I climbed out of Dean's lap and readjusted my skirt. My cheeks flared up with heat. "Asshole."

He snickered, slowly wiping his mouth with his fingers as he eyed me from head-to-toe. "Am I? You're the one who came in here hoping to get me caught. Did you think it'd be that easy?"

No. I knew something was off, but I'd been following my libido instead of my instincts.

"I've done this before. Plenty of times. You got lucky," he said, standing up and moving towards his desk. "Most people I fuck with at the office have to sign stacks of NDAs before I even touch them. You got to kiss me and will have the memory to keep. But not the proof." He twisted and gestured at me. "Hand me your phone."

"Bastard," I growled, bracing to run for the door. If I was fast enough, I might be able to get out and salvage this footage before he fucked with it.

But my legs were still wobbly from the intensity of our near-fuck, and he barred the exit within seconds of me racing towards it.

He snarled at me. "Nice try, Rhodes. Give it to me, now."

I grimaced and shifted my weight and stomped a foot, but it was no use. He'd bested me, and I had no choice. "Connard," I said under my breath, reluctantly slipping my phone into his grip.

He chuckled. "I see Giselle is teaching you well. Where is she, hm? Please tell me you didn't involve her in all this."

I flinched but turned away so he wouldn't notice. "She has no idea," I lied, praying he'd believe me. If I could spare her, I would—only one of us needed to take the fall for this.

He fumbled around on my phone, then flipped the screen to me to show him deleting the recording. "There, no harm done." He gave me my phone and folded his arms, studying me. "No hard feelings, okay? Isn't that what you Americans say?" His eyebrows lifted. "Sign a few papers for me, and we can resume this without a camera, yeah? I need a release after all that."

"Pig," I said, holding in the urge to slap him. He'd won; I was the one leaving his office in shame, caught in my own game. "I would never sleep with you for real."

I'd failed.

I didn't go home and instead ordered a ride-share to take me straight to Giselle's.

She opened the door, gaze wild with panic at the sight of me slouching and tears clogging up my eyes.

"What happened?" She let me in and ushered me to her bedroom. "Did he hurt you?"

I sniffled as I kicked off my shoes and curled up atop the covers. "Not physically."

"Lucy," she cozied up behind me, spooning me, "tell me."

I laid out the scene for her in as much detail as I could between sniffles, and omitted the parts where I'd been enticed by him, actually intrigued by him. I didn't tell her he was a good kisser. That I'd enjoyed rubbing up on his cock. That I might end up fantasizing about the scene once I got over how much of a douche he was.

I probably wouldn't get over it.

Was I attracted to dirt-bags? My ex was one, Dean was one; the only exception was Giselle, a pure-hearted angel with a filthy mind.

Maybe I needed to write off men completely, since the ones I gravitated towards were awful. Evil.

"Merde." Giselle's voice was low, her arms wrapped around me so tight, I could hardly breathe. "That was it. That was our plan."

"Yeah. In other words," I hiccupped, "fuck."

The guilt that riddled me made me nauseous. For a moment, I'd wanted to sleep with Dean, scratch that itch and get it over with. And then there was the additional guilt of failing this one task I'd been given. Being caught so easily with my pants down—almost literally—made me reconsider everything we'd done up until now.

Were we qualified to take down such a sly, sneaky, piece of shit like Dean King? He'd been at his antics for years; he knew what he was doing. Giselle, Coop, and I—we were amateurs.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, shivering. "It's my fault, I should have put the phone somewhere else, should have—"

"Shhh." She moved a few hairs from my face, kissed my cheek. "Don't blame yourself, please. It was a faulty plan from the start. I told you, I believe he already knew. We were never meant to succeed."

She abandoned me for a bit, returning with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. I sat up and took a few sips, not caring that the liquid burned down my throat.

I wanted the pain, I deserved it. We were so close to dethroning him, and I'd let a rookie mistake fuck me over.

"I wasn't meant for this kind of behavior," I said, squinting into my mug. Tears threatened to unleash again, but I didn't want them to. Giselle had seen enough of my pathetic sadness tonight.

She threw an arm around me and pulled me against her. "And that's okay. We were limited on time and did what we could with what was at our disposal. C'est pas grave, hein?" Another kiss to my cheek, and I felt myself warming up.

But it wasn't enough.

"Coop will be pissed," I said, after another soothing sip. Giselle's tea always comforted me, even when I didn't want it. She'd made her special brew for me several times already, and it never ceased to amaze me. "We promised them we'd get Dean once and for all."

