Once they were out of sight, Luc touched Acacia’s elbow. “I’m going to follow them.”
Acacia mumbled her thanks before she walked to Monsieur Roy’s office. She rapped on the door.
“Come in, Acacia.” The manager didn’t rise from behind his desk when she entered his office.
“Good morning.” She waited for him to offer her a seat. He didn’t.
Instead, he sat back in his chair and regarded her with small, beady eyes. “I spent last night on the telephone, explaining to my superiors why the hotel was swarming with BRB agents.”
“I’m sorry, monsieur. I’m sure that was upsetting.” Acacia adopted her most sympathetic tone.
“Upsetting?” Monsieur Roy’s normally pale face reddened. “Are you familiar with the employee handbook?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Apparently not. Because if you’d been familiar with the handbook, you’d have known it was your responsibility to inform me of any suspected illegal activity in the hotel.”
“I informed the night manager.”
“The night manager is not me!” He slammed his hand on top of the desk. “You called the BRB. You might as well have engaged an anti-terrorism unit. Guests were panicked and upset.”
“I am truly sorry, monsieur. I contacted a friend who happens to work for the BRB, simply to ask about the painting I saw in Monsieur Breckman’s suite. The BRB recognized the painting from my description and came over, hoping to recover it.”
“And did they?” The manager’s tone was mocking. “No, they did not. You discommoded a highly valued guest, failed to follow proper procedure, and caused an extreme amount of embarrassment not only to the company that owns the hotel but also to me. And you did all of this because of a reproduction!”
Acacia folded her hands. “Monsieur, I’m sorry for the inconvenience and will be more than happy to apologize to all the affected guests. But time was of the essence. I was worried the painting was genuine and that it would never be seen again.”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve caused a problem.” He glared. “I’ve grown tired of your attitude and your insubordination. Go home. You will be paid for today’s shift but starting tomorrow, you will work the night shift. I’ve decided to switch your schedule with François. He’ll be working days from now on, in Marcel’s absence.”
Acacia gasped. “But I’ve always worked the day shift. You’re demoting me?”
The manager smiled. “Of course not, that would be illegal. You will still be a concierge; you will simply be working the night shift. A formal reprimand will be forthcoming in writing. The next time you commit an infraction, you’ll be dismissed.”
“Dismissed?” Acacia moved forward. “Monsieur, you can’t punish me for doing my civic duty.”
“Perhaps not. But you can be reprimanded for not following procedures. I am the one who will decide whether to contact the authorities. Not you,” he said with a huff. “In view of what’s happened, you may wish to search for other employment. I understand your work permit is tied to your contract here?”
“Yes.” Acacia swallowed. “Please, monsieur. This has been a misunderstanding.”
“I understand precisely what’s happening. Report for the night shift tomorrow evening.” The manager opened a file on his desk and began to write in bold, angry script. “Go home.”
Chapter Eleven
ACACIA WAS SO RATTLED by her conversation with Monsieur Roy that she agreed to spend the morning with Luc. He took her to Notre-Dame and walked with her around the great cathedral, a favorite pastime of theirs when they’d been a couple. He even accompanied her to the house of Héloïse and Abélard. Then he took her to lunch at one of her favorite cafés in the Latin Quarter.
He drove to her apartment building and accompanied her to the front door.
“I can stay,” he offered. The light in his eyes shone unconcealed hope.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Slowly, oh, so slowly, he leaned forward, his hand cupping her cheek. “You’re my biggest regret.”
She grimaced. “Why would you regret me?”
“I regret that I didn’t fight for us.”
Acacia closed her eyes. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She already felt raw from the day’s events. Her job and possibly her residency permit were in jeopardy. She didn’t want to add Luc to the mix.
He brushed the curve of her cheek and kissed her lightly.
Sadness and longing washed over her. She fought for control, not wanting him to see what she was feeling.
“Call me.” He touched her cheek, waiting for her to open her eyes.
When she did, he gave her a small smile and walked to his Renault. He lifted his chin to his fellow BRB agent, who sat in an unmarked car nearby.
Luc climbed into his Renault and drove out of sight.
A lone tear streaked down Acacia’s cheek. She’d done what she needed to do in the past. She wasn’t going to second-guess herself. At least not today.
She touched her chest, willing the pain to subside. Then she unlocked the door to her building and began to climb the stairs.
Her thoughts turned to the day’s events. With one act of civic duty, she’d practically ended her career. She could only hope Monsieur Roy’s anger would wane and she would be able to work herself into his good graces once again.
Luc had been furious when she’d dragged him from the lobby and explained in hushed tones what had happened. He’d wanted to speak to Monsieur Roy himself, but Acacia had dissuaded him. She needed to fight her own battles. And she didn’t want to lose the possibility of receiving a reference for future job applications.
I hope Monsieur Roy doesn’t fire me.
She was so deep in thought she almost didn’t hear the voice behind her.
“Mademoiselle.”
Acacia startled and clutched at the metal railing of the staircase.
