I woke with a pounding headache, a heartbeat in my ears, and a general hatred for everything.
Valmont & Cie’s financial statements came in at over a thousand pages—five years’ worth of balance sheets, income reports, graphs, tables, the works.
On my own, I’d need weeks to get through them. Even longer to make sense of it all.
I should’ve asked Ashton for help.
But when he came back, something stopped me.
Okay, fine, I knew what stopped me. I just didn’t want to admit it.
I was angry with him.
I saw him getting out of a car that wasn’t his, watched a woman in a red dress approach him and wrap her arms around him.
They might have kissed. They might not have. The awning blocked my view.
Still, even if they didn’t—hell, even if it was one of those polite French kisses on the cheek—shouldn’t Ashton, as a married or nearly-married man, know better?
I shake hands with Fabrizio, sure, but I wouldn’t let him kiss me. Cultural norms or not.
So why didn’t Ashton keep his distance?
And if he thought there was nothing wrong, why didn’t he tell me about her?
I’d told him about the guy who hit on me—which, fine, was true, but it happened on my first day at Valmont, not yesterday.
Still, wasn’t that a hint? Wasn’t I basically saying, ‘Look, I’m honest with you—can you be the same with me?’
Either he didn’t catch the hint, or he did and chose to ignore it.
I was tempted to pull out my phone and confront him with the photo. But that felt petty. Jealous. Stalker-ish.
And shouldn’t he be the one to bring it up? Like he had with Rowan Hale, when she tried to mislead the public into thinking they were together?
Where was that openness now? What made Red Dress Woman different?
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
No wonder I barely slept.
Not that I dared toss or turn—then he’d know I was awake, and that’d just lead to more questions.
I stared at the ceiling and counted cheniers until my eyes finally shut.
‘Morning,’ Ashton said.
I rolled over to face him.
How could he look so alert at 6 a.m.?
But the slight shadows under his eyes gave him away. He hadn’t slept well either.
‘Serves you right,’ I thought.
I dragged myself out of bed. The headache was still there, pulsing harder when I glanced at my laptop. I quickly looked away and promised myself I wouldn’t touch the statements until after breakfast.
‘What’s your plan today? Also, you haven’t told me how long you’re staying,’ I asked, sipping coffee and nibbling a croissant.
‘You that eager to get rid of me? I’ve been here two days.’
‘No. But Skyline probably needs you, and I don’t want you staying just for me. It makes me feel guilty. Like I’m dragging you down.’
‘You’re not. And I’ve got some business here to handle.’
The flicker of something grim in his eyes made it clear: this wasn’t the usual kind of business.
‘I want you to meet a designer,’ Ashton said. ‘I gave him your measurements. He’s made you a wedding dress. Try it on. If you hate it, we’ll find someone else.’
‘Sure. It’s Friday. I finish early. Can we go today?’
‘Of course. Pick you up at four?’
‘I’ll meet you here instead.’
After breakfast, he had to leave early to take care of that mysterious ‘business’.
The man who drove me to work was unfamiliar, but I was used to Ashton summoning new staff out of thin air.
The driver kept sneaking looks at me in the mirror. I noticed, could’ve called him out on it, but decided he was probably just curious about his boss’s wife.
In his office, when I told Fabrizio I was seriously considering investing in Valmont, he looked like he might leap over the desk and kiss me.
‘It’ll still take me a few days to get through the statements,’ I said. ‘My, ah, accountant’s busy at the moment.’
‘Of course, take all the time you need. Ask me anything. Although...’
I got the hint. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sign the deal before I leave Paris.’
Fabrizio gave me the whitest, widest grin I’d ever seen.
Valmont had an early Friday policy—people started disappearing after lunch.
Back at the hotel, I downed two espressos and forced myself to open the laptop.
I focused on the cash flow statements—Valmont’s main issue.
I tried to focus. But words like ‘depreciation’, ‘amortisation’, and ‘EBITDA’ started melting on the screen.
I physically held my eyelids open with my fingers and zeroed in on cash from operations. It looked solid. Positive, and trending up.
I called Priya. ‘How’s the studio?’
‘Fine. We had some walk-ins wanting custom jewellery. I told them you were away on business, took their numbers, said we’d get back to them.’ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
‘Good. What about online orders?’
‘Still coming in. New orders have slowed, though. The manufacturer says they need more time to source the stones for our designs. So we might get a backlog. I’ve reached out to other OEMs.’
‘I know. But don’t rush. The current manufacturer’s reliable. Their quality is consistent. I’ll need to vet any new ones myself.’
‘How are the new assistants doing?’
‘Still getting the hang of things. Admin and customer service are fine. I still have to handle most of the custom orders—it’s the jargon.’ Priya hesitated. ‘I’ve been studying jewellery design books. Trying to get up to speed. But when the manufacturer said “Dora polish”, I knew he didn’t mean the fish, but that’s about it.’
I laughed. ‘It’s fine. You’ll get there. Look up Oppi Untracht’s book—it’s basically the jeweller’s bible.’
‘Has anyone been bothering you?’
‘No. If you mean Daniel—he hasn’t been back since he found out you were in Paris. Though...’ She lowered her voice. ‘I don’t think he’s given up.’
‘Ignore him. If he shows up, call the police. I’ll be back in two weeks. Hold the fort.’
I promised her a commission bump and hung up before she got emotional.
‘Back to numbers,’ I muttered, staring at the screen. ‘Speaking of numbers...’
I closed the Valmont file and opened a different email.
When Ashton returned, I handed him the freshly printed document.
He picked it up. ‘What’s this?’