Chapter Ten
Greta could not believe when an hour had already passed, and she had yet to hear from Philippe's American wife. Was it possible that the other woman was so desperate to stay with the French billionaire, she would rather turn a blind eye to the fact that Philippe was having an affair with his own sister-in-law?
The thought made Greta furious and disgusted, and with her temper once again getting the best of her, Greta's plans for making a splashy grand entrance in tomorrow's launch were all but forgotten.
She had tried to play nice, but it was now time to unsheathe her claws and teach the other woman her place.
The drive up to Foxtown took over an hour, and since the establishment also operated as a Regency-themed park, there were horse-drawn carriages waiting alongside expensive sports cars and chauffeur-driven limousines like the one she was in. A valet came up to open her door, and Greta took her time as she stepped out of the backseat, wanting to make sure that the people around her were able to have an eyeful of her long bare legs - Merde!
Greta's teeth started to chatter as soon as she was out, and her cheeks turned red with rage at the way some of the guests were silently laughing at her sparkling silver gown with thigh-high side-splits. Why the hell had no one told her that the stupid weather in Foxtown was a lot colder than the rest of Jackson Hole?
Greta was used to having people fawn all over her wherever she went, but with the exception of hotel employees warmly welcoming her to Foxtown, the only ones who cared to look their way were people interested in her choice of outfit.
Foxtown's circular lobby was more palatial than she expected, and Greta was grudgingly impressed at how tastefully decorated the whole place was. A small crowd seemed to have gathered just outside one of the hotel's in-house boutiques, with both men and women clearly excited as they asked for selfies with whoever local celebrity—-Merde!
Greta's jaw dropped as the small crowd gradually dispersed, and she found herself face to face with Philippe's American wife. Were locals here so desperate to rub elbows with someone famous they had settled for a former local beauty queen? That woman was not even from Wyoming, for God's sake!
So this was the infamous Greta, Charlee-Mae mused. The other woman was stunningly beautiful. Long, silky black hair. Olive skin. About a half foot taller than her, but likely several kilos lighter as well. She also had an air of icy sophistication about her, icy being the operative word since Greta was severely underdressed for Foxtown's sub-zero temps.
Philippe's sister-in-law suddenly stalked forward, and Charlee-Mae saw the other woman sneer as Charlee-Mae was forced to crane her neck all the way up to meet her gaze.
Greta struggled to give her ridiculously oversexed rival a frosty smile even as she was feeling frosty herself. "Bonjour."
Charlee-Mae smiled back. "Bonjour."
Greta's lip curled. Mon Dieu! She had never heard someone speak their language so horribly! How could Philippe bear listening to such a thing nearly every minute of the day?
Charlee-Mae couldn't help feeling bad as Greta's lips started turning a little blue. "Would you like to go somewhere warm?"
In minutes, they were inside the heated comfort of the hotel's cafe, and Charlee-Mae couldn't help but watch in silent fascination as Greta's beautiful face, originally pale and looking close to death's door, gradually gained color and consequently transformed into the catty features of a world-class...bitch.
"I thought we could have a little chat."
Charlee-Mae blinked. "But...I don't have anything to say to you."
Greta nearly sputtered in her anger. Cette salope! This bitch! Leaning forward, she hissed under her breath, "Philippe and I have been lovers for a long time."
"Two years," Charlee-Mae said gently, "isn't really that long, you know."
"Maybe not for other men," Greta sneered, "but for Philippe, it is his longest relationship—-"
"So why then did he marry me?"
Enfin! Finally! Greta's lips slowly curved in a smirk. "Do you not know—-"
"That his mother dislikes you so much—-" Charlee-Mae silently thanked Charlotte for being so thorough when it came to conducting background checks on prospective matches. "—-she would rather donate her shares to charity?"
Greta could feel herself shaking in anger. This woman had let her think she knew nothing about Philippe's reasons for signing up for that stupid mail-order marriage, and now—-
"If you think for one moment," she spat out, "you can play games with me and win—-"
Charlee-Mae couldn't make herself lie. "I do, actually."
Greta struggled not to throw the mug of hot chocolate at the other woman's face. Fuck this bitch! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Charlee-Mae was doing her best not to stare. Just like Ne-Yo, she had always believed that girls were sexier when they were mad, but the scary transformation of Greta's face as she went from annoyed to outraged was proof that there were also exceptions to the rule.