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EIGHTEEN

Homework

Vivianne

The following morning, I’m back at the chancery. Larson left instructions on how to access a folder on the server. I’m to review the dossiers and commit them to memory.

An hour later, pain pinches at my eyes. The glow from the monitor threatens to leave me with a headache. I stand and stretch, suppressing a deep yawn—still, no sign of Larson.

Sleep evaded me after dinner with Paul.

The role I’m expected to play is suddenly much more complex. Pretending to be involved in more than a business relationship with Paul is risky. My father won’t approve, but I’ve rehearsed how to break it to him, highlighting how this will further Faulks’ global interests.

As I’m a few years out from my arranged marriage, they can stand for me to have one indiscretion. He’ll grudgingly agree.

The other part?

No way in hell will my father agree to his daughter assuming that role.

My night was spent tossing and turning. A replay of my conversation with Paul kept looping in my head, but eventually, I drifted off to sleep, although it was well after two a.m.

That leaves me with exhaustion tugging on my nerves and welcoming the beginnings of a monstrous headache.

Another yawn escapes my mouth. The dossiers put me to sleep, and I can’t remember anything I’ve read. Larson set an impossible task.

I meander past the rows of empty cubicles to the windows on the far side of the room. It’s nearly nine in the morning, and the office is deserted.

The glass-paned windows are so old that they ripple with age and cast a watery veil over my view outside. Brilliant blue caps the sky, and puffy white clouds drift by. The chancery faces the Avenue Gabriel and looks out onto the Champs-élysées.

The statues and fountains within the gardens aren’t visible from my vantage point, but the obelisk filling the center of the square can’t be missed. Beyond that, the city skyline beckons, urging me to explore more of its hidden secrets.

I press my forehead against the rippled glass. I wish I were out there instead of inside this dingy office. Despite my best efforts to sanitize my assigned workspace, the desk still holds a lingering grime.

I don’t know if that’s from the coffee stains I couldn’t remove from the laminate desktop or from the never-ending stream of dust I’m constantly chasing off the desk.

Where is all of it coming from?

I’ve made too many trips to the ladies’ room, wetting paper towels and removing layer after layer of dirt. A search through the restroom cabinets for cleaning products left me empty-handed. No wonder the place is a mess.

Where is everyone?

A few strands of my hair drift free from my French twist’s constraints, and I blow them out of my face with a frustrated breath. The tightness of the twist pulls at my scalp and helps my headache along. I remove the pins holding my hair in place and shake out the long golden waves, finger-combing them into shape.

The outer office door bursts inward, and several voices rise in boisterous conversation. Four people enter—a middle-aged plump blonde with a pretty face, two tall men who are heads and shoulders taller than the woman, both muscular, and behind them, a short, effeminate man. The woman’s voice carries over the men’s.

“Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about. Larson wants your reports by noon.”

“Better listen to her.” The tall man in a suit smirks. “Belinda’s in a horn-tossin’ mood.”

The woman’s peal of laughter brings a smile to my face.

“Oh, I’m not looking to be tossin’ no horns. But you’d better get on it. Pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered. Best not be the hog, Brian.”

“Oh Lord, I’m on it.” Brian pulls to a stop when he notices me. “My, oh my, look at the new filly.”

I push off the wall and approach the group. Maybe I missed the memo about an office meeting first thing in the morning. I extend my hand to Brian.

“Hello. I’m Vivianne Faulks.”

Brian’s smile widens. “And so you are. Name’s Brian Kincaid.” He thumps the man in a suit beside him. “This here is Kenneth Lemay and Belinda Knight. Ken handles research. I run the jewelry arm of the division, and Belinda runs all of us in circles.”

Belinda barks a laugh. “Ain’t that the truth?”

I shake Ken’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’.” Like Brian, Kenneth Lemay speaks with a light Texas drawl.

Belinda looks the part of a Southern belle. Her blue eyes add light to the dingy office, and her bubbly personality brightens it even further. She doesn’t bother with a handshake, opting instead to fold me into a squishy Southern hug.

“Don’t listen to Ken. I’m not in charge of the show around here.” She turns. “Now, where did Merrill get to?”

I glance around. The small man slipped away from the meet and greet. Belinda gives a dismissive snort.

“Don’t mind Merrill. He’s sharp as a tack but shy as a mule.”

“I’m here,” comes a soft voice. Merrill peeks above one of the office dividers.

“Well, welcome to the bullpen, Vivianne,” Brian says. He wanders over to a desk full of sticky notes plastered on every surface. “It’s not as glamorous here as it sounds, but we’re a tight group.”

