Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
But once I left the office, I was back to being that hollow floating version of myself-adrift in a foreign city.
Yvaine knew me too well. The silence on the phone barely lasted a second before she pounced.
“Spill.”I didn’t want to.
I’d been dreading this. Yvaine had a way of putting into words things I couldn’t bear to admit.
But she wasn’t the type to let it go.
“Tell me over the phone, or I’ll fly to Paris and drag it out of you in person.”
“I… I don’t think there’s going to be a wedding, after all Silence.
Then: “Start from the beginning. No “skipping.”So I told her everything-the woman in the red dress, the almost-kiss, the sudden call that pulled him away, the way they’d flown back to Skyline together.
And the sinking feeling that this woman meant more to Sebastian than anyone else ever had. Including me.
“He hasn’t said anything,” I said.
“But I can feel it. A breakup’s coming.”I heard footsteps on her end.
“You going somewhere?”
“Just stepping onto the balcony,” she said.
“Need some air. Then I can tell you-“She paused.
Then shouted, loud enough to burst an eardrum: “YOU BLOODY IDIOT!”I rubbed my ear, sank into the nearest chair, and braced myself for a long, punishing lecture.
Yvaine didn’t disappoint.
“You ran off to Paris days after getting engaged. You’ve barely lifted a finger for the wedding. Then you spotted some mystery woman in a red dress and immediately decided Sebastian must be in love with her and the whole thing’s off. You didn’t even ask him. It’s like you’ve been waiting for something to go wrong, and she just gave you the perfect excuse. Whether anything’s going on or not, you don’t care. You just want out, and now you’ve got a reason.”I made a few non-committal noises to prove I was still on the line. If I didn’t, she might actually book an air taxi and fly to Paris to deliver her bollocking in person.
But really, she wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already locked-just buried under a few layers of self- delusion.
She’d lose her mind if I told her the full plan. That I was thinking of relocating Elean Joie to Paris, which would only prove her theory that I’d been halfway out the door long before Red Dress ever showed up.
I put her on speaker and let the rant wash over me.
By the time she paused for breath, I’d finished a coffee, brushed my teeth, checked my email, changed into pyjamas, and crawled into bed.
“You’re not planning to break up with Sebastian over the phone, are you?” Her tone turned sharp.
I was considering it.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Fine, you caught me.”
“I pity Sebastian, I really do. Poor guy.”
“I thought you were my friend. Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“I’m on the side of right, and you’re in the wrong here. Completely wrong, Elean honey.”Goosebumps prickled my arms. She only called me “hony” when she was absolutely livid.
“You were supportive when I broke up with Daniel,” I said a bit sulkily.
“Because he was a walking red flag and he laid hands on you. What’s Sebastian done? You’re breaking up with him because you think and I stress “think” he might have feelings for another woman. You’ve got no proof”
“There’s the photo,” I said.
“Of a hug. Not a snog. Not a grope in the middle of the Champs-?lys?es. That wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“I’m not taking him to court.”
“Don’t change the subject, Eleanor Vance. You’re a coward when it comes to relationships. Always have been. Daniel burned you once, and now you’re convincedo good man could possibly love you. You were fine when it was fake. Even fine when you were just dating. But the second he puts a ring on your finger, you get cold feet and leg it.”1
“Thank you, Dr Freud,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. Now that you’ve diagnosed me, got a prescription to go with it?”
“Nope. Don’t pin this on me. It’s your mess, and you’ve got to figure it out. Break up with him, stay with him, hire a dozen male strippers to help you cope, or hire a private eye to tail him. Your call. But it’s got to be YOUR call.”
“Thanks. Incredibly helpful, as always.”
“I am helpful. I know you better than anyone, and I know when you’re about to blow up your own life just because you’re scared it might actually work out. If you love Sebastian, talk to him. Ask him about Red Dress, tell him what’s eating you, and maybe act like you care about your own bloody wedding. And if you don’t…”
“What if I don’t?” I clutched the pillow tighter.
“Then you need to tell him. Be honest. Give the ring back apologise, and move on.”
“Easier said than done,” I mumbled.
