Page 24 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘A ski resort in France,’ I say. ‘La Coq… Coq… Coq…’
Lord have mercy, why can’t I stop stuttering the word cock at this man?
‘La Coquelicot Blanche?’ Caleb says, letting me off the hook. ‘That place is super exclusive. I’ve been invited before, but I’ve never been. Do you know how impossible it is to book in there? It books up so far in advance, it takes money, and influence – anyway, that would be a great place to do it, so I could meet you there?’
‘You could meet me there?’ I reply plainly. After everything he just said? Is he serious? ‘I’m staying in a château, in the grounds, with some other authors.’
‘I could create my content there, for sure,’ he says, as though that answers my question.
Wow, he really is desperate.
‘Yeah, sure, I’ll just meet you there,’ I say sarcastically.
If it’s impossible to get in, he won’t meet me there at this short notice, will he?
Before Caleb can reply, my phone starts ringing. It’s Jen, my editor. I hold up a finger to Caleb, mouthing: ‘I need to take this.’
‘Of course,’ he says, leaning back in his chair. ‘I’ll eat this muffin while you’re gone.’
I answer the call as I wander towards the exit.
‘Hey, Jen!’ I say brightly.
‘Amber! Someone at the office mentioned you turned up to see me,’ Jen says. ‘I’m not in today.’
I scramble for a believable excuse.
‘Oh, yes, I was just checking the details about the France trip,’ I lie. ‘You said you were going to send things through…’
‘Great to see you’re so keen!’ Jen chirps. ‘Everything you need for the trip has been emailed to you – it should be in your inbox now. Just bring your passport, your laptop, and pack your bag.’
‘Great,’ I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. It feels far from great, though. I force a smile, even though she can’t see me. ‘Thanks, Jen. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘And I’m looking forward to hearing all about it! Safe travels, Amber,’ she says before hanging up.
I stand there for a moment, my phone still pressed to my ear, processing what this means. When I turn back to look at Caleb, he’s surrounded by a group of women, because of course he is. They’re giggling and fluttering around him like moths around the big light.
Ohhh, suddenly it makes sense, therealreason he’s brought me up here for a drink, and not taken me to a nearby bar or café – he doesn’t want to be seen with me. If he was, and we were photographed together, then it would be instantly obvious that I wasn’t Annabelle, as soon as someone saw my face. That must be why he wants me to go away to take photos with him too – somewhere he’s less likely to be chased by paparazzi, so that he could keep my identity a secret.
Imagine if I could accept his offer – getting paid thousands of pounds just to hold a bottle here, wear a necklace there, or whatever it is influencers flog. It sounds like a dream. But dreams don’t pay the bills forever, do they? Whatever I would make from this one-time secret influencer gig wouldn’t last a lifetime, and it certainly wouldn’t help build the career I’ve worked so hard on for years. I can’t give up on it now. I have to go to France, and I have to make something work that Jen will accept. And, whether I can live with it, well, that would be nice, but it might not be possible.
I take a deep breath and decide not to return to Caleb. He looks busy anyway, and I have a bag to pack. Me? Avoiding an awkward conversation? Oh, you bet. Well, I’m not exactly used to rejecting men (in any format) so I can’t imagine I’m all that good at it.
As I walk away, I can’t help but feel a pang of regret. It would have been nice to live like an influencer, even it was just for a holiday, but I need to think about my future, and how I can make sure it’s a good one.
I’m sure future Amber will thank me later.
10
I’m in my apartment, in my bedroom nook, and it looks like there has been a small explosion in my wardrobe, because it’s currently empty and every item of clothing that I own iseverywhere. Jumpers are draped over the chair, jeans are strewn across the bed, and I don’t know how I managed to tangle so many bras together but I’m the proud owner of a ball of them apparently. It looks like I’m preparing for an Arctic expedition, but in reality, I’m trying to pack for a forced trip to a ski resort in France. Oh, and when I say it looks like I’m preparing for an Arctic expedition, make no mistake about it, I mean because I’m taking so much stuff, not that I’m remotely prepared for winter.
I have my Jon Snow coat, which is warm, but the fur isn’t really practical. My Ugg boots, which keep my feet toasty and are fashionable, but aren’t really for doing anything physical in. And I’ve packed various pairs of jeans and big jumpers, but I’m realising that I’m not exactly equipped for actual winter weather. I have cosy clothes, sure, but practical winter gear? Nope. I mean, I’ve got enough fluffy socks to open a shop, but no thermal layers. No waterproof gloves. Nothing that would hold up in ablizzard. I suppose I could always stuff my clothes with socks, to try to keep warm, because that will work. Not.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I mutter to myself, tossing another pair of socks into my suitcase.
The rest of my clothes are going to stay exactly where they are until I get back. I’ll just sleep on top of them tonight, if I have to. Tidying up can wait. It’s not like I’m going to have visitors before I go, while I’m away, or when I get back, is it?
Future Amber won’t thank me for it, she’ll be annoyed, but Amber right now can’t be arsed. It was hard enough dragging it all out.
