Liar Liar

‘Well, this should be interesting.’ It seems this might be a night of many mutterings as I take a deep swallow because, as it turns out, Charles is that teenage girl. A better analogy might be that he’s Pepe le Pew. He thinks he’s crushing on another skunk, when in fact, Remy Durrand is a whole other animal.

‘He told me that Amélie broke off the engagement before she went travelling last. Zat he’d fallen ’ead over ’eels in love with Rose.’

‘Oh, that’s so romantic!’

It’s so something, all right. So not true, at least in parts. It’s also confusing because even though it makes me smile, I also want to cry because Remy can’t be trusted.

‘’E loves you—why are you not smiling?’ Charles’s tone is more than a little piqued and—oh my God. That’s why he told Charles—he was playing with me, yes. But more than that, he knows his big mouth will blab. But now he’s going to blab his version of events, which doesn’t paint me as the woman who puts the ho in homewrecker, but someone who he love. And not at all a liar, either.

‘So this is why you moved to this place?’ Fee’s gaze immediately drops to her glass, her expression aghast. She’d make a pretty poor poker player.

‘I didn’t ask for this.’ I can feel my expression twisting. If Fee’s thinking it, others will, too. ‘The truth is, I didn’t get a choice. Not that anyone will believe I’m dating my boss for anything but the perks.’

‘Oui, the man, he has many, many perks.’ Like an old-time game show hostess, Charles uses his hands to mime a prize like Remy. The curve of his bicep, the handsomeness of his face, and the depths of his pockets. Unless that last mime was a reference to the baguette.

‘Of course people won’t those things,’ Fee protests, indignant on my behalf despite her assumption about this apartment. ‘And if they do, well, you know better.’ She nods decisively, as though that’s the only thing that matters.

‘When I first met him, I didn’t even know who he was,’ I complain, swinging around to face Charles. ‘I swear to God, Charlie, if you tell anyone anything about this—’

‘I say nothing!’ he retorts, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, his little flounce one of outrage that I would even dare suggest such a thing.

‘Is that why his cousin was so insistent in the club that night?’ My attention moves to Fee, once Charles is suitably served the stink eye. ‘I thought he was coming on to you, but maybe he was warning you off?’

‘More like scoping me out,’ I add quickly, not wanting to be drawn. ‘He apologised later. It’s all good.’ It’s so not all good, though Ben is the least of my problems having redeemed himself a little by doing what Remy should’ve done. By telling me the truth. And whatever his deal was that Saturday, at least he apologised. And he’s not interested in me, thankfully.

‘Let me tell you something.’ Lips pursed, Fee leans forward as though afraid of being overheard. Maybe she doesn’t realise Charles is just dying to spill the tea, aka spill the gossip, if he hasn’t already started. He’s not malicious, as far as I can tell. It’s more like he just can’t keep his mouth shut, especially in the office.

‘I never liked that Amélie. She came to spin class a few times and behaved like a total bitch.’

A bitch she may be, but she also looks like a sleek thoroughbred. And I already know I’m the ass in this comparison.

‘Oui, her family is not well liked,’ Charles agrees.

‘I understand why you’ve kept everything secret. I’m assuming that’s all over now because you want to go public with your relationship.’

‘Non. It is because la chienne, she is back,’ Charles announces dramatically.

‘The bitch,’ Fee offers by way of translation.

‘Remy tells me Rose is angry wiz him. But he cannot do wizout her, but ’e say she cannot forgive him for not saying ’e was engaged before.

‘That’s it, huh?’ If only he knew. If only that was the issue.

‘And ’e now wants the world to know they are in love.’

‘Well, I for one, I do not love being called to his office multiple times a day,’ I reply, dragging out the throw pillow from being me and punching it into some form of submission.

‘What was that?’

‘Olga, she gave Rose Monsieur Durrand’s account. She now works for ’im exlusivement.’

‘Almost exclusively,’ I correct. ‘And yes, I am mad at him.’ Sadly, not for the reasons they both think. ‘And now he’s driving me crazy, calling me to his office with all sorts of demands. He’s got me delivering lunch and then an afternoon coffee every day to his office, even though he already has a fancy-assed coffee machine in there. Not to mention a hotel with a Michelin-star chef who would probably stoop to making him brains and eggs if he wanted.’