“Oh, please, everyone calls me Viv.”

Merrill moves out from behind his divider and slips around me. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a small voice. “I’ll be back later this afternoon, Belinda.”

“I’ll let the boss know.” Belinda smiles at him, grabs my hand, and pulls me forward. “Now, what can I do to get you settled?”

Kenneth saunters to his desk, pops the button on his jacket, and jiggles the mouse on his desk. As the computer comes to life, he sinks into his chair with a groan. “Let the day commence.”

Ten cubicles fill the small office.

“Where’s everyone else?” I trail behind the vivacious blonde.

“Oh, this is all of us. We used to have more, but budget cuts, you know.” Belinda stops at my desk. “I can get you whatever supplies you need. Just give me a list, and I’ll tackle it.” She eyes the folder Larson left on my desk. “I see Lars already has you working.”

With a sigh, I nod. “I’m supposed to memorize twenty names, faces, and all these details about these people’s lives. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. It’s impossible.” I lean down and shake the mouse. “I’m still on the first one, and I’ve been at it for over an hour.”

It’s all Paul’s fault. I can’t focus.

“Whatcha smiling at, sweetie?” Belinda leans on my cubicle divider.

“Oh, nothing.” But, from Belinda’s expression, I need to improve my lying skills. “Sorry, I was thinking about something from last night.”

“Oh.” Belinda pulls over a chair from the empty desk across the aisle and plops down. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with Monsieur de Gaulle, would it?”

Nosy doesn’t even begin to describe Belinda, but I understand. The poor woman is trapped in a roomful of uncommunicative men. I present a gold mine to Belinda’s starving appetite for juicy gossip. When I don’t say anything, Belinda pokes me in the arm.

“Now, that de Gaulle is a fine piece of meat.”

“I’m sorry?”

“All I’m saying is, you’re lucky to work with him. That stallion is hot to trot if you get my meaning, and you’re going on an assignment with him.” Belinda isn’t aware of all the particulars of what that would mean.

“I’m taken.” I tap the diamond solitaire on my finger.

“Taken don’t mean bacon in these parts. Watch yourself. That man is a lady-killer.”

I take my seat and stare at the face shot of William Teniford IV.

“Ugh, I’m getting cross-eyed, staring at these things.” I point to the open folder in my finder window. “How am I supposed to memorize these?”

Belinda scoots her chair closer and leans in toward the screen. “You don’t.”

I shrug. “Larson was pretty clear that I needed to learn all of this before the auction.” And that’s in two days.

Belinda’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Honey, if you try to memorize all those facts, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “If you have another way, I’m all ears.”

“Start with a story,” she says. “Pick something and build a story for each person.” She taps the screen with her manicured nail. “Take bald-headed Willy here, the fourth pretentious bastard from a long line of horse thieves.”

I blink. William Teniford IV comes from old English money. He isn’t bald but will be in a few more years, and his favorite pastime is polo, quite the English sport.

“Ah, I get it.” I glance at a few more details. “Bald Willy, the pretentious bastard, fell off the fourth horse in the polo match.”

“I think you’ve got it.” Belinda smiles. “Fallen off the fourth horse but riding his fifth wife, a young filly half his age.”

I laugh. William is an average-looking man approaching fifty. He has a potbelly and a gorgeous brunette hanging off his arm. Money brings many perks to the rich.

“Look at her legs,” Belinda continues. “I bet she’s the one riding him.”

We erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Hey, keep it down over there,” Brian chastises.

But our laughter can’t be stopped.

“Pull up the next one,” Belinda says. “But we’re not done with Bald Willy and his filly. We’ll finish him up in a bit. You don’t want to do too much at once.”

I open up the next file. A regal woman with ice in her eyes stares back.

“Now, that is an ice queen, Isabella, if I’ve ever seen one,” Belinda begins.

“Oh, yes.” I’m getting the hang of this now. “Her blood runs as cold as the ice encrusting her ears, her neck, and nearly every finger of her hands.” I peer at the relationship status and continue, “Our ice queen’s cold heart has taken two men to the grave.”

“You’ve got this.” Belinda rises from the chair and pushes it back in place at the empty cubby. “Now, have some fun. Go through each file and make up a small story in your head. Then, go back to the first on the list, see how much you remember, and add more to the story. Trust me, this is much more fun and tons more effective. You’ll be remembering everything in no time.”

“Thanks.”

Belinda has just made my day a little brighter.

I make it through the list twice before the feeling of being watched lifts the fine hairs on my nape. I swivel my chair, and my heart slams to a sudden halt.

“Paul.”

“Are you available for lunch, ma chère ?”