hair and tawny skin. He looked vulnerable enough that she felt the urge to hug him. An urge that she obviously resisted. Who knew when he was going to go back to being callous again? She couldn’t open herself to that kind of vulnerability.
As she looked away, Arthur looked at her. She felt his gaze on her. Their faces were only inches away, and she wondered if he was inspecting her pores, her flaws.
She downed her café. How much longer did she have to sit there with him?
After another half hour of chatting about this and that, the man came out of the bank.
“There he is,” Clémence exclaimed.
CHAPTER 11
The man lit a cigarette and took a call on his phone. From afar, Clémence couldn’t decide whether he was handsome or not, as Celine had claimed. He was just as out of focus as the photo on her phone.
Although Clémence didn’t know why it mattered how good looking he was. She was spending way too much time with her boy-crazy employees.
“If he’s taking a smoke break, he probably does work at the bank,” Arthur said.
Clémence got up and searched her purse for her wallet to pay for her expresso.
“Let me.” Arthur paid their bill.
Clémence thanked him, surprised. He could be nice when he wanted to be. The nice thing about bourgeois boys was that they were raised to be gentlemen, even if they didn’t behave all the time.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She watched the man, who was chatting away on the phone and paying no attention in their direction.
“I’m just going to find out who he is,” she said. She stood up to cross the street.
By the time she made it across in the mad traffic, the man was already going back inside. He smoked like a Parisian. Parisian smokers were fast, sucking on those cigarettes as if they kept them alive.
“You’re not going to follow me inside, are you?” she asked Arthur.
“Fine, I’ll be waiting outside.”
“Really, you can leave. You’ve wasted enough of your morning. Go work on your thesis.”
Arthur groaned. “Just accept my help. I’ll be out here like a bodyguard. I won’t interfere with your schemes, whatever they are, okay?”
Clémence watched him closely. “All right.”
She went inside the sliding doors of the bank and the brunette receptionist greeted her again.
“ Bonjour . Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” said Clémence. “I would like to make an appointment with one of your bankers.”
“Okay, which one?”
Clémence couldn’t believe she was going to do this, but it was the only plan she had. She lowered her voice.
“The handsome one who just came back in from his cigarette break?”
“Ah,” the receptionist was surprised, but soon her face fell into a knowing smile that women put on when they conspired with each other. “I see. He’s certainly good looking, isn’t he?”
Clémence laughed in embarrassed. “Do you know if he’s single?”
“As far as I know,” said the receptionist. “If I wasn’t married, I’d be after him myself.”
“I’m not a client here,” said Clémence, “but if you tell me his name, I will be.”
“John Christopher,” she said. “He’s American. He speaks fluent French though, and he’s our newest financial advisor. Did you want to make an appointment?”
“Yes,” said Clémence. She was wealthy enough to make investments, if it came to that.
At that moment however, John walked out to speak to the receptionist. The receptionist nodded towards Clémence .
“She’s interested in your services.” She turned to Clémence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Anabelle.”
She had panicked and spat out the first name that came to mind, but she should’ve given her real name, especially if she was supposed to be starting some sort of account at this bank.
“Bonjour Anabelle,” John said in American accented French. He introduced
As she looked away, Arthur looked at her. She felt his gaze on her. Their faces were only inches away, and she wondered if he was inspecting her pores, her flaws.
She downed her café. How much longer did she have to sit there with him?
After another half hour of chatting about this and that, the man came out of the bank.
“There he is,” Clémence exclaimed.
CHAPTER 11
The man lit a cigarette and took a call on his phone. From afar, Clémence couldn’t decide whether he was handsome or not, as Celine had claimed. He was just as out of focus as the photo on her phone.
Although Clémence didn’t know why it mattered how good looking he was. She was spending way too much time with her boy-crazy employees.
“If he’s taking a smoke break, he probably does work at the bank,” Arthur said.
Clémence got up and searched her purse for her wallet to pay for her expresso.
“Let me.” Arthur paid their bill.
Clémence thanked him, surprised. He could be nice when he wanted to be. The nice thing about bourgeois boys was that they were raised to be gentlemen, even if they didn’t behave all the time.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She watched the man, who was chatting away on the phone and paying no attention in their direction.
“I’m just going to find out who he is,” she said. She stood up to cross the street.
By the time she made it across in the mad traffic, the man was already going back inside. He smoked like a Parisian. Parisian smokers were fast, sucking on those cigarettes as if they kept them alive.
“You’re not going to follow me inside, are you?” she asked Arthur.
“Fine, I’ll be waiting outside.”
“Really, you can leave. You’ve wasted enough of your morning. Go work on your thesis.”
Arthur groaned. “Just accept my help. I’ll be out here like a bodyguard. I won’t interfere with your schemes, whatever they are, okay?”
Clémence watched him closely. “All right.”
She went inside the sliding doors of the bank and the brunette receptionist greeted her again.
“ Bonjour . Can I help you with something?”
“Yes,” said Clémence. “I would like to make an appointment with one of your bankers.”
“Okay, which one?”
Clémence couldn’t believe she was going to do this, but it was the only plan she had. She lowered her voice.
“The handsome one who just came back in from his cigarette break?”
“Ah,” the receptionist was surprised, but soon her face fell into a knowing smile that women put on when they conspired with each other. “I see. He’s certainly good looking, isn’t he?”
Clémence laughed in embarrassed. “Do you know if he’s single?”
“As far as I know,” said the receptionist. “If I wasn’t married, I’d be after him myself.”
“I’m not a client here,” said Clémence, “but if you tell me his name, I will be.”
“John Christopher,” she said. “He’s American. He speaks fluent French though, and he’s our newest financial advisor. Did you want to make an appointment?”
“Yes,” said Clémence. She was wealthy enough to make investments, if it came to that.
At that moment however, John walked out to speak to the receptionist. The receptionist nodded towards Clémence .
“She’s interested in your services.” She turned to Clémence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Anabelle.”
She had panicked and spat out the first name that came to mind, but she should’ve given her real name, especially if she was supposed to be starting some sort of account at this bank.
“Bonjour Anabelle,” John said in American accented French. He introduced
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