The Frenchman's Bride by Imani King

Author:Imani King [King, Imani]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Imani King
Published: 2016-03-24T04:00:00+00:00

3

Blaine

* * *

Standing in my executive office above Winguard Productions, my private studio building for organizing big budget films, I absentmindedly dragged the tip of my thumb across my bottom lip. I was presently admiring the light from my window. I always enjoyed the reassuring glow of the early morning across the space, even when my mind was unfortunately preoccupied. Instead of going through the motions of trying to get any actual work done…

My unfortunate little brush with the papers had fallen to the wayside by now. By now, it was just the latest ding in my armor, another footnote to the parade of debauchery that was my life. It didn’t bother me. The paparazzi were constantly picking up on my fuck-ups here and there. They had it out for me – and I still needed to know exactly why. Luckily, they seemingly hadn’t caught any of the really juicy stuff.

But that lake of vipers was the least of my concerns.

I lifted my watch again. Harold Figgs wasn’t late; I was simply impatient. But I had good reason to be – he was instructed to notify me of any “developments”, and from his latest email, it sounded like there was a hell of a development.

Exhaling, I unsuccessfully tried to release the stress. The anticipation was clawing in my head, like an untamed beast. It was ten minutes later, as I was considering stepping out and punching something, that my receptionist finally pinged over my intercom.

“Blaine, Harry’s here for you.”

“Splendid,” I replied coolly. “Let him in.”

“Right away, Mister Winguard.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. A few moments later, Ivy popped open the door, her fingers clasped delicately around the handle. A rough, older gentleman in a jacket and matching wide-rimmed hat stepped into the room. Without skipping a moment, he removed his hat and handed it to her.

“Take care of this, would ya, darling’?”

My receptionist quickly turned to me; I shrugged. Veiling her irritation, she took his hat and politely closed the door. With our privacy intact, he immediately turned to me, stiffly strolling across my office with professional restraint.

“Harry, welcome back,” I shook his hand.

“Pleasure.”

“Tell me,” I asked, offering him a seat, “how are things progressing? You seem to think something worth my attention has happened.” As he made himself comfortable, I took a seat across from him, folding my fingers together on my executive desk.

My private investigator shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’ve got an update – but you’re not gonna like it.”

An eyebrow arched. “Is that so?”

Harry reached into his jacket’s inner pocket to produce a small, worn black notebook. Licking his fingers, he flipped through the pages, filled with the indecipherable smudges of his illegible handwriting. He briefly reviewed a page or two before answering, and I held my smile with increasing aggravation.

“Yeah…little canary of yours is going a bit off-course, if you know what I mean.”

“Let us pretend that I don’t,” I replied, holding back my exasperation.

“Well, turns out that the target–”

“I told you to not call her that,” I cut in.

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