focus on the work ahead of him. He would be entering the next phase of his business deal in a matter of days; he needed to make sure that everything went smoothly. But in the back of his mind, Olivier couldn’t stop hearing what Genevieve had said during their argument. “I used to be engaged to him, and I’ve been looking into what he’s been up to; I think he was involved in the same deal that got my parents thrown in prison.” He’d been so angry with her over the fact that she’d been prying into his affairs behind his back, talking to his associates to get the information she wanted, that he hadn’t been willing to lend credence to what she’d said.

  ​Then, too, there was the fact that she’d concealed from him the fact that she’d had a fiancé. Olivier couldn’t quite bring himself to put that fact in any kind of perspective. It was utterly irrational, and he knew it, but he resented the fact that he had never known she was engaged before coming to France. Even if the engagement had been broken before she’d arrived. His mind countered his bitterness: how was she to know that her former fiancé was his new business partner? And how was she to have guaranteed that he would hire her even if it somehow had been a setup? But then he countered himself again: h
ow could he know that it was pure coincidence? The circumstances were just too strange for him to think that it was random chance. Had her interest in his business affairs purely been a trick to get more information on him for Clinton?

  ​Arrête! T’es parano. But it was difficult not to be paranoid when there was so much at stake. Olivier wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d heard Genevieve come into the house and go past him to her quarters, but suddenly he heard her leaving again, and the urge to go out of the office, to confront her— or at least ask where she was going— consumed him. He started towards the door and made it three steps in that direction before stopping himself. T’as pris une décision. Tu dois vivre avec elle. Olivier took a deep breath and walked back in the opposite direction, returning to his seat. It didn’t matter where Genevieve was going, because even if he hadn’t fired her, she would have the night off since Mathilde was still with her grandparents. He had never interrogated Genevieve before about where she went when she was off-duty— but then, she had often volunteered the information, either before or afterward.

  ​Olivier forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. It was much easier, after a few minutes, to put Genevieve out of his thoughts when he knew she had left and wasn’t likely to return anytime soon. He sat down at his desk and reviewed the new paperwork, reminding himself that Clinton would be arriving soon to do all the signing and meet with the investors that Olivier had lined up. Olivier had to set meetings, send emails, and make the last details happen as smoothly as possible, and with Genevieve firmly out of his mind, he was able to throw himself into his work.

  ​Olivier focused so keenly on the tasks in front of him that he didn’t even notice the passage of time; it was only when he pushed himself back from the computer, realizing that he was hungry, that it even occurred to him to check. It was late; although autumn had somewhat started, it still didn’t get dark out until eight, and it was fully dark outside. Olivier frowned to himself, wondering if he had missed the noises of Genevieve coming back in. She had never stayed out past ten or eleven by herself, and only once since she’d begun working for him stayed out overnight. It was nearly midnight, and Olivier was sure that Genevieve hadn’t come in without his noticing.

  ​Just to be sure, he left the office and walked slowly down the hall towards her quarters. If by some strange circumstance Genevieve had come home already and caught him, he could say that he was going to Mathilde’s room for something. But when Olivier looked at the bottom of the door, there was no light coming out from underneath. But that wasn’t conclusive, Olivier decided. Genevieve could have— in theory at least— come home very quietly, and gone to bed, couldn’t she? Olivier hesitated outside of Genevieve’s room, knowing that if she were there and woke up to the sight of him standing in her doorway, it would be even more difficult for him to make an excuse for himself. C’est ridicule! He should, he knew, just leave the issue be, and if he still didn’t have some kind clue as to her location by midday, contact the police. After all, even if he didn’t want to speak to her or see her, he didn’t want to have any liability for the woman’s death or kidnapping.

  ​C’est possible qu’elle est partie, he reminded himself. The thought upset him more than he expected it to. How could Genevieve have just left without saying anything to him? Without even notifying him that she was leaving? Tu l’as dit de ne te parler, a disapproving voice in his mind pointed out. He had indeed told her not to speak to him, but surely she hadn’t taken that to mean that she should just disappear out of his and his daughter’s lives with no notice? Olivier closed his eyes and bit back a groan. If she had taken it that way, it would be his fault.

  ​He opened his eyes once more and reached for the doorknob. He had to at least know if she was under his roof. Olivier quietly, turned the doorknob, straining his ears to make sure he wasn't disturbing the hypothetical sleeper in the room. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t bring himself either to wait to see if she made herself heard in the morning or knock on the door and initiate a conversation. He took a breath and slowly opened the door.

  ​There was no one in the bed, and as Olivier pushed the door a little further, there was no indication that she might be in the bathroom, either. Genevieve wasn’t in the house at all, as far as Olivier could tell. His rational— at least somewhat— mind pointed out that she could be hiding somewhere else in the house, such as in Mathilde’s room, but that wouldn’t make any sense at all. He shook his head and closed the door quietly, trying to think of what to do next.

