Liar Liar

I try not to bristle at the implication, pushing away the residual sense of confusion and worry I’d felt that day. ‘Doesn’t everyone feel a little strange on their first day at a new job?’

‘It looked like more than that.’ Sitting forward, he pulls the bottle of champagne from the bucket and begins unwinding the foil. ‘You looked vulnerable.’

I snort unhappily. You are barking up the wrong tree, friend.

‘Pardonne-moi. I don’t mean to offend you. I was simply intrigued.’ He pops the cork expertly and begins pouring the effervescent liquid into two glasses, passing one over the small table with an inciteful look.

‘Well, as you can see, I survived.’ I take the glass from his hand because champagne is champagne. Besides, I need something to take the taste of this exchange out of my mouth.

‘Non. You have thrived.’ He raises his glass in a toast.

How am I supposed to refuse that toast? So I don’t, the crisp bubbles dancing on my tongue.

‘Where did they eventually hide you?’

‘Hide?’ I roll my lips together, savouring the flavour as I place my glass down. Okay, I’m stalling for time, trying to work out what his angle is.

‘No one seemed to know where you’d gone to. The beautiful girl with the luxurious dark hair? Très exotique.’

‘Someone needs to book you some sensitivity training,’ I mutter under my breath because exotic is not a compliment.

‘Pardon?’

‘Hmm?’ No one knew. I began to think I’d imagined you.’

‘Oh, boy. You’re really laying it on thick. Did you forget already that I said I’m involved with someone?’

‘Ah, the boyfriend.’ His head drops between his shoulders, but his smile is still visible. ‘Someone snapped you up so quickly.’ As his head comes up slowly, his smile almost wolfish. Though a pale imitation of the wolf himself. Of Remy. ‘I could be good to you.’

‘I think you should stick to neutral topics if you want the pleasure of my company.’

He nods slowly, seeming to consider my words. ‘How do you find Monaco?’ A change of direction.

‘I like it so far.’

‘Two square kilometres. More billionaires than anywhere else in the world. Super cars. Super yachts. Supermodels. You like all this?’

‘I like my friends. I like my job. I like the scenery.’

‘Yes. I can appreciate that.’ My skin prickles under the weight of his gaze. ‘And you like a man. So, where is this boyfriend of yours?’

‘If he has any sense, he’ll be tucked up in bed.’

‘If he had any sense, he’d make sure you were tucked up next to him. He neglects you, my dear.’

‘Is this a speciality of yours, hitting on women who aren’t interested? I guess you like them a little hard to get, huh?’

‘Hard to get but not impossible.’ The final word is wholly French and wholly provocative.

‘I don’t know, I have to tell you, Benny,’ I reply, pressing my elbow on the table to cup my chin in my hand. ‘The longer I speak to you, the worse your odds become.’

‘Non. You like to spar with me. I think you and I would make a fire between the sheets.’

And I think you’re not only annoying but deluded, too.

‘What a shame I’m not into flammable nightwear.’ I make as though to rise, dipping to grab my clutch.

‘I’m sorry. Please, at least, finish your drink.’

A quick look at my surroundings tells me neither Charles or Fee are in view. I lower back into my seat reluctantly because I can hardly leave without them.

‘What do you think is the item most sold in Monaco?’ he asks quite suddenly.

‘What?’

‘A change in the topic of conversation,’ he answers airily.

‘I don’t know.’ Truly, I don’t. At work, hundreds of thousands of dollars run through my fingers on any given week, at least figuratively, as I purchase trinkets and experiences. Or time, as the concierge bible goes. But surely this isn’t indicative of the whole of Monaco? Just then, an older man swaggers past the velvet entry ropes; you know the type, a balding head, a sizeable paunch, looks like he has a mohair sweater growing out of the neck of his shirt. But this troll, pardon, man has a beautiful woman tucked under each of his arms. Women young enough to be his daughters, though fathers don’t, as a rule, feel their daughter’s asses.

‘Viagra,’ I answer impulsively, my attention caught by Benoît’s soft chuckle. ‘Am I right?’

‘A good guess. Should we find a pharmacist to ask?’

‘If you don’t know, why ask the question?’

‘Oh, I know what the answer is.’ He sits forward quite suddenly, taking my hand. I try to pull away, but his fingers tighten, his other hand coming to cover it. To those looking on, it must look like a tender moment, not one where his grip is almost punishing. ‘The answer is sex. Sex is the commodity traded most here.’

‘I’m not sure why you’re looking at me like that. I’m not for sale.’