Kingsman: Statesman Meets Challenger

Chapter 4

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A polite cough broke their kiss, and Jack looked over to see a particularly dapper gent -the one he couldn't place earlier- leaning on the archway into the loft, regarding them with amusement and speculation fighting for dominance on his elegantly angular face. He was dressed with a style and precision that would have garnered approval even from those poncy Kingsman agents, but he wore it with an effortless panache that was unmistakably Parisian French.

This was confirmed when he strolled into the loft and favoring Jack with a slight bow, took his sugarplum's hand and spun her lightly out of Jack's embrace and into his, brushing a kiss across her cheek with the careless grace and elegance only a Frenchman could manage.

"Ah, chérie, have you finally found someone to replace me in your heart? I am devastated."

She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose playfully. "Jean-Pierre, do you truly think I am so faithless? Truly? It is I who am devastated now."

Jack couldn't restrain a snort of laughter at the extravagant scene being staged for his benefit, crossed his arms, leaned back against the loft railing, and waited... sure there was more to come.

"But no chérie, truly, to see you in the arms of a man who is a man, that is mirabile visu." He bowed deeply to Jack. "Monsieur Jack, I am in your debt for your service to my chérie."

"Anytime, amigo," Jack returned suavely, because he wasn't totally without style himself, even if it was of a distinctly different variety.

"Ah, I see we shall be le meilleur des frères! Cést bon."

"All right, you two, we have work to do," she teased, but leaned her head against Jean-Pierre's shoulder affectionately, and Jack began to have some inkling of where she got her fondness for casual cuddling.

Jean-Pierre handed her into her chair with a flourish. "When she is being le petit général, one does not argue with our Marissa," he said to Jack, sitting down on the arm of her wing chair. It took their joint weight without effort.

"Not if he's hoping to get lucky, anyway," Jack agreed blandly, sinking back into his really damn comfortable chair.

Jean-Pierre winked at him.

"We need to run a con on Tiny diFlea," Marissa explained, jerking her head at the booth where diFalco was sitting. "You mind helping, dearest?"

Jean-Pierre snorted. "After he steals our band without so much as a 'by your leave'? So much the better! Command me, général."

"I just told Nathan- that's the Ninjas' bandleader," she added for Jack's benefit, "that he could take the gig playing on Daddy's yacht tomorrow because they need the money, but Tiny doesn't know yet."

Jean-Pierre sniffed disdainfully. "I will make sure they skin him on the price, chérie," he interjected.

"Good. Now, I need you to go down there and tell Tiny that he may have the band for his party, and he may thank my new gentleman friend for it, as my handsome cowboy has interceded on his behalf. Now, can you use that to wrangle us an invitation to that odious yacht party as the guests of honor?"

Jean-Pierre shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Simplicity itself, chérie. The man is a cretin."

"If you please then, my heart."