  ​Olivier gave the rest of the house a cursory inspection, even stepping outside on the off chance that Genevieve had taken up smoking and had gone out there. He tried to convince himself that he had heard her come and go at some point when he had been working, but he knew he hadn't. He’d been focused, but his concentration was the type where any sudden sound would have cut through his attention. Also, he had been hyper-aware of Genevieve’s presence in the house ever since he’s told her she would have to leave and that she was not to approach or talk to him until she did.

  ​When he couldn’t find Genevieve anywhere in the house, Olivier’s resolve to not reach out to her crumbled. At the very least, he thought with annoyance, she could have sent him some kind of message informing him that she wouldn’t be in. Mais tu lui as dit de ne pas te parler, part of his brain unhelpfully reminded him. Mais je ne voulais pas dire ça comme ça, he protested. He hadn’t meant for her to go out, seemingly by herself, and not inform him of when she expected to be home. At the very least she could have left a note.

  ​Olivier found his phone and called Genevieve’s number. It went directly to voicemail— not even one ring. He growled lowly to himself and hung up before the automated message ended. He sat down at his desk and opened Skype, putting her number into the tab for direct phone calls. He clicked on the call icon and waited. Once more it went directly to voicemail. Her phone was probably off, as opposed to her blocking his number. Olivier considered and decided to leave her a message.

  ​“This is Olivier,” he began, forcing himself to keep his tone as neutral as possible. “It is around midnight, and I have no idea where you are. Please call me when you are able.” He ended the call and reviewed the message. It might betray more of his concern than he wanted, but that was a risk he would have to take. Olivier exhaled on an almost-sigh and decided to eat something. In his experience, an empty stomach only made worry worse, and not knowing where Genevieve was— or how she was— already was bad enough. It was just too easy to imagine other reasons her phone might be off, beyond her merely wanting to conserve her battery: someone could have kidnapped her or killed her and destroyed it to avoid detection

  ​He promised himself that if he didn’t get some sort of message from her in the next several hours, he would put someone on the job of investigating her whereabouts. He might want this intriguing, infuriating woman out of his life to avoid the complications she represented, but that didn’t mean that he wished her harm. Tu sais très bien que tu la veux ici, Olivier thought glumly, the truth undercutting him telling himself that he wanted her gone.

  ​Tu ne veux pas l’admettre à cause de ton orgueil et obstination. His pride and stubbornness had always been traits that Olivier had admired in himself, but he knew that he was possibly, as his grandmother had put it once, “cutting off his nose to spite his face.” The thought of his au pair possibly being harmed by a stranger taught him just how futile that exercise had been. But then, grimly, he remembered his suspicion of her. What if she had turned off her phone because she was gone doing whatever someone else (like Clinton) had wanted of her? Because she had gotten whatever information on him someone else (like Clinton) needed? Olivier knew then that he had a sleepless night ahead of him; for him, the number of bad reasons for Genevieve to be missing far outweighed the number of innocent possibilities.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ​Gen took a deep breath as she approached the hotel that Clint was staying
at, reminding herself that he had no idea of anything about her mission. It had been creepy, going back to the Laurent house and being as quiet as possible as she made her way to her suite before getting ready to meet up with her ex. Knowing that Olivier was in the house and that she was doing something that he would definitely not approve of, had made her skin continuously crawl and tingle with anticipation that at any moment he might somehow figure out what she was doing.

  ​She knew that she looked good. In fact, Gen thought wryly, a combination of less stress, better food, and more physical activity than she’d ever had in her life had come together to make her possibly more beautiful than she had ever been in all the time that Clint had known her— at least, in their adult lives. She looked stylish in her dress, and she’d done her hair in a carelessly meticulous way. Gen hoped that she would come across exactly as she wanted Clint to see her.

  ​Louis had dropped her off near the Cathédrale— Notre Dame de Rouen— a few minutes before, and for just a moment Gen had been tempted to dart inside before going to the nearby hotel. Some superstitious impulse had suggested that she go in, drop a one-euro coin into the offering box, and light a candle to the resident patron saint, Joan of Arc. Gen had been raised broadly Protestant and had gone back and forth on the subject of her own religious beliefs ever since puberty, so it made no sense to pay tribute to a Catholic saint. But somehow, Joan of Arc—or Jeanne d’Arc, as they called in in France— seemed different. Not just Catholic, but some patroness of the country that she’d come to; some entity to ask for help, in the name of the country, and Gen had always loved the young woman’s fierce drive to fight for what she believed in. Clint isn’t a danger to the country itself, Gen reminded herself, dismissing her superstitious thoughts. She’d hurried past the immense cathedral, glancing up at its freshly cleaned stonework, her heart beating fast enough that she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.