Chapter 9: Rain on the Avenue

"I'm not going to Papa with it yet," Bastien said. "I want to see the footage first."

He stood in the doorway of the conference room with his hand on the frame.

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because last week I told you to prove her wrong." His mouth was tight. "And you did, and I haven't said a word of thanks."

"You don't have to."

"I do." He looked at the floor. "I sat there and let them call you a thief, Élise. I'm sorry."

I said nothing, because anything I said would have been a performance.

He walked me to the lift himself.

It was raining when I came out of the bank.

The rain was hard and cold, and it drove under the awning and soaked my shoes.

I had left Margaux's umbrella in the car she had taken home.

A black car was waiting at the curb with its engine running.

The driver's door opened, and Adrien stepped out into the rain with no umbrella and no coat.

"Get in," he said.

"You'll be wet through."

"Get in, Élise."

It was the first time he had said my name without the Rochefort after it.

I got in.

He slid behind the wheel and shut his door.

Water ran off his hair and down his temple, and he wiped it from his jaw with the back of his hand.

"How did you know where I was?" I asked.

"Your brother called me," Adrien said. "He said you'd been in a meeting you didn't deserve."

"Bastien called you?"

"He thinks I should take you for a coffee." He turned the heater up. "I'm taking you home instead."

The car pulled out into traffic.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The wipers beat. The streets slid past, gray and glittering.

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