"They'll have to understand." She scoffed, setting her mug on the dresser in front of the bed. "It's not like they helped us much, did they? They told us what to do and stood back to watch us do it all wrong."

I winced. "To watch us make Dean King look more human, more innocent."

"He'll never look human and innocent, not to me." Giselle's arms tensed, her legs jittered. She wanted to pace; I could tell by her shifty posture. But there wasn't enough room anywhere in the studio for her to do so, so she stood, tapping her foot to the floor. "Not to many others, either, but no one is bold enough to properly come forward."

"He's blackmailed them all," I said, glaring at my tea as if it were Dean.

I should have slapped him before I left. It wouldn't have made a difference, but it'd have released so much tension, so much pressure. To leave my hand's imprint on his perfect cheeks, to watch that perfect mouth pout and those perfect eyes widen in fear—it would have soothed my rage somewhat.

But it still wouldn't have been enough.

"What do you think Coop will do when we tell them?" I drew my knees up to my chest, still clutching my mug. The tea was hot, steam coming up to coat my face.

Giselle's hands kept bunching and unbunching at her sides. "They can't fire us. We didn't hold up our end of the bargain, but they know we tried our best. They know the efforts and money we put into this."

Coop needed to come forward—Giselle and I both knew that. The ball was in their court, but they'd never do it, not with the risk of losing everything they'd built. Not with the risk of Dean exposing whatever secrets he had on them.

Giselle straightened up, eyes bulging and spine stiffening as if struck by lightning. "You have to win."

"But...I lost."

"No!" She dropped to her knees in front of me, barely fitting in the small space between the dresser and the bed. "You have to win. The position. Become the new president of LeRouge."

I chortled. "Yeah, um, that's why I moved here."

"Right, and it was a valiant effort at first, but..." She placed her hands on my shins, tugging my legs down so she could slither between them, get closer to me. Was she frisky, now? After all that? The last thing on my mind was sex, especially not with her. Much as she allured me, I was in no mood to get touchy-feely. "But now it has to happen. Now you must commit to it."

"Did you...not have faith in me before?" I cocked my head, blinking at her. "You offered to help me, but you...you never thought I could do it, did you?" The disappointment weighed on my chest, dropping stones into my stomach. "Ouch."

"No, not like that." She heaved herself onto the bed and took the mug from me, setting it near hers. Then she sat, legs pretzel-like, and faced me with serious eyes. "I worried that despite your best efforts, Dean would win. He's the favorite. I don't doubt your skills, I've seen what you can do—you're incredible, Lucy. But Dean King is a menace."

I gulped, the taste of chamomile souring on my tongue. "Yeah, I noticed."

"I thought sabotaging him was how we'd pave the way for you. That bringing him down would guarantee your success; but we have to play by the rules. We have to take him down officially. Meaning you have to beat him, fair and square."

Fair and square—he'd said that earlier, and the repetition rattled me. I shuddered. "That's always been my plan, Giselle."

"And you need help." She sucked in her lips, puckered them out. "You need my help. With the French, but with your presentation, too. I know what he's doing for his presentation, which means I can ensure yours is better. Wow," she shook her head, smiling, "I can't believe I didn't see this sooner. That's all we need to do."

I scrubbed my face as exhaustion began to take over. My brain hurt, my body was sore, my heart beating erratically. "Fine. You'll help me with my presentation, but we have to be even more discreet than before. I covered your ass tonight, Giselle, but he'll be suspicious. He questioned whether you were involved."

She took my hands in hers. "And you protected me?"

"How could I not?" I offered a weak smile. "Giselle, everything you've done for me since I got here...all the ways you've taught me, taken me on this ride...how could I throw you under the bus?"

She returned my smile, her eyes watery. I hoped she wouldn't cry—I only had the emotional bandwidth for my own tears tonight.

She squeezed my hands. "Thank you. Truly. I refused your money earlier, but this? This is the kind of help I'll always welcome."

She kissed me, her lips not hungry and lustful, for once. It was a tender kiss, a caring kiss. With all that had transpired with Dean, it was the type of kiss I'd needed for reassurance. To know I hadn't messed everything up with her; that she was still there for me, and I for her, despite Dean's awfulness.

We were a team, her and I. Even if it was a secret, even if it was forbidden—we had each other's backs.

