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time. This was the financial power
couple to end all power couples. I frowned as I realised that I had everything
but their photographs. It wasn’t like Ian to be sloppy.
‘Yes, Violet?’
‘Mrs. Le Grand is here.’
‘Please bring her in,’ I replied. I quickly
scribbled the word Photos??? on a post-it note and pressed the button to
activate the recording equipment, very cleverly hidden and strategically placed
around the room, one could never be too careful. I kept all recordings, just in
case I ever needed them. I stood up and smoothed down my dress, checking my
ponytail and lip gloss in the mirror. Violet knocked and came in first, Mrs. Le
Grand following closely behind, a waft of expensive perfume clouding the room
as she entered. She was immaculately dressed in a cream shift dress, with a
brown fox fur stole draped around her neck, high brown heels and a brown
crocodile leather bag, with matching gloves. She had so much gold jewellery on
I dreaded to think of her net worth, just standing here as she was. She was
quickly followed in by a tall thin man, with large round spectacles and greased
back black hair. I got a creepy vibe off him straight away and resolved to
avoid eye contact with him, wherever possible. I walked around my desk to greet
her with a handshake, mentally assessing the rest of her as I did, sure she was
doing the same with me. Those designer clothes and accessories she was wearing would
make even my wardrobe groan with shame. She reeked of money and status, but the
biggest surprise to me was her face. Her paperwork had said that she was about
my age, but in person she looked older and she was no oil painting. She had
harsh features that made her look unapproachable, her severe mousy brown bob
doing nothing to soften her face at all.
‘Mrs. McQueen,’ she nodded, as she put her limp
gloved hand into my firm one, as a way of introduction. I hated flaccid
handshakes, so I relaxed my usual hold.
‘Miss McQueen,’ I corrected, with a forced
smile. ‘But you can call me Lulu.’
‘Mrs. Le Grand,’ she replied, as she looked down
her nose at me. So no first name basis with her. I could see this was a woman
who was used to being revered, that she probably treated everyone else like a
second class citizen. She removed her hand from mine and I got the sense that
she was still sussing me out, as her eyes continually roved over my face and
body. She almost had a look of contempt in her eyes, leading me to wonder how
I’d possibly offended her already.
‘Please take a seat. Would you like a drink?’ I
offered. ‘Water, a tea or coffee perhaps?’
‘Please,’ she scoffed, as she wrinkled up her
face in disgust. ‘You English and your poor excuse for coffee. I’ll pass, I
won’t be here long. You have work to do.’ She sat herself down, stiffly, perched
right on the edge of the sofa. Now even Dom would have a pussydar when it came
to this woman, one that said she was no hellcat in bed, I could tell that
myself. No wonder her husband was allegedly looking elsewhere.
‘Of course,’ I replied, relieved that we were
getting down to business, I didn’t want to spend any longer than I had to in
her company. She was almost toxic, along with her assistant too. I looked over
at Violet and stretched out my arm, offering her the post-it note in my hand,
which she took and quickly disappeared. ‘Do you mind me recording our meeting?
I prefer to focus on the details than to be taking notes.’
‘Non,’ she replied sharply, as her assistant
glided to stand behind her.
‘I’m sorry is that no you don’t mind, or no you
don’t want me to record?’
‘You may not record. Can we hurry, I
have to return to Paris for an engagement.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, as I showed her that I
hadn’t activated the digital recorder on the coffee table between us. She gave
me a curt approving nod. I resisted a smile. Doing that little charade told me
a lot about my client. If they agreed to a
couple to end all power couples. I frowned as I realised that I had everything
but their photographs. It wasn’t like Ian to be sloppy.
‘Yes, Violet?’
‘Mrs. Le Grand is here.’
‘Please bring her in,’ I replied. I quickly
scribbled the word Photos??? on a post-it note and pressed the button to
activate the recording equipment, very cleverly hidden and strategically placed
around the room, one could never be too careful. I kept all recordings, just in
case I ever needed them. I stood up and smoothed down my dress, checking my
ponytail and lip gloss in the mirror. Violet knocked and came in first, Mrs. Le
Grand following closely behind, a waft of expensive perfume clouding the room
as she entered. She was immaculately dressed in a cream shift dress, with a
brown fox fur stole draped around her neck, high brown heels and a brown
crocodile leather bag, with matching gloves. She had so much gold jewellery on
I dreaded to think of her net worth, just standing here as she was. She was
quickly followed in by a tall thin man, with large round spectacles and greased
back black hair. I got a creepy vibe off him straight away and resolved to
avoid eye contact with him, wherever possible. I walked around my desk to greet
her with a handshake, mentally assessing the rest of her as I did, sure she was
doing the same with me. Those designer clothes and accessories she was wearing would
make even my wardrobe groan with shame. She reeked of money and status, but the
biggest surprise to me was her face. Her paperwork had said that she was about
my age, but in person she looked older and she was no oil painting. She had
harsh features that made her look unapproachable, her severe mousy brown bob
doing nothing to soften her face at all.
‘Mrs. McQueen,’ she nodded, as she put her limp
gloved hand into my firm one, as a way of introduction. I hated flaccid
handshakes, so I relaxed my usual hold.
‘Miss McQueen,’ I corrected, with a forced
smile. ‘But you can call me Lulu.’
‘Mrs. Le Grand,’ she replied, as she looked down
her nose at me. So no first name basis with her. I could see this was a woman
who was used to being revered, that she probably treated everyone else like a
second class citizen. She removed her hand from mine and I got the sense that
she was still sussing me out, as her eyes continually roved over my face and
body. She almost had a look of contempt in her eyes, leading me to wonder how
I’d possibly offended her already.
‘Please take a seat. Would you like a drink?’ I
offered. ‘Water, a tea or coffee perhaps?’
‘Please,’ she scoffed, as she wrinkled up her
face in disgust. ‘You English and your poor excuse for coffee. I’ll pass, I
won’t be here long. You have work to do.’ She sat herself down, stiffly, perched
right on the edge of the sofa. Now even Dom would have a pussydar when it came
to this woman, one that said she was no hellcat in bed, I could tell that
myself. No wonder her husband was allegedly looking elsewhere.
‘Of course,’ I replied, relieved that we were
getting down to business, I didn’t want to spend any longer than I had to in
her company. She was almost toxic, along with her assistant too. I looked over
at Violet and stretched out my arm, offering her the post-it note in my hand,
which she took and quickly disappeared. ‘Do you mind me recording our meeting?
I prefer to focus on the details than to be taking notes.’
‘Non,’ she replied sharply, as her assistant
glided to stand behind her.
‘I’m sorry is that no you don’t mind, or no you
don’t want me to record?’
‘You may not record. Can we hurry, I
have to return to Paris for an engagement.’
‘Of course,’ I replied, as I showed her that I
hadn’t activated the digital recorder on the coffee table between us. She gave
me a curt approving nod. I resisted a smile. Doing that little charade told me
a lot about my client. If they agreed to a
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