“Careful.” Monsieur Breckman approached from several steps below. “You’ll fall.”
“Stop!” Acacia lifted her voice. “Don’t come near me.”
The man stopped, Rick at his side. He frowned. “There’s no need to be alarmed.”
Acacia retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. “Leave or I’ll call the police. There’s a BRB agent parked outside.”
“Yes, I know. With an agent close by, you’re perfectly safe.” Monsieur Breckman turned to his bodyguard and addressed him in English. “Rick, wait downstairs, please.”
The bodyguard moved, his gaze trained on her.
“I don’t know how you got in without the agent seeing you.” Acacia watched Rick’s departure over the edge of the railing.
“Rick is very resourceful,” Breckman said drily.
He cleared his throat. “I had hoped to speak to you at the hotel. When I checked out, they told me you’d been sent home.”
Acacia waited until Rick was out of sight and turned her attention back to the former guest. “Were you hoping I’d be fired?”
“Of course not.” The man inspected her features. “I hoped we’d have a chance to talk.”
She bristled. “I’m not interested in talking to you. Why are you here?”
“I mean you no harm.” His voice was gentle. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
She clutched her cell phone, poised to dial. “I had you arrested and you’re apologizing to me?”
“I wasn’t arrested.” The man sniffed. “I was merely interviewed.”
“Merely.” Acacia scoffed. “I was sent home and demoted to night concierge. Monsieur Roy is threatening to fire me.”
“That’s why I’m here.” The man climbed a step. “I defended you.”
Acacia made a derisive noise. “Why?”
“We had a misunderstanding.” The man thrust his hand in the pocket of
his coat. “I should have told you the painting was a reproduction. Still, you did what any decent person would do. I admire you for it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He gazed at her with admiration. “Your suspicious nature will serve you well.”
Acacia retreated a step, still clutching her phone. “I want you to leave.”
The man lifted his hands. “I’m leaving Paris, but before I go, I wanted to encourage you to fight your employer. Concierges are supposed to report illegal activity to the authorities. Roy knows that.”
“I embarrassed him. He’s already heard from the corporation that owns the hotel. They aren’t happy.”
“They’d be more unhappy if someone alerted the press to their hiring practices. You’re the only visible minority in the entire hotel who has a rank above bartender.”
Acacia pressed her lips together. “Why would anyone speak to the press about that?”
“Because ‘injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.’”
Acacia’s eyebrows knitted together. “Your commitment to justice, if genuine, is admirable. It’s still inappropriate and intimidating for you to appear at my building.”
“I don’t disagree. As I mentioned, I had hoped we’d speak at the hotel. But you were sent home.” The man opened his trench coat and retrieved an envelope. He held it out to her.
“What is it?”
“Your gratuity.”
“No, thank you.”
The man opened the envelope and showed her the cash. “I thought I could smooth things over with Roy. I was wrong. He intends to fire you, even though he has no legal means of doing so. Use the money to hire a lawyer.”
“If he fires me, it will be too late for lawyers. Concierge positions are difficult to get, especially in Paris.”
“Then resign your post and use this until you can secure another position.” The man extended the envelope once again.
“No.” Her refusal was firm. “I don’t want your money.”
“It isn’t my money,” Breckman protested. “It’s yours. You earned it.”
“I won’t accept it.” Acacia ascended the stairs, cell phone in hand. She kept a watchful eye on the former guest.
The man lowered his arm. “I’m simply rewarding you the way I’ve always rewarded Marcel. Stop being stubborn.”
“Stop following me.” She began pressing numbers on her phone.
“Who are you calling? Your boyfriend from the BRB?” His tone dripped with disdain.
Acacia ignored him.
“Wait.” Breckman paused a moment, then cursed. “The Paris police still haven’t discovered who attacked Marcel. It’s possible you’re in danger.”
Acacia lifted her head. “Why?”
Breckman shifted uneasily. “You’re Marcel’s replacement.”
“I don’t know anything about his activities. The only suspicious guest I’ve had to deal with is you.”
A muscle jumped in the man’s jaw. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t warn you in advance.”
“No, you’d just accost me at my apartment and issue threats.”
He placed the envelope on one of the steps. “I am a lot of things, mademoiselle, but I am not without honor. I’m not a thug, and I’m certainly not a thief.” He gestured to the cash. “The money is yours.”
Acacia’s thumb hovered over the screen of her cell phone. “Take the money with you.”
Breckman stood still. “Whether you believe me or not, I didn’t mean for you to be demoted. Quite the opposite.”
“Get out.” Acacia completed her call and ran as fast as she could up the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder to see if the man followed her.
From below, she could hear quick footsteps and Breckman cursing.
She leaned over the railing and caught sight of the man and his bodyguard as they exited the ground floor hallway through the back entrance.
As her call connected to Luc, she burst into her apartment and bolted the door.
Chapter Twelve
“I AGREE. THIS IS THE BEST BRIDGE in Paris.” Kate grinned as she leaned over the railing on the Pont des Arts. Her long red hair twisted into a single braid that hung down her back. She wore a T-shirt and jeans, her feet clad in sandals.
