Honeymoon in Paris (24 page)

I forced myself to wait until I’d left the offices of
Bella France
to listen to the recording. I didn’t want to risk anyone at my new place of work finding out what I’d just done.

As I exited the Metro at Bellecour, I slipped on my headphones, turned the volume on my iPhone up to full blast, and pressed Play.

Marcel’s voice boomed through my ears as I booked it down the lively rue Victor Hugo toward Isabelle’s lingerie shop.

“
Mais qu’est-ce que tu fous?
”
What in the hell are you doing?
Marcel growled.

“The way I run my publishing business is of no concern to you,” Vincent snapped back in French. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were filming in Paris.”

Gosh, what a warm and fuzzy father-son relationship they shared.

“I was, but there’s something important I need to talk to you about,” Marcel said.

“I thought we agreed to do all of our business through Jean-Michel. It’s safer that way.”

Who was Jean-Michel?

“This couldn’t go through Jean-Michel,
or
through Brigitte. It had to come directly from me.”

“Well, out with it then,” Vincent said. “I don’t have all day.”

“You need to shut down the operation,” Marcel said. “And you need to leave the country tonight.”

Leave the country?

I passed by a
boulangerie
and a caught a heavenly whiff of butter and freshly baked bread, and although my stomach was growling, I kept on walking. This was just too good.

“I don’t have time for your games or for your paranoia,
mon fils
,” Vincent said. “If you’re angry at me for stealing Brigitte’s affections, then—”

“I couldn’t give a shit about that little slut. She’s using both of us to support her drug habit, and she’s using
you
to get back at Luc. I don’t want anything to do with her, and I told her as much today. It was a mistake for you to involve her in this business. She’s not stable. The other girls, they’re smarter than Brigitte. They know how to get the job done, and they want to become stars. They know their involvement in
Les Bijoux
will get them there.”

“Lower your voice,” Vincent snapped. “And get to the point.”

“My point,
Father
, is that it’s over. And you need to leave the country tonight if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in prison.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about, Marcel? Have you been compromised?”

A few seconds passed before Marcel spoke. “Of course not. But do you think it’s a coincidence that Luc’s new wife just happened to walk in here, asking for a job? She’s clearly been placed here to dig up dirt on you, me, and Brigitte.”

“And who exactly do you think placed her here?” Vincent asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Marcel said.

“Luc Olivier is a college professor, and he’s just as oblivious as his father was.” Vincent let out an evil chuckle that made my blood boil. “It’s not possible.”

“Believe what you want, but I’m telling you it has to be over. And you must leave. I’m trying to help you, Dad. This is your last chance.”

“And what about you? You’re not exactly innocent,” Vincent scoffed.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll take care of myself. I always have,” Marcel said.

“This is nonsense. I want you to leave.”

“Please, I know you’ve always considered Nicolas the smarter one, and I’m just the pretty boy pawn who helps you reel in all of the beautiful, young, desperate actresses so you can make your millions, but just this once, take my advice. You won’t regret it.”

“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?” For the first time in their entire conversation, I noticed a hint of panic laced in Vincent’s bossy tone.

“Like I said, I knew this couldn’t go through Jean-Michel, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I wanted to see you before—”

“
Ça suffit!
” Vincent’s powerful voice shot through my ear, making me jump. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Marcel. There is no way this can be traced back to me
or
to you. Brigitte was the only loose screw, and as of yesterday, I’ve got her under control. I’ve been in this business almost as long as I’ve been in the publishing business. You must have more faith in me than that.”

“It’s different this time, Dad. Listen, I shouldn’t even be here right now. I have to go.”

“Wait, I’ll follow you out.”

I reached the storefront of Chez Isabelle just as I heard the sound of Vincent’s office door clicking shut in my recording. As I let myself into Isabelle’s palace of gorgeous lingerie, I thought about the fact that I was only one week into my job at
Bella France,
and only eighteen days into my marriage, and things were spiraling out of control.

