Concerto - A Sonata Sequel (Harry Styles FanFiction)

19. Merci, Monsieur

"C'est bien ce qu'on m'a dit. Malheureusement, Monsieur Bouland n'est pas ici en ce moment, et il y a longtemps que tous les postes ont été comblés. Je peux ajouter ton nom à la liste d'attente si tu veux." (So I've been told. Unfortunately, Monsieur Bouland is not in at the moment, and all of the shifts have been long filled. I can add your name to the waiting list if you'd like.) I could actually hear his self-satisfied smirk as it contorted his already nasally voice.

"C'est lundi. Je sais qu'il est là. Passe-moi simplement son bureau," (It's Monday. I know he's there. Just put me through to his office,) I said, my previous frustration returning the longer I was forced to deal with my old manager.

"Il y a eu plusieurs changements depuis que tu nous as quittés, mademoiselle Grace. Maintenant, s'il n'y a rien d'autre, je dois vraiment y aller." (A lot has changed since you were last with us, Miss Grace. Now if there's nothing else, I really must be going.) He didn't give me a chance to reply before the line went dead.

"Parfait," (Perfect,) I muttered, dropping my phone onto the bed beside me. I glared up at the blades of my fan, rotating lazily around above my head before checking the time on my watch. If I could make it to Daniel's within the hour, I at least had a chance of catching Monsieur Bouland before he left for the evening. Twenty minutes later, I thundered down the stairs, pulling my black, woolen peacoat on over the sheer white button-up I'd tucked into high-waisted, black, Leith Ponte pants. My red leather 1.State booties finished the ensemble along with the thin, silk bow scarf tied around my neck beneath my collar.

"Where are you going?" John called, just as I made it to the front door.

"Off to see a man about a horse," I joked, scooping my house key up off the hook by the door.

"Darien," Caleb chided, strolling into the room, a glass of cognac in hand.

"Daniel's," I amended. "Seb was being an ass over the phone."

"Give him hell and bring back the Cerise," Caleb said, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. I laughed, remembering how fond he was of the thyme scented Morello cherry pie topped with timiz chantilly.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

When I arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes later, I didn't bother stopping at the host stand. There was a brown-haired girl waiting there—probably Teresa. Her blue eyes widened and she reached out an arm to stop me, but she was too late. I breezed past her and continued on into the depths of the restaurant, making a beeline for Monsieur Bouland's office.

I knocked gently on the door, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I ignored the strange looks a few of the newer staff members gave me, praying Monsieur Bouland was still here. A moment later, the door opened and the older French gentlemen stood before me, shock registering in his expression. He pulled me forward, pressing a kiss to each of my cheeks. I automatically mirrored his greeting, a smile splitting my cheeks.

"Ma chère, mais où donc étais-tu passée?" (My dear, where on earth have you been?) He asked, gently leading me deeper into his office. I settled down into one of the chairs across from his desk as he closed the door behind me.

I sighed, shaking a trembling hand out through my short violet curls. "En France?" (France?) I said, laughing innocently. "J'avais besoin d'un peu de temps loin d'ici. Je suis si désolée de ne pas vous avoir prévenu ; le voyage était un peu... soudain." (I needed a little time away. I'm so sorry I never gave notice; the trip was a bit... sudden.)