I frown. “What?”
“Euh…” he mutters, then makes two fists and clops them together twice.
I frown even more. “Are you asking if we’re involved romantically?”
He puffs on the cigarette. “That is one way of putting it, oui.”
I get a little riled up. “Not that it’s any of your business – but yes, we are.”
JP grins at Grant like You dirty dog, you, and starts to chuckle. “Ah heu heu heu heu…”
“What?” I ask, mystified.
“Nothing,” Grant says, and gives JP an irritated glance out of the corner of his eye.
“What?!” I ask again. Grant’s not revealing anything, so I look at the Frenchman.
JP gives an exaggerated shrug and an expression like, What do you expect from ME? and then very conspicuously looks away.
“What are you not telling me?” I ask Grant angrily.
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just that Dom is… well…”
“Ah heu heu heu heu,” JP starts chuckling again.
“Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on, right now,” I snap.
There is a loud knock knock knock at the door.
“You will see, I think,” JP says, then goes over to the door and begins unlocking the chains.
“You remember how you asked me where I learned French?” Grant says.
“Yeah?”
“I picked it up from… uh, hanging out with Dom.”
JP opens the door, and a woman – one of the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life – runs into the room. Literally runs. Then she physically leaps into Grant’s arms and starts sucking his face off.
I stand there in utter, horrified shock.
I get it now: Dom.
As in Dominique.
14
Grant hastily pushes the woman away. He doesn’t reciprocate the kiss, either; I’ll give him that much. I’m about to go nuclear on his ass, but I’ll give him points for trying to keep up appearances.
The woman is obviously irritated that he’s distancing himself, and starts rattling off French phrases like machine gun fire. “Qu’est-ce que c’est? Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?”
Grant sweeps his arm out towards me. “Dominique, this is Eve – ”
“No last names,” I interrupt, annoyed as hell.
“Ah heu heu heu heu…” JP chuckles from over by the door.
Dominique turns and looks at me for the first time. ‘Glares at me disdainfully’ is more like it. The sheer magnitude of haughty contempt on display is pretty spectacular. If I weren’t so pissed off at her, I might be intimidated.
She’s absolutely breathtaking. I hate her, but I can’t deny reality. Tousled auburn hair, dark blue eyes, a spectacular pout. Tall, lithe, graceful – a dancer’s build. She’s wearing a silk scarf tight around her neck, paired with a silver locket, a curve-hugging top, and black pants. She exudes the casual, offhand sophistication and glamour that the French and Italians do so well. The only incongruous thing about her is the athletic shoes she’s wearing, though they’re jet black and feminine enough to pass.
There is a French actress named Emmanuelle Béart. These days, she’s – well, she’s still attractive, despite some very obvious plastic surgery. But back in the 90’s, she was stunning. Your average American would only know her from starring opposite Tom Cruise in the first Mission: Impossible, though she’s been in a slew of French films before and since.
That’s who this chick looks like: a French movie star in the prime of her beauty.
And apparently she was once… ‘involved’ with Grant.
“I already know your last name, Mademoiselle Saunders,” Dominique says frostily, in the loveliest French-accented English I’ve ever heard in my life – which, given how she and Grant used to sleep together, sounds like fingernails across a chalkboard to me.
She immediately turns toward Grant and launches into rapid-fire French again – and tries worming her way back into his embrace.
He keeps her at arm’s length. “Dom, cut it out. We’ve got to talk business.”
She frowns and asks something in French.
“Because Eve only speaks English,” he replies.
She glances at me again briefly. I swear to God, as she turns back to Grant, she does a little flounce and a supercilious ‘hmph’ at the same time.
You… little… BITCH.
“I also ‘speak’ C, C++, Java, Bash, Python, Perl, LISP, assembly, and about a dozen others, but I wouldn’t expect you to know any of those,” I say, rattling off all the programming languages I use regularly for hacking.
Dominique looks at me with disdain and loathing, like I just farted at a fancy soireé.
JP walks by to retrieve his pack of smokes. “Insecure, perhaps?” he mutters under his breath.
“Shut up,” I snap at him.
Dominique turns back to Grant and starts in on the French again.
“English, Dom,” he insists. “English.”
She pouts for a second. I want to punch her in her perfect little face.
“Why are you here in Paris?” she asks, pronouncing it Pair-EE. “What is this I have seen on the television?”
Once again, Grant launches into his story. But where Jean-Paul was unmoving stone, Dominique fairly swoons. When Grant tells her about the two women he saved, she looks like she’s about to cry and jump his bones at the same time.
“You are so brave, mon amour,” she murmurs as she places her hand on his jacket lapel.
Oh barf, I think, though I don’t actually say it out loud.
Grant finishes up the story and closes with, “Which is why we need your help.”
“I will do anything, just to be close to you again, mon cher,” she purrs.
This time I say it out loud. “Oh BARF.”
She glances over at me like I farted again, then asks Grant something in French.
JP stifles a snicker.
Grant sighs. “Dom – don’t, okay?”
“What did she say?” I ask Grant.
“Nothing,” he says wearily.
I whirl around on JP. “What did she say?!”
“Uhhh… she says, why you are making sounds like a dog.”
I turn back to Dominique. “I said another word for VOMIT. I wasn’t barking.”
“She knows this,” Jean-Paul adds helpfully. “I believe she said it so she could use the word française for, um, how you say – bitch.”
“JP!” Grant snaps.
“Hey, she asks a question, no?” Jean-Paul protests mischievously.
Dominique just looks at me sideways and gives a knowing little smile.
You… fucking… WHORE.
I walk over to Grant, snag his arm, and tug insistently. “Can we talk for a minute?”
He resists. “I really think we should – ”
I yank as hard as I can. He gives in, following me to an open bedroom door.
“Do not have an excess of fun,” Jean-Paul calls naughtily after us.
Dominique says something in French to Grant.
“SHUT UP,” I yell at her, and slam the door closed.