First of all, let me apologize. I'm woefully behind in posting this. Too much RL getting in the way. But here it is... finally. The next several parts are written but I don't know if my betas are going to have time to read through them. So this may be the last "beta read" part. Just fair warning.
And that being said, a thank you to Lara for helping me with the French and a thank you to Sue as well. It will be difficult for me to post without you.
Hope you enjoy it. As always, here is the
Table of Contents in case you missed something.
(Side note - when they are speaking French, there should be "accents" - I know this. However, in the past when I've tried posting with accent marks, it usually messes up... so I've left them off)
**********
PART FOUR
**********
Lois stalked through the lobby of her hotel until she found what she was looking for.
Actually *who* she was looking for.
She planted her hands firmly on the check-in counter with a resounding ‘thwap.’ “Jacques? I need some help,” she informed him, trying to keep her voice under control but failing miserably. If she stopped talking, stopped walking, stopped trying to keep her mind busy, she was going to succumb. She was going to give in to the nightmarish hell of emotions that were threatening to well up inside of her.
And she wasn’t going to let that happen. At least, not until...
Jacques finished writing whatever he was notating in the small book that lay open on the counter in front of him. “Oui. Que puis-je faire pour vous aider?” he asked congenially, giving her a soft smile.
Lois shook her head. “I can’t do French right now, Jacques, please. I need...” She bit at her lip and swallowed hard. “I need...”
And then she lost it.
“I don’t know what I need!” she wailed, crossing her arms on the counter and dropping her head down on them.
Suddenly, she was a blubbering mess. Part of her was horrified that she would break down like this in front of someone she hardly knew. But the other part of her was too upset to care. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she started to gurgle words from underneath her veil of hair.
“How can he be here? How?” she moaned. “And how in the hell could he possibly be the junior editor-in-chief?” she spat. “Of all the rotten, absolutely horrid things I could possibly imagine...”
“Mademoiselle, please,” Jacques interrupted, his beautiful green eyes wide with alarm. “Let me escort you to your room. You are upset...”
“Ya think?” she snarled. At the apprehension in his face, she softened. “I’m sorry.” She stood up, straightening her clothes, and blotted under her eyes. “You’re right. This is not the place to do this.” Her face threatened to cloud up again and she took a couple of deep breaths. “Can you tell me where the nearest bar is?”
“Bar?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice.
“Yes, bar. You know, pub... tavern...” She searched for another term, but he interrupted her thoughts.
“I understood, Mademoiselle Lane. But I do not think...”
“You know,” she said with a sigh, “I really don’t care what anyone thinks right now. I just want a drink.” She was tempted to lay her head back down on the desk, either that or crawl into the deepest, darkest hole she could find.
“Ah. Oui. This I can help you with,” he offered with a gentle smile.
Lois suddenly felt ashamed by her behavior. “You can? I’m so sorry, Jacques. I’m not normally like this. I just...”
He shook his head and one of those charming curls broke loose, falling across his face. “Think nothing of it, please.” He reached up and tucked the errant hair behind his ear. “Go on up to your room, Mademoiselle. Just give me a moment and I will send something up.”
“Thank you, Jacques. You have no idea.” Lois was genuinely grateful. Now she could drink herself into a stupor in the privacy of her own room.
Wouldn’t her mother be proud?
**********
By the time the knock came at her door, Lois had calmed down enough that she was beginning to wonder if she needed that drink after all. That had been a rather childish way to react to the situation, even if it had caught her off guard.
But after her display downstairs, and the trouble Jacques had gone to, she should definitely answer the door. The least she could do was tip the poor employee Jacques had sent up to deal with the ‘crazy American woman.’
She opened the door and the words she’d been about to say, stuck in her throat.
Jacques hadn’t sent someone else up. He had come himself.
“Oh, uh, Jacques, I um... I didn’t think that you, I mean you personally, would...”
Jacques was smiling broadly at her. “I thought a bit of red wine might help.” He produced a tantalizing bottle from behind his back. “May I?” he asked and gestured with the bottle towards the room.
He wanted to come in? “Oh, I uh...”
“I need to use the corkscrew in your bureau,” he explained.
“Oh, yes, of course.” She stepped back to let him in. “I don’t suppose you brought a glass with you?”
“There are glasses in the bureau,” he explained as he walked past her into the room.
Glasses in the bureau... of course... why not? Lois allowed herself a small smile. “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier,” she apologized.