I wouldn't have been able to sleep that night without that significant kiss, but it also kept me tossing and turning, shimmying out of her embrace as she slept.

So many thoughts were on my mind, and not only the Dean situation.

Were my feelings for Giselle deepening? Becoming something else, something more?

And was I ready for that?

***

As promised, Giselle provided assistance for my presentation. I had the product concept, had worked on a marketing plan, all the strategies, had consulted the scientists and established a test group to try out and review the product. Realistically, I didn't need much help, but Giselle had intel on Dean's project, so her opinion was essential.

"It's strong," she said, after reviewing my notes and making a few changes on my PowerPoint presentation. "And you have an actual sample to bring for the meeting?" I nodded. "Good. Something this interesting will draw Monsieur Girard's attention. He's been researching this for a while."

LeRouge was top of the market for long-lasting mascara, eyeshadow that stayed on without a primer, and non-smudging lipsticks. But one area we lacked good ratings in was foundation. I knew that well, as someone who required foundation on a daily basis—my skin was naturally red, with blotches and zits that developed around that time of the month.

Before I left L.A., I'd been in talks for a new foundation line—lightweight, not settling into pores or fine lines, lasting hours without needing a touch-up.

Foundation happened to be on the list that Monsieur Girard had given us with all the products he was hoping to see.

"And...it's not the same as what Dean's doing?" I glanced at Giselle warily as she continued to peruse my documents.

"No, he's going for a non-transferable lip-gloss. And yes, it sounds impossible, but he's gotten results and even the lab is stumped by his success." She frowned and moved away from the computer. "It's solid, but yours is, too."

"Any clue what Coop is doing?" I saved and closed all my files and watched as Giselle went to sit on the other side of the desk. "They haven't been forthcoming, and despite our alliance, we're still out for the same position."

"They've remained vague, but I believe they're looking into a youthful skincare line. Older teenagers who want to start protecting their skin and prepare for aging, halt and reverse effects before they stop." She wrinkled her nose. "I may have peeked at some of their projects from the UK branch, and I'm sure that's the one they'll present."

Fuck. Coop's idea was strong, too. LeRouge catered mostly to women over twenty, so bringing in the younger clientele was brilliant. Nowadays, with how teens fretted about their skincare routines—as they should—that market was booming.

Giselle left me to put some finishing touches on my presentation, and to type up the speech to go with it. She promised to have a look at it before I attended the big meeting, which was, to my dismay, in a few days.

One weekend left before finding out if I'd shifted my entire life across the world for nothing.

Dean hadn't made any moves against me, as far as I knew. After that dreadful episode between us, he hadn't said a word. He locked himself in his office, denying even Giselle entry.

Was he looking into a way to take me down? Figuring out how to sabotage me? He'd already decimated my pride, made me look and feel like an idiot. He wouldn't need to do much else to make me fail.

I'd half expected him to fire me but then realized that doing so would require him to explain why. He wouldn't want to jeopardize his favoritism by declaring that I'd come on to him, and he'd let me.

As I hit save on the PowerPoint, I couldn't help but hear my ex's voice in my head. The same tone he'd used in court, during our divorce hearing. The same cruelties he'd said to me in harsh whispers when he'd found out I sold our house, and he'd get nothing from me.

"You think you can make a name for yourself out there, without me to sponsor you? Good luck, Lucy. You're not good enough. You climb on the backs of those who paved the way but contribute nothing."

I clenched my fists, willing his bullshit out of my mind. "Wrong. I sponsored you, you ass."

He'd been my support, sure, but only emotionally. Financially, I'd always looked out for myself. He'd mooched off me for years, and I'd only seen it once things got gritty in court.

"Fuck you." I turned off my computer, deciding to leave early for the day. I needed a break, and no pressing matters needed my attention until next week.

As I walked by Dean's office, his voice snuck into my head.

"All your attempts are futile, because I'll always win."

"Ah, but you forgot fair and square," I said to myself as I entered the elevator, sneering at no one in particular—but wishing he could see me. "I'll win, this time. You'll see."

My reports and flow-charts and designs were ready. My samples were in secure locations, my PowerPoint perfected and proof-read. All I needed was Giselle's final green-light, and I was done.

I'd put all my skills to the test. Put all my knowledge and research into this. There was no way I'd fail. I'd moved to Paris for this—for a position that was, by right, mine. Not because I had an in (like Dean) or because I was an underdog (like Coop).

But because I deserved it.

┴