Since my landing in Paris I had gone into a little bit of a remodel mode. I stop by some boutiques, picked up some more befitting clothes. Heels, stylishly pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, and of course accessories to match. Next came the make-up, haircut, and manicure. I had forgotten how much I loved spending money. Thankfully I traveled with large sums of cash and was able to contact a distant friend who was able to wire me some more to support my love for an expensive wardrobe and well equipped five star hotels.
I was able to get a hold of a few other associates who were able to point me in the right direction on my search for Bastian. Bastian had always had a fondness for the finer things, so upon the arrival of what I was assured was his latest penthouse apartment I wasn't all too shocked when I saw lavish decorations and expensive art pieces. "Mr. Duval will see you now mam'." A slim, blonde, female assistant said to me as she came from the other room. She directed me towards a large decorated set of double doors that I confidently walked through.
The room I walked into was an office, very spacious with floor to ceiling bookshelves stocked with every genre of literature one could imagine. The lighting was dim, most coming from an unusually bright desk lamp. The desk was large and well organized, with a figure sitting behind it. The figure, who I assumed to be Bastian, was sitting in a rolling office chair with the back of the chair facing towards me and looking towards the view through the large bay windows. I said nothing, simply made my way over to a leather loveseat near the center of the room. "My assistant said you gave Buttercup as your name." I heard Bastian's heavy French accent say to me just before he turned around his chair to face me. Bastian always had a rather young face, and the most striking pair of deep blue eyes I had ever seen. Bastian was a clean shaven man with thick locks of well trimmed jet black hair. He had high cheek bones that used to make me swoon with an equally adorable smirk that would make me melt. I watched him carefully as he opened a drawer from his desk and pulled out an old copy of The Princess Bride; our favorite book, where I got the reference of "Buttercup" from. He dropped the book on his desk and stood from his seat, straightening his tie.
"Your assistant is pretty, how long have you been fucking her?" I insisted as I relaxed a bit on the couch.
"What makes you think I'm fucking her?" He smirked as he moved over to a table where he kept an assortment of liquors.
"She's at your penthouse at eleven o' clock at night, not to mention while you're single you have a habit of keeping attractive female assistants. As I recall, when we were together your assistant was a rather lovely gay American boy."
"Jonathan. He was a wonderful violinist." Bastian commented as he poured some scotch into two crystal glasses. "So, you must be in some pretty deep shit if you're using Buttercup." He commented as he made his way over to me. He joined me on the loveseat, handing me the scotch as he put his arm around my shoulder.
Very casually I stood to my feet, separating myself from Bastian as I took a sip of my scotch. "I find myself in need of your services."
"Is that so?" Bastian chuckled as he sipped his scotch. "And whatever has lead the great Valentina Volkov to my door?"
"Change of heart." I stated simply, not wanting to give away too many details. "My family thinks I'm dead, and I need it to stay that way."
"Did you have anything in mind?"
"I've always heard Chicago is a great city for art and art lovers. I'd love to open a gallery, maybe even a theatre there."
"Name?"
"I figured you could think of something creative for me?"
"You do look like an Alberta."
"Alberta?" I snickered as I started to move closer to the bookshelves, looking across the book titles.
"You know if you're father comes looking for you, my contract…"
"He won't. He has no reason to think I'm alive." I reassured Bastian.
"Well…" Bastian began as he stood up and moved closer to my side. "I could get something ready for you, cover some bases, but I'll need a few days to pull some strings. Think you can manage a few extra days in Paris?"
"I should be able to handle that." I mumbled as I downed the rest of my scotch.
"Where are you staying?" He asked, his interest making me a tad uneasy.
"A hotel." I answered, vaguely of course.
"Nonsense." He took my empty glass from me as he moved back over to the table with the liquors. "I'll have someone sent to your hotel and gather your things, you can stay with me."
"That really won't be necessary Bastian." I insisted, following behind him intensely. "It's not like I'm in some flea bag motel or anything. I can handle myself for a few more days."
"There's no reason for you to spend money on a hotel when you can just stay here. If it's your safety you're concerned about, I can assure you there's no safer place in Paris. Besides, if for any reason your father does have reason to suspect you're alive, this would be the last place he'd even think to look for you. Please Valentina, I must insist. I'll have Kristie prepare a room for you." Before I could object Bastian called Kristie's name and without hardly a second to pass the pretty blonde assistant made her way back into the room. "Kristie, call Keith and have him go to Ms. Buttercup's hotel to gather her things, and show her to the guestroom."
A saw a look of slightly jealous flash across Kristie's face as she glanced over at me before speaking a soft, "Of course Mr. Duval." in French. "Please," she now spoke in English, "Follow me Ms. Buttercup." She gestured for me to follow as she left the room.
I looked over at Bastian and sighed softly, "Do you ever take no for any answer?"
"Funny…" He began to muse, "The last time you said that to me, I was putting a diamond on your finger."
"Goodnight Bastian." I rolled my eyes at him as I caught back up with Kristie as she led me away to the guest room.
"I'll bring some fresh towels to the guest bathroom and extra pillows for the bed if you'd like Ms. Buttercup." Kristie pulled out a cell phone and began to text, "What hotel are you staying in so I can send Keith over to retrieve your belongings?"
"Le Meurice, in the belle etolie royal suite."
"Yes Ms. Buttercup, I'll notify him at once. I'll go grab you those towels now so you can shower." Her voice was very monotone, clearly unhappy with my extended stay as she opened a near door to us. "I do certainly hope you enjoy your time here, Ms. Buttercup."