Liar Liar

‘Does she like silver or gold? What about the one with the blue face?’

‘I think the dial is too small,’ he says, frowning down at the glass case. ‘Did you get what you were looking for?’ His words are so mild in their delivery that I know he overheard. Whatever. What are the chances he overheard everything? Not high, I’d guess. Besides, it’s not like he just caught me slipping diamonds into my pockets.

‘Yep, I totally did, thanks.’

‘Did I hear you say you work for Wolf Industries?’

I play back my earlier conversation with Yuri. Did I mention the company name? I don’t think so. I don’t even think I mentioned the word concierge.

‘I do,’ I answer carefully. ‘But I don’t recall saying so.’

‘Busted.’ He smiles all white teeth and aw-shucks. I bet it works for him plenty, too. But not with me. ‘I overheard you say mention Remy and then the thing with the watch.’

I feel myself frown. Damn.

‘Well, this is a watch shop, sure,’ I answer, refusing to admit anything else.

‘Exactly. You were picking up his watch.’ And if I’m not admitting anything, I guess he’s playing along, too.

‘Do you know Mr Durrand?’

‘Oh, it’s Mr Durrand now.’ He smiles again, but I’m tiring of his repertoire.

‘Well, he is the boss. Now, shall we get back to this watch?’

We browse a few more minutes, and I recruit the assistance of Yuri, and it isn’t too much longer before she’s ringing up a five-thousand-dollar sale. Lucky grandma.

‘It was nice meeting you, Carson. I hope your grandmother has a great birthday.’ I mark to turn when he speaks again.

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but would you allow me buy you a coffee to thank you for your help?’

‘Oh, no. That’s fine. You really don’t have to do that.’

‘But I’d like to. Not just to say thanks but because, well, I also think you’re very pretty.’

‘Thank you.’ Accept the compliment, then move on. ‘And I’m sorry, but I’m already seeing someone.’

‘Lucky him.’ He pulls out another smile, this one a touch more insincere. ‘Let me give you my card. Just in case.’

Nothing like suggesting to a girl; I hope your relationship fails!

He pulls out a tiny silver case, handing me an embossed piece of finery. Business cards. How old-school. It reads,

Carson Hayes III

COO Hayes Construction

‘Who are Carson Hayes the first and second?’ I muse.

Oops, I probably should’ve mused a little quieter, judging by the quirk of his mouth.

‘My grandfather and my father,’ he answers equably. ‘You should ask Remy about us.’

Should I frown a little fake confusion for the sake of propriety? Remy? Who could that be again? We’re hardly a secret anymore, but there’s something a little strange about this exchange. In the end, I say nothing, mainly because he speaks first.

‘Well, Rose, I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

‘Absolutely.’ Though, not if I see you first. ‘Monaco is a small place.’

With that, I shove the damn card in the bag with the watch, give the man my own version of a disingenuous smile, and get out.

41

Rose

Friday morning, my email inbox yields another surprise: an appointment this time.

‘Charles, do you know anything about this?’

He lifts his head from his screen, swinging around in his ergonomic to face me. ‘Bien sûr.’ Of course. ‘I make the appointment for you wis Glenna. Please confirm the time. Fee is driving me to your new house to watch the magic ’appen.’

‘It’s not my house. It’s Remy’s.’ But Glenna Goodman? The stylist in Monaco? Olga recently hauled my butt over the coals for being unable to get an appointment for one of the residents. ‘Did he put you up to this—Remy?’ Is this another gift?

‘He asked.’ Only Charles could lift and drop his shoulder with such an attitude. ‘You have a gown to buy for the gala next weekend.’

‘I can shop for myself.’

‘H&M won’t do, mon petite canard,’ he answers, full of condescension as he makes as though to tap my nose.

‘I’m not your little duck,’ I retort, knocking his hand away. ‘I’m perfectly capable of picking up a gown for next Saturday. In fact, I found a cute little vintage designer store in Monaco-Ville last week.’

‘And?’

‘I tried on a couple of dresses that might work.’ Maybe. With a little alteration. ‘Plus, there’s a rent-a-gown place in Nice that Fee told me about. You can go to the store to try the dresses on or order online for delivery.’ So Fee said.

‘But your poitrine généreuse?’ he asks with such distaste, indicating my chest. No, not indicating but rather rubbing the air in front of them as though they were drawn on a whiteboard he’s trying to scrub clean.

‘They’re called boobs, Charles. Or breasts. You can use your big-boy words.’

‘I only say you need the help.’

‘I must need psychiatric help,’ I mutter, swinging my chair away from him. ‘Some friend you are.’ I begin to tap the keys of my laptop a little viciously.