TWENTY-THREE

“Charlotte, it’s so good to see you,” Isabelle said in her perky British accent, kissing me lightly on each cheek. Her long, sandy-blond hair swished over her shoulders as she fit a slinky black slip onto one of the mannequins.

“You too, Isabelle. Really, I can’t thank you enough for being there for me lately. It’s been a total lifesaver. You have no idea.” I’d stopped by Isabelle’s shop for gossip and support more than a few times over the past two weeks, and she’d even called me the day before to see how I was doing. She was mostly up to date on everything that had happened with Luc, Brigitte, and the Bouchers—
except
for this most recent news, of course.

Isabelle placed a concerned hand on my arm. “Is everything okay, Charlotte? You look a little pale.”

“You won’t believe the intel I just got,” I whispered, casting a glance around the store to make sure no one was listening.

“Intel? You’re starting to sound like a secret agent,” she said with a giggle. “What’s going on?”

I waited until the only other customer left the store before continuing.

“You remember what I told you yesterday, about the discussion I heard between Brigitte and Vincent?”

“And their crazy office sex? How could I forget?”

“Well, I waited up for Luc last night and told him about all of it, but he acted really strange and told me I should stop eavesdropping. Then he spent at least two hours on his laptop before going to bed.”

“That’s weird.”

“I know. And after what I found out today, I’m not sure if I should take this information directly to Luc. He’s still not telling me what he knows, and he’s just going to get angry that I’ve been spying again.”

“You’re probably right. I wouldn’t say anything to Luc just yet,” she said, straightening up a table of lacy panties in the center of the store. “So what did you find out? I’m dying to know!”

I plucked my phone out of my purse and pulled up the recording. I stared at it for a few seconds, thinking over what I’d heard on my walk to Isabelle’s store. I was beginning to form a pretty solid theory on what was going on behind the scenes with Brigitte and the Bouchers, but I still couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

“Hello? Charlotte?” Isabelle’s sweet voice called me back to the present. “You look like you’re about to faint or break into a messy sob, or perhaps like you could use a glass of wine.”

“Yes, wine would be good,” I said with a flustered laugh.

“Well, the store has been rather quiet all day. Who am I kidding—it’s been quiet for months now. But this afternoon, we can use that to our advantage.” Isabelle smiled deviously as she bustled to the front door, flipped over the “Out to Lunch” sign, then locked the door behind her.

“Isabelle, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” she quipped as she headed for the checkout counter, then bent down and rustled around for a few seconds. “These early afternoon hours are usually my slowest because most of Lyon are still eating their three-hour lunches or they’ve gone home to take a midday nap.”

Isabelle popped up from behind the counter holding two wineglasses and two minibottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. “We may as well embrace the culture, no?” She didn’t wait for me to answer as she unscrewed the tops and poured us each a glass.

“Lingerie
and
wine—I should’ve gotten a job here instead of at the magazine!” I said, accepting the glass without hesitation.

“All right, tell me what’s going on,” Isabelle said.

Isabelle’s advice had been spot-on up to this point, so I was hoping she could help me figure out what to do next.

“The plot is thickening with the Boucher family drama,” I began. “And I’ve continued to take matters into my own hands.”

“As any smart woman would,” Isabelle said. “So, what did you do?”

“I was giving Vincent his first English lesson today, and Marcel stormed into his office right when we were getting started. Before I left them alone, my phone may have
accidentally
slipped out of my bag, and the Record button just happened to turn on.”

Isabelle’s sapphire eyes widened, reveling in the drama. “You sneaky girl! I can’t believe you recorded their conversation! Can I hear it?”

“Please don’t think I’m awful, and please don’t tell anyone about this.” My finger hovered over the Play button.

Isabelle lifted up her wineglass and gestured to all of the racy lingerie filling the store around us. “Do you really think I’m in a position to judge you? I have three small daughters and I own a lingerie store. Can you even imagine what the other mothers say about me?”