“You asked for advice, I gave it. Now you’re sulking.” I could practically hear her eyes rolling.
“Honestly, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d slap you.
“Thanks, Yvie. I’ll think about it.”
“You’d better. I’ve already picked out my maid of honour dress, and you’re paying the deposit.”I hung up, tossed my phone onto the nightstand, and groaned into the pillow.
When it rang again, I assumed it was Round Two from Yaine.
But the number was unfamiliar.
I declined it.
It rang again.
I declined it again. Probably some pushy telemarketer.
But it kept ringing.
“Hello?” I snapped. If Parisian telemarketers were this relentless, I’d blacklist the entire country.
“Madame Eleanor Vance?” The man’s French accent was strong, though he spoke English.
I didn’t confirm.
“Who’s asking?”
“This is Inspector Alexandre Silva, from the Brigade financi?re. I’d like to speak with you regarding the company Valmont & Cie, specifically Monsieur Fabrizio Marchetti.”I sat up.
“You’re a police officer?”
“Yes.” He gave me his full name, rank, and department. You’re welcome to call our office to verify.”
“I will,” I said, though I was already starting to believe him.
“What’s this about?”
“I’d prefer to discuss it in person. And I must ask that you not mention our conversation to Monsieur Marchetti.”
“You’re investigating him? What for?”I’d rather not say over the phone.”
“Well, if you expect me to meet, I need to know if I’m a witness or a suspect. I don’t have to meet you.”A pause. Then: “I can meet you at the caf? opposite your hotel. Public place. Thirty minutes?”I checked the time. 8:45 p.m.
“It’s a bit late.”
“I know. Apologies for the hour.” His tone turned faintly reproachful.
“But you and Monsieur Marchetti are nearly inseparable, dining together every day. It’s been difficult to find a moment when you’re alone.”I didn’t like his tone, but what I liked even less was what he’d just implied. They’d been watching us. Or rather, watching Fabrizio.
Heart sinking, I got dressed, slipped my mace spray into my bag, and headed downstairs.
Le Cygne Noir, the caf? across the street, was well lit, a few diners still lingering over espresso and cr?me br?l?e.
A man in a brown jacket sat at a corner table, facing the door. Light brown hair, dark eyes, brown brogues. He might’ve been attractive if he hadn’t dressed like he lost a bet with the colour beige.
He stood as I approached.
“Madame Vance, thank you for coming.”I ignored the hand he offered.
“Let’s skip the small talk. What do you want?”Inspector Silva clearly wasn’t the chatty type.
He skipped straight to business once he realised I wasn’t in the mood for niceties.
He handed me a file.
“I must ask you to keep everything you’re about to read strictly confidential. Especially from Monsieur Marchetti-“
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I said, waving a hand.
“Not a word from me.”The file was in French. With my sad excuse for French skills, I had to use a translation app to even start understanding it. Silva didn’t offer to help. He just sat there watching me wrestle with it like it was some kind of sadistic test.
The more I read, the worse it got. For a second, I hoped the app was malfunctioning and spitting out nonsense.
But I wasn’t that lucky.
I flagged down a waiter and asked for the strongest coffee they had. I needed something industrial-strength.
“If you’ve got this much evidence,” I said eventually, my voice sounding oddly detached, “why haven’t you just arrested him?”If the file was accurate-and it certainly looked it-Fabrizio wasn’t just fiddling the books. He was siphoning funds from other investors and running the company straight into the ground. Turns out, being a design genius doesn’t make you a business genius.
The headache behind my eyes was back and getting worse by the second.
Inspector Silva’s voice, like his beige jacket, was dull but carried weight. The kind of tone that came from knowing people always listened when you spoke.
“We’ve had Monsieur Marchetti under surveillance. He’s not a flight risk-for now. He’s been desperately seeking investors and fresh capital to keep the company afloat. If he manages to pull that off, no one will realise anything’s wrong. Not until the new investors start asking for dividends. But then you arrived.”He gave me a look that was polite on the surface but full of judgment.
My spine stiffened.
“What did I do?”
“You gave him the capital he needed.”I thought of the joint venture.