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I mean, I'm sure she'll see the business reasons for my visit.
I'll offer to take her to dinner. How can she say no? And this cologne I'm spraying, that's only because that's what I do every evening. It just happens to be my favorite. I smooth my hair in the mirror.
Something big must be done if I'm going to save the Bouchon Noir and its satellite restaurants. Marcial should have been here by now, but he hasn't texted me yet. I suppose it's still too early. I might be wearing a hole in the floor, the way I'm pacing. But this idea has breathed new life into me.
Finally, my phone pings, and before I even register it I'm running down the stairs and jumping into the car.
"Ooh la la," Marcial says, taking in the sight of my most expensive suit. "Bonne soirée, Monsieur."
I give him the address and he raises an eyebrow at me.
It's not a neighborhood I visit often, but the Quartier Latin has its charm. It's a perfect place for a girl like Natalie to set her roots in Paris, and it’s walking distance from the restaurant.
Now that I'm standing in front of the door to her building, a wave of nervousness overtakes me. Would she turn me away before I've even had a chance to make my case? I hadn't considered the possibility. But the look in her eyes when I told her she had to leave…
I have to try.
I look along the buzzer but don't see her name anywhere. In fact, there's only one button, and when I press it nothing happens. I push the door to find it's not locked. This is definitely a different side of town than I'm used to. But I do remember her telling me once, with a sly grin, that she lived in the penthouse. Up I go.
Several floors, no elevator. Good exercise for the legs. I take them two by two, and by the time I reach the top, a bead of sweat lines my brow.
I can blame the sweat on the physical effort but not the weight in the bottom of my stomach, the one threatening to force out everything I’ve eaten so far today. My head feels light, but that’s probably because I haven’t taken in a deep breath since I reached her door.
The sounds of women’s voices echo out from the apartment into the hallway.
Here we go. I knock on the door.
"Is it the plumber?” A woman’s voice shouts. “I really hope it's the plumber."
"How are we supposed to shower in weather like this without hot water?"
The door flies open, and a tall, skinny girl with a skeptical look on her face is standing there.
"You're not the plumber," she says.
"And you're not Natalie," I reply.
"Olivier? Annelise, move,"Natalie pushes the other girl out of the doorway. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry," I say, looking into the room. "It seems you have guests. Maybe I should come back another time."
Facing Natalie alone is one thing, but facing her with five of her friends?
"It’s not a party. They live here."
"They live here?"
"Yes."
"With you?"
"Yes. We all live here."
"Is there a second floor?" I peak in, but it seems the six of them are stuffed into this studio like sardines.
"Why are you here, Olivier?"
"Yes, Olivier, why are you here?" another tall girl stands behind Natalie.
