Chapter 5
WHILE SHE HADN’T RECOGNISED Matthieu by sight, she knew enough of the de Garmeaux family to know she should prepare for extreme luxury. Even then, though, she hadn’t been prepared enough. How could she be? What she considered ‘wealth’, from her experience with her stepdad, was nothing compared to this. True, her stepfather was a successful surgeon in Sydney, and he had a mansion in one of the wealthiest suburbs, and always the latest, fastest, best car that no one else could get, but there was no comparison. Not to the steel grey limousine that had collected Skye from the winery—much to the bemusement of the other staff with whom she’d become friendly. This was so high tech it could easily have passed for a spaceship. She sat in the back, ensconced in the cream leather, feeling like she belonged just about as well as a vegan in a slaughterhouse. She’d worn her ‘best’ outfit—black fitted pants and a sweater that one of her sisters had given her before she left Australia—and black ballet slippers, which were sadly the nicest shoes she owned. Nonetheless, it was clear she was way out of her league.
She hadn’t thought about what she was doing when she’d accepted his ridiculous proposal. She’d been so swept up in the financial incentives, and what this ruse would mean for her future, that she hadn’t really considered how completely out of her depth she’d be. As if Skye Smith had any idea how to act like the fiancé of a man like Matthieu de Garmeaux!
She ground her teeth together, focusing her gaze resolutely on the view as the limousine cut through Champagne, winding determinedly away from the vines and rolling hills, so that an hour after leaving the chateaux, the industrial outskirts of Paris began to clamour against either side of the car, swallowing it completely, until eventually the factories and office blocks gave way to low residential towers, then older, stone buildings and finally, the heart of Paris with the Seine slipping through it as a silvery life-blood. It was only her second time in the capital city, and her eyes chased the view hungrily, focusing on the landmarks, trying to get her bearings with the unfamiliar geography, wondering which district Matthieu lived in. The Notre Dame, still being renovated after the awful fire had laid ruin to its ancient beauty, passed on her left, then the Louvre, and finally the Arc de Triomphe. She barely noticed the famous landmark archway though, because she had to squeeze her eyes shut and hope for the best as the car entered the most chaotic roundabout Skye had ever seen. The driver swore under his breath several times, honked twice, before taking an exit and allowing Skye to exhale slowly, life still intact.
The streets here were unmistakably exclusive—just as she’d expected—and less busy than the wide boulevard they’d just travelled down.
But when the car pulled to a stop, it wasn’t at a residential address, but rather an office building – a steel and glass monolith with de Garmeaux Industries proudly emblazoned across a sign at the front.
Nerves spread through Skye like waves crashing to shore. She toyed with her fingers in her lap, staring out of the window as the driver exited the vehicle and came to her door, opening it with the same deference he’d shown at the winery.
“Mademoiselle,” he gestured with his hand towards the doors. Two men stood sentinel on either side, all four in suits and coats. The weather had turned, the warmth of even just a fortnight ago no longer apparent, and the sunshine she’d enjoyed that morning in Champagne was not in evidence here in Paris. The sky was a woolly grey, as though rain could be imminent, and the air smelled like tar.
“This is Matthieu’s office?”
“Oui. Monsieur de Garmeaux is expecting you. Gerald will take you to him.”
She didn’t know which of the men was Gerald, but she nodded and smiled politely, wincing as the driver moved to the trunk of the car and removed her battered suitcase. She’d shunned the Louis Vuitton set her stepdad had given her as a going away present. Ironically, she’d never liked the pretention that her stepsisters had embraced. She hated famous fashion brands and felt like a fraud toting anything so valuable around with her. Instead, she’d bought a good quality but nonetheless second-hand case at a thrift shop and pushed it into service. Only now, as she stood on the sidewalk, did she wish she’d been a little less of an anti-snob.
The driver, though, didn’t react at all. He simply wheeled the bag towards one of the four men and handed it over, saying some words in French –too softly for her to hear, too fast for her to comprehend. When he turned back to Skye, it was with a polite smile. “Au revoir.”
She repeated the farewell, then turned back to the doors, just as a man came towards her. “This way, please.”
Gerald spoke English with an American accent. “You’re not French?”
“Why do you say that?” Still no hint of the guttural accent she’d become used to.
“Your accent,” she said with a shrug.
“Ah. My mother is from California. I grew up splitting my time between the States and France—divorced parents.” He flashed her a grin that was pure American film star handsome, all shimmering white teeth to compliment his turquoise eyes. “And you’re an Aussie?”
She nodded jerkily, the nerves back, taking over her nervous system as the sleek silver doors to the lift slid open. The limousine had been opulent, but this office building was somehow so much worse. It was the very last word in sophisticated expense. From the ceilings that were at least four times as high as normal, to the stone pillars that created interest within the cavernous foyer, to the bank of twenty lifts, all waiting to ferry people to the various levels of the building. She noticed that the lift Gerald had brought her to was cordoned off by red rope, and once the doors opened, he swiped a security card before indicating that she should follow.
“This lift is just for him, isn’t it?”
“And visitors to his suite, yes.”
“Suite?” Her stomach dropped to her toes. Oh, God. Did he live here? Was she going to live here? Was she about to brought into his home, his bedroom, his…panic took over the nerves, so she had to suck in a deep breath, and then another, steeling herself for whatever was to come.
“His suite of offices,” Gerald explained, and if he’d noticed her violent reaction, he didn’t show it.
“Right,” she mumbled.
“Where abouts in Australia?”
The attempt at small talk was appreciated, if only because it was clearly his attempt to alleviate stress. “Sydney.” She didn’t go into the whole story, the fact she felt bonded to the land in a way that an urban dweller could never understand.
“I spent six months there after school,” he grinned. “Beautiful place. Even more beautiful women.”
She smiled caustically. Yes, Australia was famed for suntanned beauties like her step-sisters. She doubted someone like her would have earned a second glance from this man, despite the fact he was being nice enough now. That was because she was a guest of Matthieu’s. Or…did he know about the lie? Had he been told she was Matthieu’s fiancé? Had the driver? Who knew what? Gah! Skye’s cheeks grew warm as she tried to grapple with what she’d agreed to, two weeks earlier, on that sundrenched terrace. It had all been so easy—or perhaps the delicious wine had made it seem that way? She was just swapping one job for another, and whatever objections her conscience had been inclined to make had quickly been overcome by the enormity of the financial incentives…But money wasn’t everything, and never had been to Skye. Lying about her relationship to Matthieu felt a thousand kinds of wrong now.
Was it too late to back out?
The elevator swooshed upwards, so her tummy dropped for a whole new reason now, as she was jettisoned—or so it felt—into the heavens.
Not quite. The lights indicated that the lift drew to a stop on the twenty ninth floor of the building—the top—and the doors opened into yet another spacious, far-too-high ceilinged room. She grimaced as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She looked like someone who’d come to clean the place, not a woman about to be announced as the fiancé of Matthieu de Garmeaux.