“Don’t give it another thought, Mademoiselle,” he said genuinely as he retrieved the corkscrew from the bureau that sat in the corner next to the window where she had observed the gardens earlier.
“Jacques, please, call me Lois.” She had given him her first name earlier, and surely he had seen it on her registry when she had checked in. He was very mannerly, though. Maybe he was just too polite to use it unless invited to.
“As you wish,” he conceded. He twisted the corkscrew into the bottle and popped the cork with ease. “Are you feeling any better?”
She smiled warmly at his sincerity. “Un peu mieux.”
“Only a little? Perhaps the wine will help then.” He poured a small glass and then set the wine bottle down on a small table across from the bureau before bringing the glass over to her.
“Peut-etre,” she replied, taking the glass from him. Yes, perhaps a little wine would help.
“Let me know if you require anything else...”
She suddenly wished he didn’t have to go quite so soon. The room was going to feel very lonely with just her and a bottle of wine. “Croyez-vous au destin?” she asked, surprising herself. It was beginning to come back to her. The French, the euphoric feeling of that summer she spent here... it no longer felt like such a lifetime ago.
He raised an eyebrow at her curiously. “Fate? Yes, I believe in it.” He smiled warmly at her. “Undeniably.”
Lois wrinkled her nose. “That’s what I figured. Most Frenchmen do, I have a feeling.” She puffed out a sigh. “I’m sure that’s how the ‘Butcher’ will view it – fate.”
“Butcher?”
Lois took a sip of her wine and then released a nervous laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I call him. His real name is Claude Boucher.” She made sure to correctly pronounce the last name – Booshay. After the mess Claude had made of both her personal life and her professional life, she had taken to calling him Butcher, a crude play on his last name. Claude hated it when American’s butchered the pronunciation of his last name.
The irony of that last thought was not lost on her and she began to giggle a little.
“Ah, see, what did I tell you? One sip of that and you are already feeling better, no?”
Lois shook her head. “No... not really.” She gave him a smile. “What about you? Would you care to join me for a drink?”
His eyes sparkled mischievously but then he was shaking his head. “Alas, no, ma cherie, not while I am working. Perhaps another time?”
“Peut-etre.”
“Merci. Bonsoir, Lois.”
“Bonsoir, Jacques.”
***********
Clark watched from outside the window of Lois’s hotel. He had arrived in time to see Lois answer the door for a handsome, young Frenchman. Feeling a bit like a stalker, Clark had listened in on their conversation, unable to just turn and leave as his good sense was telling him to.
Apparently the man, Jacques, worked for the hotel - was perhaps the owner – from what he had gathered. What came next had grieved him to say the least. Showing up to check on Lois only to find her being catered to by another man was not the evening Clark had envisioned.
What had upset him even further was the mention of the name Claude Bucher. Lois had spoken of a Claude once before – the man who had stolen more from her than just a story – though he couldn’t recall her mentioning Claude’s last name. But Claude was French, he remembered that much. Was this the same Claude? And if so, what had she meant when she had asked Jacques if he believed in fate?
Was Claude working for the Daily Planet here in Paris? Clark frowned. If that was the case, then Lois’s hopes of coming here for a fresh start had just abruptly been extinguished.
Should he check on her? Stop in for a visit and see if there was anything he could do?
No. How ridiculous. What would he say? ‘Lois, I was hanging around outside your window and overheard your conversation...’ Ugh. No, that was just creepy.
Not tonight. He would leave. She had said she wanted space. He would oblige her.
Tomorrow night.
He would check back on her tomorrow. If she really did end up having to work with that wretch, Claude, tomorrow, she might need to see a friendly face.
**********
Lois shook her head inwardly at the young female assistant, Michele – according to the nameplate on her desk.
The pretty brunette had stood up from her desk to greet Lois, revealing a high slit in her short, bright red skirt, which continued several inches above the bend at her knees. The plunging neckline and sheer material of the cream silk blouse she was wearing left very little to the imagination.
Honestly, dressed like that, she could have given even Cat a run for her money. Didn’t the woman have any integrity? Professional pride? Lois bit her tongue. How did someone like that get to be the assistant to the editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet?
Actually, no, she didn’t want to think about it.
Perry White would have never...
Would he?
No, he wouldn’t have. She remembered the little snafu that had happened earlier in the year with the pheromone spray and Rahalia. No, Perry would not have had a woman like that for an assistant. Alice would have had his hide.
