My brows raise, along with my hackles. “What are you talking about?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that I don’t like. “I was talking with my father about this yesterday. I think perhaps it would be best if Blaise stepped in.”
“Stepped in?” I cry out, aware that people in the office can hear me. This is worth raising hell over. “And do what? Are you firing me?”
That fucking smirk again. “Firing you? No, no. That would be up to my father, anyway. It’s just that you and your father worked one way and we work another. If Blaise could teach you—”
“Teach me?” I repeat, my face growing hot. “What the fuck does he know about cosmetics and skin care? This has been my department for the last five years!”
“I know,” he says quietly, his voice brimming with fake sympathy. “You started so young, when you didn’t really know better. Picked up so many bad habits.”
My eyes narrow and I stride toward him, sticking the sharp nail of my forefinger under his chin, wishing it were a knife. “You listen to me, okay? I know we don’t see eye to eye on most things, but let’s not forget we’ve been working together for the legacy of Dumont, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. I’ve always done the best job, even if you’re too proud to admit it, and I stand by our name.”
He raises a brow, keeping his chin up. “But it’s not really your family name, is it?”
I could fucking punch him for that. “Don’t you dare,” I whisper harshly, pushing my nail in deeper. “I took the Dumont name when my father and mother adopted me and brought me into the family. It’s legal. It’s official. It has been since I was nine. Sure, I don’t look like you, I might have a different accent, but I’m a Dumont. As far as I’m concerned, I always have been.”
“And as far as we’re concerned,” he says, removing my finger from under his chin, “you need help. Are you too proud to have your own cousin help you?”
“Eat shit,” I tell him and whirl on my heel, heading to my office, where I slam the door.
I go straight for my desk and plop down in the chair, my head in my hands.
This is so fucking ridiculous. Since they let so many people go to cut costs, the entire Dumont beauty department needs help, not me—and especially not from Blaise. He’s been trying to meddle in my business for the last few months, and I guess it makes sense why now. They want him to take over. I’ll slowly be pushed out.
That, or they want me to quit. That’s more likely.
I’m usually pretty good at keeping my head on straight. I have a short temper, but I try to keep my calm at work, especially since my father died and I know people have been watching me under a microscope.
But honestly, today is just another nail in the proverbial coffin.
Today is another reminder of how fucking alone I really am in this.
Both of my brothers are in California, working on their respective vineyards and hotels.
I’m divorced.
My father and mother are both gone.
I’m an orphan once more.
Surrounded by constantly circling sharks, wondering which one will try and pick me off first.
I let out a sigh that feels as heavy as my heart. I’ve been so good at keeping it together, but fuck it all. I need a drink.
“I hate to tell you this, but you look rough,” Marie says to me as she reaches for the bottle of Dumont cabernet sauvignon and pours me yet another glass.
I give her a wry smile and take the glass from her. It’s my fifth and yet it’s not enough. “Is it because I have wine stains on my teeth? I always told my brother Renaud that he needs to grow grapes that don’t stain your teeth.”
“It’s called white wine, Seraphine. And also, it’s your eyes,” she says, tilting her head sympathetically. Marie is a straight shooter and pretty low on sympathy for most people, so I should probably pay attention. “Plus, you’re so skinny. Are you even eating?”
“No less than the typical Frenchwoman,” I tell her.
Once upon a time I would have taken that remark as a compliment, but my appearance is the last thing I’ve been caring about these days. That, and apparently food.
“So do you want to tell me why you called me?” she says, taking a delicate sip as she folds her legs underneath her on the couch.
“I can’t invite my friend over for wine at my apartment?”
She shakes her head. “No,” she says emphatically. “You’re impossible to get ahold of these days and you know that. I’ve been trying to get you out for coffee, for shopping, for cocktails, and you always push it off and off. Or you don’t even text back or answer your phone. I feel like I’m dealing with a ghost.”
I give her a sheepish smile, feeling ashamed at my neglect. “I’ve been a shitty friend.”
She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You aren’t a shitty friend. You’re just wrapped up in whatever you’re wrapped up in, and I’m honored that you reach out to me when you need a little unraveling. And so, well, let’s unravel you.” She pauses. “Is it Cyril?”
I cringe at the mention of my ex-husband’s name. “No. No, thankfully he’s disappeared for now.” I was embroiled in a long and bitter war with him over the divorce; despite the fact that he had cheated on me repeatedly, he still thought he had the right to all my money. He’s dropped it for now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not coming back.
“It’s your father,” she says quietly.
I nod, willing away the lump in my throat I always get when I talk about him. For some reason, I can think about him all the time, and the sadness seems to stay at a manageable level, but when I talk about him with someone else, I can start crying at the drop of a hat.
“It is my father,” I tell her. “I miss him. I wish more than anything that I could just ask him questions. You know, people always talk about how kind he was and a good man, but he was such a visionary, you know? So intelligent. So funny too. The two of us, we never lacked for words and stories when we were with each other, and I have so many things I want to ask him. I need his advice, badly. And there’s none to give.”
“It must be so hard, first losing your mother . . . ,” she says, pushing her blonde bob behind her ear.
I know most people don’t like to talk about the hard topics, but Marie only asks when she’s genuinely interested, so I know I have free rein to say whatever I want, even the stuff that other people might judge me for.
“It’s not just that,” I tell her. “Well, I guess it’s a lot of things. For one, work is getting harder. Now Pascal, my dipshit cousin, wants Blaise, my other dipshit cousin, to take over my job. They’re basically trying to get me to quit.”
“Wait, which dipshit cousin is the stupidly sexy one?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. “Neither.”
Which isn’t exactly true. When I was younger, my feelings for Blaise were a lot more streamlined and therefore a lot more complicated. But I’m not about to get into that right now with her.
“Okay,” she says, not discouraged. “I’m sure they’re both stupidly sexy. Your brothers are, too, you know. Runs in the family.”