“It ended as well as it could, thanks to me.” If no one is going to pat me on the back for what I did, I might as well. “It could have been a lot worse. Then of course Blaise had to get himself involved, since he and Seraphine have had this quasi-incestuous relationship with each other since they were teenagers.”
She raises her chin as if to say, Ah. “But they aren’t related.”
“Doesn’t matter. Blaise chose her, and he disowned us.”
“So he believed Seraphine.”
“Yeah. He did. Still does. He loves her.”
“And do you believe Seraphine?”
Our eyes lock for a moment; then I look away. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what everyone else thinks.”
She narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “Okay. But so far you’ve got Blaise and Seraphine who think your father murdered Ludovic. Anyone else?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Maybe Olivier, but I don’t see him acting like that.”
“And I take it you’ve talked to your brother?”
“I have. They didn’t send it. I believe them.”
“I do too. Seraphine seems like a smart woman; she wouldn’t bother with this.”
“Especially now that she’s pregnant.”
Her eyes light up. “She is?”
I raise a finger to my lips. “Part of your NDA. My parents don’t know. I don’t know if or when Blaise will ever tell them.”
“I’m assuming they don’t talk now.”
“You have to understand my father,” I tell her, and at the mention of those words, her eyes go even darker. “If you step out of line, if you betray him or the family name even a little bit . . .”
“You’re dead to him.”
I nod. “You’re dead to him.”
“And maybe you’re just dead in general.”
I don’t say anything to that, but I coax her with my eyes because I’m curious as to what she’s going to run with.
She taps her nails along the envelope. “Since you won’t tell me what you think, or what you know, about whether your father had Ludovic murdered or not, do I have permission to tell you what I think?”
“Please do. Entertain me.”
She gives me a bitter smile. “Before I do, let’s revisit that whole NDA thing when it comes to what we’re talking about staying between us.”
I have to admit, I rather like having a confidante. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone I could confide in like this, even if this intimacy is all legally bound. “Agreed.”
“Because the last thing I want,” she says and then trails off, swallowing hard. Her eyes go wide and blank for a moment, as if remembering something.
“Gabrielle?”
Her gaze swings back to me, her jaw tighter, eyes harder. “The last thing I want is to get on your father’s bad side. So if you repeat what I’m about to say . . .”
“I won’t, I promise,” I tell her, and I mean it. I’ve noticed the way she stiffens up whenever his name is mentioned. She thinks she’s hiding it, but she’s not. And though I can be very cruel at times, though I can act without thought and never suffer any consequences, I would never tell my father anything that would make him angry with her. For one, he would insist I fire her, and I need her help. And for two . . . I don’t know. But it wouldn’t be good.
My stomach sinks with unease at the thought. Maybe she shouldn’t tell me anything, just in case. “On second thought,” I tell her quickly, “maybe it’s best we don’t say anything.”
Not to mention I live in fear that my office is bugged.
She frowns, on edge. “Why? Do you want me to help you or not?”
I exhale through my nose sharply and get up. “I think that speculating only gets people in trouble. Come to think of it, this whole thing is just silly. Let’s forget about it and move on.”
“What?” Her eyes widen as I go around the desk and put one finger to my lips to keep her quiet, the other holding out my hand.
She stares at my hand, hesitating, and then puts her hand in it.
It’s soft and small and warm against my palm, and I wrap my fingers around it, just tight enough. I pull her to her feet and then lead her out of the office and down the hall, pausing outside my room. The feel of her hand in mine is rather nice and distracts me for a moment.
“Where are we going?” she whispers, and when I open the door to my bedroom, she