Read Online The Paris Game by Alyssa Linn Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alyssa Linn Palmer
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introduce you in a couple of days—I’ll be in Paris tomorrow and can arrange it.”
“He’s good?”
Royale guffawed. “He’s an artist.”
Chapter 5
Sunday.
Sera hated Sunday. If she could skip right through Sunday in the time it took to blink, she wouldn’t be here, standing at Royale’s door, gathering up the nerve to knock. Her eyes watered from the haze of smoke in the corridor and she rubbed her eyes. Her hand tightened on the envelope of cash. She knocked.
“Entrez!”
Royale stood in front of his desk, lighting a cigarette. His bulk filled the office and she found herself too close for comfort. She hovered by the door. The rank smell of body odor burned her sinuses; his cologne didn’t cover the sour aroma.
“Mademoiselle.” He leered at her and she backed up until she stood in the doorway. “I thought you might have been Jean with my brandy.”
She held out the envelope, wanting to get back to the club and the band’s next set. He took it, his thick fingers brushing her hand. She shuddered. He thumbed through the bills before tossing the envelope onto his desk. He made a notation in a small leather-bound notebook pulled from the pocket of his bilious green suit. He tucked it back inside his jacket.
“Close the door, mademoiselle, and sit down.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. She pushed the door shut but for a crack and took a seat, perching gingerly on the edge. “Do you know how much you still owe me?”
Sera did the calculation quickly. She’d g iven him €300. “€9,500.”
“Next week I expect €500 from you,” he informed her. “Not a centime less.”
“But—” She couldn’t possibly give him that much and still manage to pay her rent. She tried to think of a way to appeal to Royale’s gentler side, but he didn’t let her continue.
“If it’s too difficult for you, we could always make other arrangements.” He reached out, catching her chin in his damp fingers. She jerked back before he could get any closer, but that left her pinned by the arms of the chair. “€500 by next week or we will be making other arrangements, mademoiselle.”
He loomed over her, his hand sliding under her hair to grasp her neck. His tie, with several crumbs clinging tenaciously to its gregarious pattern, hovered in front of her eyes. He tightened his grip and her eyes watered.
“I’ll try.” She could barely breathe for the smell. He forced her head down into his crotch, holding her as she tried to struggle free.
“Comprenez-vous, mademoiselle?” He released her and she pushed away, trying not to gag. The smell surrounded her, crawled over her skin, insinuated itself into her every pore.
“Oui, monsieur.” Sera clapped a hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t be sick. Not here.
“You may go.” Satisfied he’d made his point, Royale stepped back. “I’ll see you next week, mademoiselle. Don’t forget.”
Sera staggered from the office, nausea overpowering her. She rushed down the corridor and flung open the back door, gulping in the night air of the filthy alleyway. She breathed hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. If she could take back the last few months, she’d try any other way to get the money. Anything but this. She should have left her mother to deal with her problems on her own. The thought flitted through her head before she could stop it, even as she knew she could never be that callous. She bent and vomited the remains of her dinner onto the damp pavement. She gagged and vomited again before slowly straightening. The nausea began to subside. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She could get through it.
“Sera? Are you all right?” Benoît stood in the open doorway. He’d come to find her, which meant it was almost time for their second set.
“I’ll be fine.” She brushed off Benoît’s look of concern. “Something I ate disagreed with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. We need to get ready.”
Benoît followed
“He’s good?”
Royale guffawed. “He’s an artist.”
Chapter 5
Sunday.
Sera hated Sunday. If she could skip right through Sunday in the time it took to blink, she wouldn’t be here, standing at Royale’s door, gathering up the nerve to knock. Her eyes watered from the haze of smoke in the corridor and she rubbed her eyes. Her hand tightened on the envelope of cash. She knocked.
“Entrez!”
Royale stood in front of his desk, lighting a cigarette. His bulk filled the office and she found herself too close for comfort. She hovered by the door. The rank smell of body odor burned her sinuses; his cologne didn’t cover the sour aroma.
“Mademoiselle.” He leered at her and she backed up until she stood in the doorway. “I thought you might have been Jean with my brandy.”
She held out the envelope, wanting to get back to the club and the band’s next set. He took it, his thick fingers brushing her hand. She shuddered. He thumbed through the bills before tossing the envelope onto his desk. He made a notation in a small leather-bound notebook pulled from the pocket of his bilious green suit. He tucked it back inside his jacket.
“Close the door, mademoiselle, and sit down.” He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. She pushed the door shut but for a crack and took a seat, perching gingerly on the edge. “Do you know how much you still owe me?”
Sera did the calculation quickly. She’d g iven him €300. “€9,500.”
“Next week I expect €500 from you,” he informed her. “Not a centime less.”
“But—” She couldn’t possibly give him that much and still manage to pay her rent. She tried to think of a way to appeal to Royale’s gentler side, but he didn’t let her continue.
“If it’s too difficult for you, we could always make other arrangements.” He reached out, catching her chin in his damp fingers. She jerked back before he could get any closer, but that left her pinned by the arms of the chair. “€500 by next week or we will be making other arrangements, mademoiselle.”
He loomed over her, his hand sliding under her hair to grasp her neck. His tie, with several crumbs clinging tenaciously to its gregarious pattern, hovered in front of her eyes. He tightened his grip and her eyes watered.
“I’ll try.” She could barely breathe for the smell. He forced her head down into his crotch, holding her as she tried to struggle free.
“Comprenez-vous, mademoiselle?” He released her and she pushed away, trying not to gag. The smell surrounded her, crawled over her skin, insinuated itself into her every pore.
“Oui, monsieur.” Sera clapped a hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t be sick. Not here.
“You may go.” Satisfied he’d made his point, Royale stepped back. “I’ll see you next week, mademoiselle. Don’t forget.”
Sera staggered from the office, nausea overpowering her. She rushed down the corridor and flung open the back door, gulping in the night air of the filthy alleyway. She breathed hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. If she could take back the last few months, she’d try any other way to get the money. Anything but this. She should have left her mother to deal with her problems on her own. The thought flitted through her head before she could stop it, even as she knew she could never be that callous. She bent and vomited the remains of her dinner onto the damp pavement. She gagged and vomited again before slowly straightening. The nausea began to subside. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She could get through it.
“Sera? Are you all right?” Benoît stood in the open doorway. He’d come to find her, which meant it was almost time for their second set.
“I’ll be fine.” She brushed off Benoît’s look of concern. “Something I ate disagreed with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. We need to get ready.”
Benoît followed
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