“It’s just that there’s something really crazy going on with Vincent, Marcel, and Brigitte. And Luc knows more about it than he’s telling me. I didn’t want to be in the dark any longer, so—”

“Charlotte, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Trust me, I understand needing to do
whatever
you have to do to look out for yourself and for the people you love. Even if it may not be considered moral by others’ standards.” She focused back on my cell phone. “Maybe I can help. Let’s hear it.”

I pressed Play and watched Isabelle’s confused expression as she listened intently to Vincent and Marcel’s argument.

When the recording finished, Isabelle took an exceptionally long sip of wine. Finally, when she came up for air, she asked me, “What do you think it all means? Do you have any idea what this operation is they’re talking about?”

“
Les Bijoux
? Well, I can’t be one hundred percent certain, of course, but I think I’m starting to form a theory.”

“And?”

“Okay, this might sound insane, but what if
Les Bijoux
are prostitutes and Vincent is their pimp? Well, maybe he’s not a pimp in the normal sense of the word, but he could be the one cashing in on all the action and running it from behind the scenes—possibly with the help of this Jean-Michel character he mentioned.” I emptied the rest of my minibottle of wine into the glass and took a sip before continuing. “Based on what Marcel said, it sounds like they target young, desperate actresses who are looking for a break. Then they pimp them out to God knows who—maybe rich film executives who can promise them their next role. And I think that Luc’s ex-wife, Brigitte, is one Vincent’s
jewels
—or prostitutes.”

Isabelle took the last swig of her wine, then set the glass down on the counter.

“That’s quite the theory,” she said.

“I know it sounds absurd, but from the little I know of Vincent, and of his obsession with women, I can totally see him running an organized prostitution ring. After listening to this recording and after the conversation I told you about between Vincent and Brigitte yesterday, do you have any other ideas on what else could it be?”

Isabelle suddenly seemed lost in thought. “Who else have you told about this?”

“You’re the first person. I’m not sure who to take the recording to.”

Isabelle drummed her long fingernails against the countertop. “Hmm, let me think.”

“Of course Luc would be the obvious answer… but his secrecy has me worried. Does he already know about all of this, and if he does, why hasn’t he done anything about it?” I said. “And of course I’m still supposed to be meeting Nicolas Boucher at seven o’clock tonight at La Cour des Loges Hôtel. I don’t get the impression that he’s the type of guy to involve himself in whatever his dad and brother are working on behind the scenes, but who knows? I can’t trust any of them at this point.”

“Who will be watching Adeline while you’re meeting with Nicolas? Doesn’t Luc work late?” Isabelle ran her fingers down the stem of her wineglass, her eyes zeroing in on my cell phone.

“I’ve already arranged for Luc’s sister Sandrine to pick Adeline up from the
crèche
at five o’clock and watch her back at our apartment until I get home. So I’m all set there. The real question is—what should I do with this information?”

She whipped her head up, and for the first time since I’d met her, I noticed a flash of fire in those sapphire eyes of hers. “You’re involving yourself in something you don’t know anything about, something that, quite honestly, sounds dangerous. I think you need to leave all of this alone.”

“So you don’t think I should mention this to Luc or to Nicolas? But what if—”

“Destroy the recording and see how it all plays out. This isn’t something you want record of when the shit hits the fan. Trust me.” Suddenly Isabelle’s cell phone buzzed. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” she asked.

I nodded as she took her call into the back room, just as she’d done the week before… and several times since.

That was strange.

I left the counter to walk through the lush racks of lingerie while pondering my next course of action. A new collection featured toward the back of the store caught my eye. Not that I had any
business buying more lingerie for myself right now, but it certainly didn’t hurt to take a peek.

An intricately designed black lace slip fell effortlessly from a white satin hanger. The straps were thin and delicate, and they crisscrossed in the back. Three tiny jewels sparkled right where the two straps crossed, and more showy stones lined the hem of the slip. I placed the sexy piece back on the rack and thumbed through the rest of the collection. Mock emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and amethysts studded all of the bras, panties, thongs, and nighties.