Page 91 of She's a Big Deal

“I know Grace went through a lot. I do understand her, yes. I know part of her is still hurting and grieving. And though it hurts me too, to know this and not be allowed to help her, it’s not my job to heal her.” Glancing at Everett, it struck her. “She’s not a puppy who needs rescuing!”

“Well. Okay.” Charlie nodded, stood up, and dispensed a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Olivia let her walk halfway to the door before she threw herarms in the air. “I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

“Tell her the truth of how you feel, at least. It doesn’t have to be tearful, and you sure don’t need to beg. But you should tell her straight, so she knows exactly how it is.” Charlie smiled softly, warmly. “Olivia; don’t make it so comfortable and easy for her to walk away from you, darling. It should be hard. Really hard.”

Olivia sat on her own after Charlie went home, feeling low-key angry and resentful. And stunned. She had worked hard to rebuild herself and her self-esteem. To learn to be okay on her own again. And now, this? Charlie’s advice was the complete opposite of what Dana had told her. A little voice whispered at the back of her mind…Now it's up to you. Only you. What are you going to do?

???

It was great to see what some regular talk sessions with a good therapist and a demanding job to keep him challenged could do for a willing man. Grace reflected on all this with satisfaction as she returned to her office after a quick lunch with her brother. Reece had already acquired a nice tan. He was letting his hair grow a bit, which suited him. He was running early mornings before work and losing some of the weight he’d put on after months of booze and inactivity. His work ethic was impeccable of course, as she thought it would be, and he was fast making friends around the office. It was not even a bit strange for Grace to have him on the team. Reece was doing well. Life was good. Or so she told herself, repeatedly, several times a day.

“Ms. Michaels?” She turned from her panoramic window to face her assistant. “The representatives from No.5 are on theirway up.”

“Show them in when they arrive. Then hold my calls and all other business.”

“Absolutely.” Libby allowed herself a grin and two thumbs-up. “Good luck!”

Grace did not require any luck; she was fully prepared, as always. Still, she did appreciate the sentiment and favored her assistant with a quick smile of her own.

“Thank you.”

Managing to wrangle this meeting with the elusive board of No.5, a string of, indeed, five luxury boutique hotels in the heart of Paris, was an achievement in itself. Grace liked France and she would love to do business there. Convincing the owners of No.5 to let her handle their design requirements would open a door for Brazen Inc. onto the rest of the European market. The UK. Spain. Italy! Grace had prepared ferociously for the upcoming presentation. There was also the added bonus that it helped to keep her mind off of her personal life, and Olivia. Though Grace told herself that she had made the right choice in letting her go, it still hurt. And every day, it seemed, a little more. The woman was hard to forget. Still. It was better than feeling out of control. At least, hurting was nothing new.

chapter 30

Patrice Leconte and his business partner, Stephanie Charpentier, clearly enjoyed her presentation. It would be hard not to, really. Not only did Grace deliver it on blueprints of their own flagship hotel in Versailles, but via holographic technology they weren’t likely to see anywhere else any time soon. Last but not least, she did it all in flawless French.

“Mademoiselle Michaels, vous êtes une vraie merveille!”

Leconte regarded her with delighted blue eyes from behind a pair of thick purple and black glasses that she could not decide were for show, or because he really needed them. With his wild blond hair and impeccable white suit, he reminded her of Elton John. Next to him, his fashionably thin partner was all decked out in Chanel from head to toe. A nod to their brand, no doubt, and vice versa.

“You are the only designer we’ve consulted so far who was able, and happy, to speak to us in French,” she approved in her own attractively accented English.

“We had one head of marketing try his best, didn’t we?” Leconte chuckled. “In London. We had to beg him to switch to English so we could understand. He was quite offended,but… C’est la vie, hey!”

“Well, it’s a pleasure for me,” Grace assured them both. “I lived in Paris for a year when I was a dancer.”

“A dancer? Ou-la-la!” Charpentier laughed. “Were you a professional?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of dancing?”

“Bachata. Latin style. Sensual dance.”

“I like the sensuality very much,” the woman declared. “In everything. Oui, oui, j’aime beaucoup.”

Oui, oui,Grace thought.Gotcha.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

She had sent Libby out shopping with instructions to bring back a sultry, seductive, and full-bodied vintage red. French, of course, and with a proper cork instead of a plastic screw. And because she adapted to her customers whenever she had to, for maximum results, she asked Leconte if he wouldn’t mind doing her a favor and opening the bottle for them.

“Oh, mais bien sur!” he agreed with a flourish and amused her further by producing an old-fashioned twisted metal corkscrew out of his pocket.

How so very French. Leconte then reclined on the sofa with his glass of wine and crossed his legs elegantly to reveal a flash of purple socks under his trousers. There was a definite theme there, which Grace’s in-depth research had uncovered. She had made sure to include a few dashes of his favorite color in strategic places in her presentation.

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