“Good morning, Michele,” Lois greeted her, in her best attempt at civility. No sense alienating someone right off the bat. “My name is Lois Lane. I’m here to see Mr. Bordelon to report for my first day of...”
“Ah, oui, Ms. Lane,” she said with a nod, picking up a folder on her desk. “I will let Mr. Boucher know you’ve arrived.”
“Mr. Boucher?” Lois felt her palms start to sweat. “No. See, I’m supposed to report to Mr. Borde-”
Michele cut her off with a brisk, “Mr. Bordelon is out of town.” She gave Lois a curt smile. “Mr. Boucher is filling in for him in the meantime. He is the junior editor-in-chief.”
Lois’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. Unable to form anything coherent to say, she simply nodded her head.
“If you will have a seat,” Michele said, gesturing to a couple of chairs off to one side of the reception area. “I will retrieve Mr. Boucher.”
Lois slid into one of the chairs, wishing instead that she could crawl underneath it. The situation had gone from bad to worse. Not only was she going to have to work in the same building as the Butcher, she was apparently going to be reporting to him in the meantime, as well.
She fidgeted in her seat. What was she going to say to him? How would she react when she saw him? How would he react? Could she restrain herself from standing up and slapping him square in the face?
As the minutes ticked by, she began to grow frustrated. Why wouldn’t Perry have told her about Claude? Lois frowned. No, that wasn’t fair of her. Perry didn’t really know what had happened between Lois and Claude. Lois hadn’t had any solid proof that Claude had stolen her story, and to prevent a lot of rumors from being spread around the office, she had refrained from telling anyone what had happened.
Also, after threatening to change Claude’s sexual orientation for him, he had sworn not to breathe a word of her indiscretion with him, as well.
Claude was slimy; there was no doubt of that. He had taken advantage of her, used her, and taken more from her than she wanted to admit. But she had to hand it to him, he had kept his word. There hadn’t been any water cooler talk around the office. No one knew of their little interoffice fling, and only a couple of months after the incident, Claude had moved back to France. His father had suddenly become ill and Claude’s family had needed him to come home to help with the estate. His family was fairly well off.
So Perry would have had no reason to warn Lois about Claude working for the Paris branch of the Planet. Besides that, he may not have even known. Perry would have dealt with Mr. Pierre Bordelon, the senior editor-in-chief, regarding her transfer.
<Croyez-vous au destin?>
She had asked Jacques if he believed in fate. Lois herself had never really put much stock in it. She was beginning to change her viewpoint on that.
Lois glanced up in time to see the once-considered-handsome face of the man she would be calling her boss. Her stomach rolled violently and she swallowed nervously before standing up to greet him.
“Lois Lane!” he said emphatically. She held out her hand to him and he accepted it, giving it a firm shake. “When Pierre told me who had put in a transfer to work here, I can’t tell you my surprise at hearing your name after so long.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you can imagine my reaction upon hearing yours,” she replied acidly. “Where is Mr. Bordelon?”
He ignored her cold decorum as he continued, “He had to attend a business conference in Britain and will unfortunately be gone for the rest of the week. He was sorry that he couldn’t be here to meet you in person.”
“Me too.”
Claude cleared his throat and turned to Michele. “Thank you, Michele. If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to give Ms. Lane a tour of the newsroom.”
Michele smiled flirtatiously. “Bien sur.”
Lois watched her walk back to her station and then reluctantly brought her attention back to Claude. “Really, I don’t need a tour. And I already know where my desk is, I came in yesterday. So, if you’ll excuse me...”
“No, Lois, I don’t think I will,” he said firmly.
Heat began to flush Lois’s cheeks. “Okay. Listen to me, Butcher...”
Claude grimaced. “Must you continue to call me that? You know how much I *hate* that nickname.”
“Well you should have thought of that before you...”
“What?” he demanded tersely. “Slept with you? Stole your story? Ruined your life?” He glanced around and Lois realized that they were making a bit of a scene. “Would you care to accompany me to my office, Ms. Lane?” he asked, tempering his voice.
“Not at all,” she lied evenly. What she really wanted to do was run from the building as fast as her legs could carry her, but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to him.
She followed him into his office and as soon as he shut the door behind her, she launched into a tirade, “Okay, we’re in the privacy of your office now. You can drop the act.”
“Act?”
“The fake civility,” she snipped.
He put his hands on his hips and stared hard at her. “Look, I don’t know what memory you have created of me, Lois, but I was never uncivil to you.”
