"Are you crazy? Why would I do that?"
"The owner of your rooms wants them back."
"Madame, what are you talking about? I'm the owner! I have a lease."
"You are the renter. Perhaps you forget that I explained, when you signed the lease, that the apartment was owned by a bank."
"Perhaps you forget that you also told me I could rent it for as long as I wished and even buy it, when I was ready."
"It would seem that things have changed. I am afraid you must leave. It is unfortunate, but I hope mademoiselle understands."
No, Miranda thought as she slammed down the telephone, mademoiselle did not understand. Conor O'Neil wanted her out of Paris and all of a sudden, her best friend was moving halfway across the world, she was losing her home...
The phone rang again. "Listen, madame," Miranda said as she snatched it up, "I refuse to believe—"
"Ah, cherie," Jean-Phillipe said, laughing, "how can you refuse to believe my good fortune when I have yet to share it with you?"
"Jean-Phillipe." Miranda sighed with relief and sank down onto the sofa. "You can't imagine how glad I am to hear your voice. I've had the most impossible day."
"No more notes, surely?"
"No, no more notes."
"Bien. I did not think there would be any, not with your Monsieur O'Neil hovering over you like a guardian angel."
"He's not my Mr. O'Neil and he sure as hell isn't a guardian angel."
Jean-Phillipe chuckled. "You might be quicker to agree if you had heard the questions he asked of me."
"What?" Miranda stood up. "The bastard! When did he talk to you? And why did you let him?"
"Now, Miranda, you must not think ill of a man who is concerned with your welfare."
"He's nothing but a stooge, hired by my mother!"
"He is a man with a job to do, cherie," Jean-Phillipe said patiently, "and he asked me nothing I would not have asked myself of a man who knows you well." He paused and when he spoke again, there was the hint of a smile in his voice. "Though I will admit, his questions did grow somewhat personal."
"Personal? What do you mean, personal?"
"He wanted to know how long we had known each other, if it bothered me to know there were other men in your life from time to time, that sort of thing. I had the feeling he would like to have made our talk a bit more man-to-man." He laughed softly. "Perhaps I should say, mano a mano. I do not think he likes the idea of you belonging to anyone else."
"I don't give a damn what he thinks. And you're probably right—he's just the type who would settle a dispute with his fists."
"Miranda? Has your relationship with O'Neil taken a more intimate turn?" His voice softened. "I was tempted to tell him the truth, cherie, that you and I have never been more than good friends."
"But you didn't," Miranda said quickly.
"I would not do such a thing without consulting you first. But I felt much empathy with him. I sense that he feels as protective of you as I."
"He isn't protective, he's a bully."
"His job is to watch over you, and he does."
"Not anymore. I showed him the door days ago."
"His interview with me took place the day before yesterday, cherie. It would seem your protector is still there."
"And still unwanted," she said grimly. "The man is as hard to get rid of as the flu."