I had given up on the dating game—most of the men I met either couldn’t handle the fact I was way more successful than them, or they simply started taking advantage of me—but that didn’t change the fact that Monsieur was right.
I had been working too damn much for too damn long. And even though my promise of visiting the club’s next event had been a hollow one, I decided on something there and then.
I was going to keep my word and visit the club.
2
Alex
“Where the hell is it?” I muttered under my breath, rummaging through the drawers. Cabinets lined the walls of the old archive, dozens of drawers on each of them, all of them holding records of the club’s activity that went as far as its inception. Suffice it to say, whenever you needed something from the archive, it felt as if you were looking for a needle in a haystack.
As the club’s recruiter, I never really thought one day I’d end up knee-deep in financial statements, non-disclosure agreements and whatever paperwork the lawyers and accountants on payroll deemed necessary. Then again, it really wasn’t fair to say my title as the club’s recruiter covered everything I did.
After a few years of ensuring the club’s membership numbers were more than just acceptable, Monsieur’s trust in me had started to grow and, with it, the list of things I did to ensure everything ran smoothly. From reorganizing the old archive to overseeing contractors whenever we needed something done, it seemed I was transitioning from simple recruiter to this ship’s first mate.
The experience was slightly harrowing, to be honest.
Monsieur was probably the most competent man I had ever known, and there had never been a major mishap with him in charge of the club. To have his trust was as satisfying as it was stressing. Still, I owned my position in the club: whatever was needed of me, I was hell-bent on doing my best at it.
I was on top of the kitchen budget for the upcoming events, payroll day had happened flawlessly, and I had even pressured the building’s management to do something about the elevator that had started breaking down this past week. My to-do list kept on growing each and every day, but I refused to let that slow me down. No matter how hard it was, I insisted on doing a perfect job.
“And there you are,” I smiled, fishing a folder out of the end of a drawer. I opened it, leafed through its contents (a list of invoices from more than ten years ago), and carefully placed it on the stack of folders I had on the desk in the middle of the room. Combing my hair back with my fingers, I ran through my mental inventory and decided I had everything I needed. Now it was only a matter of digitizing all these documents and ensuring everything was in its proper place.
I was about to grab the stack of folders when I heard the archive’s door creak open, Monsieur’s voice following soon after. “Still in here, Alex?” he asked, peering at me over his glasses. His voice was smooth but hard-edged at the same time, and his expression was one of amused control.
“Just finishing some stuff,” I said, returning his smile as I leaned against the table, one hand on top of the folders.
“Have you had any lunch?” he asked, but the way he narrowed his eyes at me immediately told me he knew the answer to that. Shrugging, I smiled sheepishly. “Good, that makes for two of us. Come with me, Alex. You can take care of those folders later.”
“Any excuse to escape those works for me,” I grinned, patting the folders as I went. I crossed the length of the room toward Monsieur and he held the door open for me. Together, we made our way out into the lobby.
A few minutes later and we were already out of the building, the roar of the busy city life contrasting with the eerie silence of the archive room. My feet had barely touched the sidewalk when I scanned the street, looking for any free taxis. Noticing what I was doing, Monsieur just gestured for me to follow him. “No need for a taxi,” he said. “There’s a new place just around the block. We can walk there.”
Not five minutes later and we were stepping through the doorway of a cozy bistro, its high-class interior betraying the hole-in-the-wall feeling you got when you zoomed past the entrance. The tables were round and small, a large red cloth draped over them, and they gave the place a certain Parisian mood. A large wooden counter stretched from wall-to-wall at the end of the dining room, giving shelter to a few lonesome customers who were perched on tall stools, an inaudible back and forth going on between them and the amused bartender.
“I didn’t know of this place,” I said after placing our orders. “How do you always know everything that’s happening in the city?”
“I keep my ear to the ground,” Monsieur commented, leaning back so that the waiter could pour some red into both our glasses. We touched glasses and then dove straight into lunch, our conversation quickly drifting back to the usual topic: the club.
“You’ve been doing great with your additional duties,” he offered, his casual tone not enough to hide the fact there was an angle to his words. “I’m actually quite surprised with the amount of paperwork you’ve gone through in just three weeks. And the way you handled those contractors, it was really—”
“I know, I know,” I laughed. “I’m the absolute best. You’re lucky I’m there to help you run the place, right?” It was only supposed to be a joke, but Monsieur’s smile remained humorless. It was a kind smile, yes, but it wasn’t the reaction I hoped my stupid joke would receive.
“I’m lucky, there’s no doubt about that,” he finally said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Running the club isn’t easy, that’s a certainty. And ever since you started working with me...let’s just say you really helped me carry this load up the hill.”
“C’mon,” I chuckled, no idea where the conversation was going. I was used to Monsieur’s serious demeanor, but this was something else entirely. “I’m just the recruiter. It’s not like the place would fall apart without me. But the club would fall apart without you.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he said matter-of-factly, clasping his hands together as he rested both elbows on the table. He kept on looking at me, his gaze a contemplative one, and then he nodded slightly before returning to his meal. Then, almost like a throwaway comment, he continued. “What would you think of running the club one day?”
“What?” The wine seemed to have become solid in my throat, and I put my closed hand in front of my mouth as I prepared to cough it all out. Thankfully, I managed to swallow it without making a spectacle of myself. “Me? Running the club?”
It was hard not to laugh.
“You know I don’t have any children,” he continued, ignoring my question while, at the same time, answering it. “I don’t really have a family, but I’ve come to think of you as a younger brother of sorts.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just kept my silence. I had always looked up to Monsieur, his figure one of a role-model and mentor, but to hear something like that out loud…
“I don’t...Damn, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. But I was being serious about having you run the club. You’re the most capable person I’ve ever employed, you’re a man of character, and I know that the club would thrive with you at the helm. You don’t need to say anything right now, but just think about it. If you want to, one day you can take over the club and my position as Monsieur.”