Page 146 of Boss of the Year

The second I looked at the messages, I knew it was a mistake. The “Bad Bambini” group chat—otherwise known as the Zola kids in overdrive—was blowing up.

KATE: Seriously, we’re starting to worry

LEA: Marie answer your freaking phone!

I tucked the phone back in my back pocket and continued up the remaining flights of stairs, hauling my bags of produce and sundries. It wasn’t like I’d gone completely off the grid. Before leaving London, I’d sent a brief email to Robbie and another to Frankie, thanking her for the apartment and letting her know I was going to Paris for a few days.

Since then, I’d been holed up in Montmartre’s familiar chaos. Louis had welcomed me with open arms when I’d appeared at his door with red-rimmed eyes and my suitcase. Still wearing his bright pink boa from last night’s show, he had pulled me into his attic flat and made space for my heartbreak among his costumes and musical instruments.

FRANKIE: If you don’t respond in the next hour I’m calling the police

I sighed and let myself into the apartment, then set the groceries on the floor of Louis’s tiny kitchen, which consisted of a miniature stove, a fridge that rose to my hip, and a butcher block counter the size of my laptop.

The French making the best food in the world in the smallest kitchens would always be the height of irony.

MATTIE: Marie Annetta Zola. Call right the duck now or I’m getting on a ducking plane

Using my full name. Autocorrect or not, my big brother meant business.

I stowed the produce in the fridge, then fetched my laptop from the little couch that had been my bed for the last three nights. Then I set up a video call on the counter while I unpacked the rest of the ingredients for dinner: onions, shallots, Gruyère, eggs, cream, butter, flour—everything I needed for a properonion tart. If I was going to face my family’s interrogation, I might as well keep my hands busy.

The call connected to a grid of Zola faces with dark hair, green eyes, and varying levels of concern and annoyance. Joni was clearly in her and Nathan’s apartment, her hair up in a messy bun and Nathan visible in the background, working. Frankie was back in her living room in Mayfair, Lucy on her lap while Sofia was playing dolls in the corner. Kate was obviously in her shop, surrounded by men’s suits, Lea was in her kitchen in Belmont, and Matthew was in his home office in Boston.

My heart squeezed looking at them. When was the last time we were all in the same room? It used to be every Sunday, and now…who knew when the next family dinner would happen?

“Finally,” Lea snapped as she started peeling a potato. “Marie, we’ve been worried sick.”

I pulled out a bowl to measure flour for the crust. “Why? I’ve been out of touch for all of four days. And Joni knew where I went.”

“Probably because we’ve all been getting calls from your scary boss wondering where you disappeared to, and no one knew if we were allowed to tell him,” Kate said as she examined a bright red tie. “Mattie, do you want this?”

“Yeah, put it aside for me,” Matthew replied. “Marie, what did you do to Lucas Lyons? Or maybe we should be asking what he did to you?”

I avoided the camera as I started pinching butter into the flour. “He did nothing. Like I told Joni, I’m in Paris. I took some time off to think.”

“Think about what?” at least three different voices demanded at the same time.

Joni was the only one who giggled.

I shot her face a glare. “Don’t, Jo.”

“I just don’t get it. You sounded so happy when you called me about—” She stopped abruptly, glancing back at Nathan, who was shaking his head behind her.

“Youtoldhim!” I screeched.

Joni shrugged. “I had to tell someone.”

“Tell what?” Frankie wondered. “What did she tell Nathan and not us?”

Joni was already wearing the expression that meant she was about to spill the tea, whether or not I wanted her to.

“Joni—” I reached out with flour-covered fingers, like I could silence her through the screen.

“Marie gave it up to the scary boss,” she announced cheerfully.

“JONI!” I nearly dropped the bowl.

“Come on, Mimi. They would have figured it out eventually.”