Page 68 of All the Gossip from Paris
Her mother gave her a gentle pat on the arm, then moved toward the door. “I’ll go sit with your brother and sister while you and your father talk.”
That sounded ominous. Just how badly injured was François?
“Come and sit with me,” said her father. Sophie did as asked, pulling up the chair her mother had vacated.
“You wanted to speak to me Papa?”
He let out a long pained groan. “Yes. They doped me up nicely for the short flight from the medical center. I think the drugs might be starting to wear off though.”
“I’m listening.”
“Haute Couture Week is coming. We need to make some changes. As soon as you get back to Paris, you will call Patrice. He’ll take over managing the show until I return. You will help him in any way he asks.”
Patrice.
Patrice who was barely capable of managing anything, let alone a major fashion show was being put in charge. While she, who knew everything about fashion week, the models, the clothes everything it involved. She was being relegated to the role of assistant to her useless ex.
Her father had been seriously injured in the accident. He was about to go in for major surgery. There was no way he was going to be able to manage the biggest week in fashion while also trying to recover.
She could see the weeks ahead. The disaster which loomed if Patrice was left in charge.
It was too much to bear.
All those years of being treated as a second thought. Told she was not good enough, fused into blinding rage. Sophie shot to her feet.
“No. I will not play second fiddle to Patrice. You either give me Haute Couture Week to manage, or you cancel your show. If you leave him as our head of fashion week, he will bring La maison du Royal to its knees.”
“Sophie. Please. Now is not the time to push for a greater role for yourself,” groaned her father.
He’d fobbed her off in the atelier at home when he’d said he would think about giving her a greater role. It was clear to her now. The time would never be right. François wouldn’t ever hand over control to his daughter. But he would willingly give it to a man who did the bare minimum. Who took credit for other’s work. All because he was a man.
“I know you think you can do the show, but …”
“I can do the show, Papa. I’ve been working the stage at Haute Couture Week for years.”
The door opened, and a nurse popped her head inside. “The anesthetist has just arrived. She wants to get Monsieur Royal prepped for surgery. I will come back in five minutes. Then we will need to take him.”
Damn. This was terrible timing. Ok think. Decisions have to be made.
“Sophie, I need you to do this for me. When I am back in Paris, then we can talk about your role. I’m sure you and Patrice have discussed what will happen when you two eventually get back together.”
Her father couldn’t still be clinging onto the insane illusion that she and her ex were ever going to be a couple again. No. It had to be the pain killers addling his mind.
Please lord let it be the drugs talking.
If it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she would do.
Sophie sucked in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to win this argument. But she’d be damned if she walked out of here without at least one concession.
“Alright. But I want it known that I disagree with your decision.”
“Noted.”
“I also want to be in charge of the garments until you return. That is non-negotiable.”
“Sophie please.”
She met her father’s pain etched eyes. Pushing him when he was in such a terrible state was wrong. But if he expected her to shove her disappointment down, and work under Patrice then he had to compromise on something.
