Page 108 of The Hundred Loves of Juliet
“Will do. We’ll find her. Get some rest, Sebastien.” Sandrine ends the call.
Of course I don’t rest. I’m dog-tired, but I pour myself a cup of coffee from the room service tray and wait.
HELENE
I’ve been sitting—shivering—outside the officesof the Julius A. Weiskopf Group since I arrived in Geneva several hours ago. The kind lady next to me on the plane had looked up their address for me on her phone, and when I landed at the airport, I jumped into a cab and asked to be brought here. I hadn’t been thinking how early in the morning it was.
The taxi driver had looked a bit uncertain about dropping off a pregnant woman when it was still dark out, but I asked if it was a safe neighborhood, and he said yes. But he was worried I’d be cold, so he opened the trunk and gave me a jacket another customer had left behind. Thank god for the driver’s foresight, because otherwise I’d have hypothermia in my sundress by now.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, the business district begins bustling to life. The fountain in the plaza turns on, sprinkling the black avant-garde sculpture at its center as if with morning dew. Early birds start to trickle into the buildings to get a crack on their workday.
A woman in a smart gray suit and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase marches to the entrance of the Julius A. Weiskopf Group. I jump up from the stone bench I’d been sitting on and hurry after her.
“Excuse me!” I shout.
She doesn’t turn around, just scans her badge and slips through the black glass door. It clicks behind her, and when I get there and pull on the handle, it’s locked.
I pound on the door. “Hello? Excuse me?” I can barely see inside through the dark glass, but the woman is still in the reception area, making her way to the elevator. She can definitely hear me, but she’s choosing to ignore me.
“I’m a client,” I yell through the door, even though it’s untrue. But it’s the only way to let this woman know I’m not some random weirdo from the street trying to get into their building. Even if I am wearing a lost-and-found coat from the trunk of a taxi.
The elevator doors open and illuminate the woman’s silhouette. She’s about to step inside. I could wait for someone else to come, but it’ll be a while before the workday officially starts, and I need to talk to someone ASAP. It’s only a matter of hours before the plane I’m supposed to be on lands in L.A. and Merrick realizes I’m not on it. And I’m cold, so, so cold.
The elevator doors are closing, with the woman in it.
“My name is Helene Janssen, and your client Sebastien Montague is in danger,” I shout through the doors. “Please. I need your help.Heneeds your help.”
The elevator doors close.
No.
I press my forehead to the black glass and close my eyes.
It’s okay,I tell myself. She’s not the only person who works here. Someone else will come. Be patient.
Except I can feel the bomb ticking. It will take only a second for Merrick and Aaron to hit “publish” on everything they know about Sebastien. If I’m going to stop them, it needs to be soon.
The glass door pushes against my face gently. My eyes fly open.
The woman! She came back down the elevator!
I step back and let her open the door.
“Helene Janssen, you said?”
I nod furiously.
“My name is Sandrine Weiskopf, and I’m the president of the firm. Sebastien’s been searching for you. Come in out of the cold and we’ll give him a call.”
SEBASTIEN
I am attempting to showeraway the grime of despair from last night, but it clings to me like cheap frying grease.
Where are you, my love?
How’s our baby?
Are you happier without me?