Acacia surveyed the crowded bridge from behind her dark sunglasses. “But today there are too many people.”
Kate groaned, still leaning over the edge. “Forget the padlocks, the lovers, and the tourists taking selfies. Just look at the Seine.”
Acacia followed her gaze. The river flowed beneath them, dotted here and there with riverboats. Since the water was still too high, many of the boats approached the bridge slowly before turning around and sailing away.
“People come, people go. The river flows.” Kate sighed. She rested her chin on her upturned hand.
Acacia removed her sunglasses. “Why so melancholy?”
The breeze blew a strand of red hair into Kate’s mouth, and she pulled it free. “I’m homesick, but I can’t go home. I have to earn some money, and I have to haunt the library, researching my thesis.”
Acacia replaced her sunglasses. “I only go home at Christmas. Even then, Recife doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s funny. I get homesick for Brazil, but every time I go back, it isn’t like I remember it.”
“Yeah, Boston is the same way. I just miss my mother and my brother.” Kate turned and placed her back against the railing. She squinted in the bright sunlight. “How’s the job search?”
“Not good.” Acacia continued to look down at the Seine. “I’ve sent out applications, but only two of them were for concierge positions. I received rejection notices almost immediately.”
“Why?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It could be because I haven’t been at the Victoire very long. It could be because my manager is blackballing me.”
“If he wanted to get rid of you, wouldn’t he help you get another job?” Kate gave her an apologetic look. “No offense.”
“I haven’t earned his respect, so he won’t vouch for me. His voice carries a lot of weight, and unfortunately, the hospitality world is surprisingly small.”
“I’m so sorry.” Kate gave her a pained look. “How’s the night shift?”
“It’s all right.” Acacia closed her eyes behind her glasses, suddenly feeling tired. “Even though I wasn’t the senior concierge, I always worked the day shift. Depending on the day or the time of year, sometimes I worked with other concierges and sometimes I worked alone.”
Acacia opened her eyes. “The night shift concierge always works alone, and the workload is less, which means it’s often boring—until it isn’t. The requests I’m receiving from guests are rather…exotic. And I don’t mean requests for tickets to Le Crazy Horse or Moulin Rouge.”
She and Kate exchanged a look.
“I’ve been on nights for two weeks, and I still can’t adjust. Sleeping in the day, working at night—I feel like a vampire.”
“Is there such a thing as a Brazilian vampire?”
“Some of the most dangerous vampires are Brazilian.” Acacia gave her a solemn look before laughing.
“What are you going to do?”
She joined Kate at the railing. “Hopefully, find another job before the manager fires me.”
“I thought it was almost impossible to fire someone in France.”
“It is, if the firing is done legally. In my case, the manager knows my work permit is tied to my job. I have to find another job in order to get another permit. That jeopardizes my residency in France, and it also puts me at a disadvantage with other employers. They’d have to apply for a permit for me.”
“Isn’t that what happened before?”
“Yes, but when I started at Le Méridien Étoile, I was on a student visa. They applied for a w
ork permit for me just before I graduated. When the Victoire recruited me, they modified my existing work permit. I’ve never been between jobs here, and I’ve always had legal immigrant status.”
“My brother is a lawyer in Boston. Do you want me to ask if his firm can recommend someone here?”
Acacia shook her head. “I’d likely be deported before I could pursue a lawsuit, and my manager knows it. He’s just biding his time until he can give the personnel office a plausible reason to let me go, even if it isn’t entirely legal.”
Kate’s green eyes sparked. “Won’t the personnel office intervene?”
Acacia leaned over the railing. “I’m just the night concierge now. And not everyone is sympathetic to the plight of immigrants.”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re all immigrants or descendants of immigrants. People act as if contemporary nation-states were handed down from heaven, borders intact.” Kate gazed down at the river once again. “What about returning to the Sorbonne? You could switch to a student visa.”
“I could, but I think I’d have to go back to Brazil while I applied. I’d have to give up my apartment.” Acacia shook her head. “I love that apartment. I don’t want to lose it.”
“What about the hot BRB agent who’s been dropping by? Can he help?”
“He’s my ex.”
Kate put a hand to her heart. “The hot BRB agent is your ex? Are you kidding?”
“We dated when we were students.” Acacia focused on one of the tour boats that sailed beneath them.
“I can’t believe you have an ex with that level of hotness.” Kate pretended to fan herself. “Why are you exes? Is he a jerk?”
Acacia rubbed the toe of her shoe against the railing. “No. And yes, he’s hot. But he’s a BRB agent.”
“I wouldn’t want to date a cop, either. But when his hotness is enough to power the city of Paris, I think I’d make an exception. Holy cow.”
Acacia stifled a laugh.
Kate shaded her eyes with her hand. “There’s a story there, but we need lots of chocolate and a bottle of wine for me to pry it out of you.” She rummaged in her pockets and withdrew a few Euro coins. “What’s the cop’s name?”