Page 89 of All the Gossip from Paris
Sophie focused her gaze on the throw rug. Her father liked to preface tough conversations with small talk. The more detailed his remarks about the weather and other non-threatening topics, the harder the discussion that was to follow.
François cleared his throat. “I have been talking to Patrice. He and I had an honest conversation about how things went over the past few weeks. I understand that some of your earlier decisions made it difficult for him to present the show. He decided it was better for all concerned if he took a step back.”
“Is that what he told you?” she asked.
Patrice the spider. He’s been in here spinning his web of lies.
Her voice was icy calm. She wasn’t going to let her simmering rage get the better of her.
“Yes. This business is my life’s work. I can’t have it failing the moment I turn my back.”
“Well if you would allow me to actually run things properly it wouldn’t fail. Patrice made it?—”
“Enough!” Her father held up his hand. Sophie immediately fell silent. It was a habit deeply ingrained from a lifetime of being told to shut up and listen. Of course he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. It went against the way he worked. His word was law.
“My pain is now under control, so I have put a few thoughts down on paper. Some plans for the months ahead. I’ve also mentioned parts of this to Éliott.”
Sophie ground her teeth. Her brother’s warning rang true. She knew where this was headed. Patrice would be secure in his role of second in charge. Éliott would be handed a nice cushy job. And she would be made to yield.
Her gaze clouded over as François set about lecturing her on how things were going to run in the future. How Patrice was going to step up and take control until he was fully recovered. How Sophie would learn to toe the line.
It was strange to sit and listen to her father. She’d sat through countless variations of this lecture in her life, taking them all in. But today she simply bided her time. She finally stirred from her thoughts when François snapped his fingers at her.
“Well? Did you read the interview I gave to French Vogue?” he pressed.
What interview?
“No. I wasn’t aware that you had spoken to them,” replied Sophie.
Her father gave a tsk of disappointment. “See? That is why you couldn’t be given more responsibility at the atelier. You don’t make the effort to keep abreast of what is happening. Patrice said he’d mentioned it to you.”
She was certain that her ex hadn’t, but since they’d all been so busy, she was prepared to let Patrice have this one. What difference could a missed interview make?
Her father picked up his computer tablet and handed it to her. “Have a read.”
Sophie skimmed over the article. It mentioned her father’s recent accident and the challenges it had presented. It mentioned Patrice and the wonderful job he’d done in pulling together a successfully Haute Couture Week runway show.
She caught her name toward the bottom of the article, and focused her attention on carefully reading the relevant paragraph. When she’d read it a second time, Sophie rose from the chair. She handed the tablet back to her father.
“I hope reading that article makes things clearer for you Sophie. Tomorrow morning at eleven I want you to come back and see me. Patrice will be here, and we shall talk further. Now, off you go.”
Bending she placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “Get some rest Papa.”
And then she headed for the door.
A dejected Liam didn’t bother joining the Royals for lunch. He couldn’t face sitting down to eat with Sophie and her family. There was every chance that Patrice would be there. He simply didn’t have it in him to remain polite over soup, salads, and Coq au Vin.
Instead, he went up to his room and packed his bags. After buying a standby ticket to New York, Liam booked an Uber to take him into Paris.
He had the security code for Camille and Ryan’s apartment. Once they got back from their shopping trip, he’d spend a few hours with them, then head out to the airport. Hopefully he would be able to get on a flight tonight.
He’d spend a couple of days at home in New Jersey. Say hi to his folks. Repack his gear for the warmer climate in Brazil, then get on a cheap flight to São Paulo.
Once again Cupid had dangled love in front of him. Then, just as he reached out to grab a hold, whisked it away.
His cell phone pinged with a message. Your driver is approaching.
“Time to go,” he muttered.