Lois snorted. “Oh no, never *uncivil*. You just led me to believe that you were in love with me, got me to sleep with you, and then snuck out the next morning taking *my* story with you.”
“Lois, you know as well as I do that we were *both* assigned to that story.”
“Yeah?” Her eyebrows shot up. “But we were working it on our own. We weren’t *partners*. We both had different takes on it and were working different angles. You were just jealous that my angle turned out to be the right one. So you took my notes, my angle, and *my* story and turned it in as your own!”
He sighed and crossed his arms, shaking his head softly. “Lois, can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have done the same to me if our situations had been reversed? If my angle had panned out, you wouldn’t have tried to-”
Lois was aghast. “Absolutely not! Unlike you, I actually have some integrity! I would never do something like that... to anyone!”
But a little voice in the back of her mind was chiding her. Hadn’t she done something similar to Clark Kent less than a year ago? She had stolen a story from him and had then proceeded to tell him that it was for his own good; that he was too trusting.
A life lesson...
Had she actually told him that he would thank her for it?
Yes, but that was different! She hadn’t been dating Clark... in fact, she hadn’t even really liked him at that point. And she certainly hadn’t slept with him first!
Definitely not the same.
“You used me!” she growled, stabbing a finger at him.
Claude let out a noisy sigh. “I know you don’t believe me, but I did not sleep with you solely in order to steal your story...”
“Oh, no! Of course not! That was just a bonus!” Lois wanted to slap him. She wanted to punch him. She wanted to make him hurt as badly as he had hurt her...
“No, it was a mistake,” he said softly.
Lois reeled. “What?” she exclaimed. She didn’t know why, but for some reason, that statement stung. She had said for years that sleeping with Claude had been a mistake, but for him to have said that about her...
“I’m sorry, Lois. If I hadn’t stayed over that night, I would have never had the chance to come across your notes the next morning. I would have never been tempted to-”
“You shouldn’t have been tempted to begin with,” she growled. How dare he try to turn this around, try to make her feel sorry for him! Of all the nerve!
“I know. But regardless of what you think, I did care for you,” he said earnestly. “We were so much alike, had so much in common. We both had that drive to find out the truth, to be the best. And you were so beautiful, so fiery and full of determination, even back then.” He smiled wistfully at her, eliciting a scowl in return. “But you had such a wonderful innocence about you, then... And if I took that from you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she snipped. “Innocence is a liability. You taught me that.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But we are going to have to get past this if we’re going to work together again. Or...”
He paused for a moment and it aroused her curiosity. “Or what?”
“Or, I could reverse your transfer and send you back to Metropolis, if that’s what you want.” There was no trace of malice in his voice. In fact, Lois almost thought she heard a touch of regret. She must have imagined it.
She couldn’t go back to Metropolis. Not yet. She would look like a failure. Her reputation would suffer even more. “No. I’m not leaving. I came here to prove something to myself, and I’m not leaving until that’s done.”
He nodded. “Very well. Then I suggest you find a way to move beyond the past and focus on the here and now. Because if you expect to succeed in this environment, I’m going to require you to not only work hard but work hard for *me* - take orders from me.” He eyed her pointedly. “I need to know I can treat you like any other employee, give you praise or criticism like any other employee, and know that you can handle it.” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Can you handle it?”
“Better than any other employee,” she said curtly.
He nodded. “Good, because the last thing I need is someone disrupting the flow of this newspaper. We all have to work together.”
“I am a professional, Claude, and I will behave as one.” She crossed her arms and nodded to the stack of paperwork on the corner of his desk. “Now, can I have my first assignment?”
“If you wish,” he said evenly. “I want you to partner with Phillipe Vignes and help him with some research on...”
Lois gaped at him. “Research? Are you serious? Put me out on the street, I’m a reporter! Not a research analyst!”
“You are a *transfer*, Lois,” he said calmly. “You are new to this locale and I need to make sure that you are qualified before I send you out as a reporter.”
“Qualified?” she demanded tersely. “Are you serious?”
He frowned at her. “You just told me that you could take orders from me.”
“But...”
“You are not familiar with French customs or culture,” he reasoned with her. “You do not know the procedures for how things work around here. You cannot expect me to turn you loose until I am sure that you are ready.”
Lois groused. Great, she had traveled several thousand miles, left everything behind that she knew...
Why? To be a research assistant.
***********
To be continued...
