imagining being enveloped by him, swept into his sureness, giving her a sense of belonging her rootless past had never allowed.
Marie shook her head. Dashing Zander was the event chair for this very fancy benefit she found herself a part of. There wasn’t to be anything personal between the two of them. Zander was a member of the upper class. Men like him didn’t give a second glance to girls like her, who’d had it rough and were just scraping by. Money attracted money, confidence married confidence and so on. Wasn’t that how it went? And what was she doing thinking about marrying anyway? Her love life thus far had just been links in a chain of the disappointment she had always known.
Starting with the top one, Marie moved the boxes that were on her desk and stacked them into a corner on the floor. She needed a workspace. Picking up the office phone with its many buttons, she called the front desk to find out what Felice’s phone extension was. And left a message that she was available for the end-of-the-day meeting they’d agreed upon.
Before they parted Zander had asked her if she could continue working tonight and said that he’d send his driver at seven. So she’d need to finish up with Felice at the office and then go to her room to change into something more appropriate for the evening. Zander hadn’t mentioned where his driver would be taking her.
After skimming through the files, Marie had a better sense of the agency’s events. Some of the paperwork was from a year ago, some from five. It was a daunting prospect to have to sort through it all. She’d get to it as she could, but Felice had stressed to her that the gala was the number one priority.
Marie bit her lip, thinking again that being forced to spend lots of her time with Zander on this gala was one heck of a high-quality problem to have. Although she needed to tamp down her attraction to him, and fast!
“How did the meeting go?” Felice entered her office and closed the door. Marie looked up from the notes she was reviewing.
“Well, I think. He wants to meet with me again tonight to go into more detail.”
“And you’re available I hope?”
Marie bit back a snicker. Why wouldn’t she be available? When she’d arrived this morning, she’d dropped off her suitcases and come straight to the office. And with no guarantees that she be promoted to the job permanently, she wouldn’t even be giving up her room in Toulouse just yet. In short, Marie Paquet’s life was in complete flux. Evening plans were the last thing on her mind.
“You’ll need to devote yourself to Zander for the time being,” Felice continued. The words devote yourself to Zander crawled down Marie’s back, making her twitch in her seat. Devotion wasn’t hard to imagine.
Perhaps there was already someone who had devoted herself to him. In fact, why on earth wouldn’t there be? A smart and sophisticated man like him would surely have devotees lined up around the block. For all she knew, he was married or spoken for. Who was the Iris he had been talking to on the phone earlier today?
Regardless, Marie’s task was to render this gala to everyone’s satisfaction. Not to pry into Zander’s relationship status.
“He talked to me about how extravagant he wants this to be. Something about being on par with the great balls of Venice. Do we have party vendors that can pull off something that ambitious?”
“This is Cannes,” Felice assured. “This town knows how to throw a party better than most of the world. Of course, we have event partners up to the task.”
Felice tapped into her phone. Once the ring began, she placed it on Marie’s desk and hit the speaker button.
“Chef Jean Luc Malmond.”
“Jean Luc, Felice here at the APCF.”
“Felice, my sweet.”
“We’ve had a bit of a staff shake-up here. And we’re not entirely clear what has been settled upon for the gala’s menu.”
“Let me pull up my notes.”
“And I have you on speakerphone with Marie Paquet, who will be our liaison for the event.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“You, too. On the phone, that is.”
“As you know we have Zander de Nellay as event chair,” Felice said to Jean Luc. “He wants to go lavish. I’m not sure Marie’s predecessor had a grasp on the scale of the event.”
“One thousand guests at the mansion,” Marie added. That headcount was far larger than anything she’d ever worked on before. She was excited by the challenge. Among other things.
“I see we talked about starting with waiters passing hors d’oeuvres on trays during the cocktail hour,” Jean Luc reported. “Then we seat the guests for a soup course. Followed by the entrée course with wine. Then a salad. Afterward, dessert buffets stationed at several locations in the ballroom. Continuous cocktail service in the great hall, ancillary salons and on the lawn.”
“Do you have that, Marie?” Felice asked her across the desk. “You can discuss this with Zander when you meet with him tonight. See if he likes that basic outline.”
“Got it.”
“Jean Luc, I’m going to have Marie call you to set up a meeting this week.”
“Yes, let’s finalize as soon as possible. With the social season upon us, I’m like a decapitated chicken.” Jean Luc let go of a laugh.
After they got off the phone, Felice helped Marie make a list of points to discuss with Zander when she saw him later.
Intrigue still nagged at Marie.
She sensed something a bit mysterious about Zander. For example, he never directly answered her innocent-enough query about what he did for work, saying only that he was affiliated with several charities.
“Felice, what does Zander do for a living?”
“Do?” Felice looked at her like she had just arrived from Mars. Marie wanted to impress the director by having all the information, but nothing in the notes said anything specifically about that. “You mean other than his royal duties?”
“Royal duties?” Marie’s shoulders arched back.
“Marie, His Highness Zander de Nellay is a prince. He’s the son of His Serene Highness Prince Hugh and Princess Claudine of Charlegin.”
Marie’s fists opened and closed. She’d just had lunch at an outdoor café with a prince? Obviously, a poor orphan from the meanest streets in North Marseilles had never met a member of royalty before.
She’d seen enough of the royals who were always on television and in magazines to know that they didn’t wear regalia and crowns every time they were seen in public. Still, there was nothing about Zander, nor had he said anything, to give her any indication that he was a prince.
A prince!
“Felice, I didn’t know. It wasn’t anywhere in Jic’s paperwork.” Although she remembered in a handwritten note Jic had doodled a crown above Zander’s name. Hardly a clear communiqué, but now it made sense.
“I
