Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,94

um, ‘dickhead,’” I clarified.

Jason picked me up by the waist, turned, and set me down behind him. Then he charged toward Jean Claude, who met him halfway. Both men had teeth bared and fists clenched, looking like they were going to tear each other apart. They circled each other, looking for the other’s vulnerability. First they went one way, then back, then back again. It was like watching a very poor showing on Dancing with the Stars.

I shook my head. Why were men so dumb? Was this supposed to be flattering? It wasn’t. It just made me think my taste in men was severely lacking.

“All right, you two, don’t be idiots,” I said. I crossed the vestibule and opened the door to the street. “Jean Claude, I think it’s best if you go.”

“Non non,” he said. He turned his back on Jason and approached me. “I came to explain to you about François.”

I gestured for him to go through the door, but he shook me off.

“It was just a misunderstanding, mon chou,” he said. “I didn’t express myself very well. I would never ask you to do something you don’t want to do.”

I leaned against the open door, my arms crossed over my chest. “But you did, and what’s worse is that you made it a debt I was to repay you for this dress.” I looked at him with all the disappointment I felt. “You are not the man I thought you were, Jean Claude.”

He looked crestfallen. He reached for my hand, grabbing my fingers in his and holding them in a grip that was too tight and didn’t allow for escape. He pressed the backs of my fingers to his lips and said, “I would never have let any harm come to you. You have to believe me.”

I stared at the beautiful man in front of me. A few days ago—heck, a few hours ago—his attention would have meant everything to me, but now I knew he had a love greater than any other, and it was for himself. He would sacrifice anyone or anything at all in the name of his design house. I was nobody’s collateral.

I pulled my fingers out of his hand. “I’m sorry, Jean Claude, but we’re done here.”

“You heard her.” Jason stepped forward and grabbed Jean Claude by the arm. “Time for you to go.”

“Mind your business,” Jean Claude snapped at Jason. The two of them were nose to nose, and I noticed that Jason had a couple of inches and a lot more brawn than Jean Claude.

“She is my business,” Jason said. He began to push him out the door.

“Let go!” Jean Claude demanded. He tried to shake Jason off, but the man clung like a burr. “Ta mère est tellement petite que sa tête pue des pieds!”

Jason scowled. He glanced at me and asked, “What did he say?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “But it sounded like ‘your mother smells like feet.’”

Jason’s mouth popped open in outrage. He grabbed Jean Claude by the front of his shirt and growled, “Did you just ‘yo mama’ me? I am going to drop you, asshole.”

He shoved Jean Claude through the door, and they stumbled onto the sidewalk.

It was dark, and there was no one around but me to witness the two men now involved in an intense match of taking wild swings at each other while going insult for insult, which was ridiculous because neither one of them understood a word the other said, but I supposed to them the meanings were clear.

I clapped my hands. I whistled. I stomped my foot. Nothing. The sound of a high-pitched engine cut into the ruckus, and a mint-green Vespa popped up onto the sidewalk beside me. I feared it might be the National Police, but when the driver lifted off the helmet, a headful of thick braids cascaded down her back. Zoe.

“Mon Dieu!” she cried.

“Indeed,” I agreed.

“You don’t deserve her!” Jean Claude declared.

“Maybe not, but at least I’m not trying to sell her to the highest bidder,” Jason snapped.

Jean Claude cursed and swung at Jason’s head. Jason ducked and came back up in the circle of Jean Claude’s arms, connecting his meaty fist to Jean Claude’s nose. There was the sound of bones crunching, and then blood was spurting everywhere. Zoe and I winced and squinted our eyes, because that made it so much easier to tolerate. Not really.

“You son of a bitch!” spat Jean Claude.

He came back at Jason with a right hook that clocked Jason