That earned a glare from Amrita. “Cormac King. You are not too old for me to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking.”
“Promises, promises,” I drawled.
“Should I be worried?” Laurent asked, looking between the two of us.
“No,” Finn answered. “Amrita’s girlfriend is even scarier than she is. She’s a defense lawyer and I have no idea why the opposition continues with their case once she’s given them the look.”
“Gemma’s a pussycat really once you get to know her,” Amrita said. She frowned as Laurent went to sit down. “Not there.” She pointed to the other side of the table. “Over there. Couples opposite each other so I don’t have to put up with any under the table groping that will remind me that my loved one is not in the same city as me.”
I grinned as Laurent went to the other side of the table without argument while I obediently took the seat opposite him.
“Sendher to get food,” Cillian mocked. “As if.”
Amrita took a seat at the head of the table. “Dig in,” she said, waving a hand at the food that looked like it could comfortably feed the entire building with plenty left over. She produced a notepad as everyone began to fill their plates.
“What’s the notepad for?” Laurent asked.
“Notes,” Amrita answered with a twinkle in her eye. “Or paper aeroplanes, if any of you misbehave.” She mimed throwing one in Cillian’s direction.
“Who’d dare?” Finn muttered. He did it with humor, though. Out of the four of us, Laurent was the only one not used to Amrita’s particular brand of organizing everything and everyone around her, and that included Cillian, her supposed boss.
For the next few minutes, there was little conversation, everyone focused on satisfying their hunger pangs. “So…” Amrita said once there was a lull in eating, her gaze fastened on me. “I understand you need a work visa. Which, unfortunately for you, requires work.”
Laurent laughed at my grimace. When I narrowed my eyes at him, he held both hands up. “What? It’s a valid point.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I pointed out.
Laurent grinned. “I’m completely and utterly on your side. So much so that I wouldn’t be doing you any favors if I didn’t point out any moments of delusion. Plus, it wouldn’t be very me, would it?”
Amrita looked to Cillian. “This… job you’ve offered him. It’s supposed to be doing what exactly? Because I hate to point out the obvious, but the Paris branch of King Enterprises comprises you, and you alone. The rest of your business remains in London, which I assume would render the whole visa pointless.”
I looked to my brother, the two of us not having gotten as far as discussing the details. I’d put my faith in Cillian knowing what he was talking about. His slightly nonplused expression said I may have done that too readily. He’d offered me a lifeline to stay in Paris with Laurent, and I’d grabbed it with both hands. Now it seemed the lifeline had no anchor. “Cillian?”
“Is he going to sit outside your office door and bring you cups of tea when required?” Amrita asked with an undercurrent of sarcasm beneath her otherwise pleasant tone. “Do your shopping for you? Iron your shirts? Or perhaps he could take charge of the cat. Maybe he can?”
“Okay,” Cillian said. “We get it. I asked you to do the groundwork for a work visa for Mac without having thought things through.”
“I’m good,” Amrita said, “but I’m not that good. I can’t manufacture a job where there isn’t one. Unless you were intending to pull the wool over immigration’s eyes and jeopardize your own ability to stay in France?”
“He wasn’t,” I said. Dread settled in my gut, the desire to eat the rest of the food on my plate disappearing. “That would be stupid.” A glance at Laurent showed him looking equally concerned, which at least made me feel better.
An awkward silence followed, Finn the first to break it. “Oh, come on, Amrita. There’s no way you turned up with a problem without a solution. That’s not like you at all.”
She turned the page of her notepad with a flourish. “Not a solution, perhaps. But other options.”
“We’re listening,” Laurent said.
“Option one. A work visa where Mac gets an actual job rather than a fictional one made up by his well-meaning, but slightly ignorant, brother. Time is against us on this one, as is the fact that you can’t speak French. It would probably require you to go home once your ninety days are up and look for a job in Paris back in London.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said. “I figured I could do some more modeling work, but I’m guessing I wouldn’t get a visa for that?”
Amrita shook her head. “You could apply to a French educational establishment,” she suggested, “and do some sort of qualification to get a student visa, but again, your lack of French would be a stumbling block.”
She waited to see whether I’d seize on that as a possibility. When I didn’t, she carried on. “It’s probably going to be a long stay visa, then, which would give you six months, and then you’dneed to apply for a residence permit. There’re all kinds of hoops you’ll need to jump through, though. You’ll still need a reason. With Cillian here, you might be able to claim family reasons rather than work. It would depend whether they accept that.”
Amrita left a pause to let the information sink in. “Of course, there’s a far easier and quicker way of doing it.” She looked between me and Laurent, raising her eyes skyward, when we both stared blankly back at her. “Marriage,” she prompted. “Laurent is a French citizen. If you marry him, then you?”
She had to cut off at that point, no one able to hear her over the sound of Cillian choking. It went on for so long that Finn was forced to get out of his seat and round the table to hammer him on the back, and Quasimodo came running in from the bedroom to find out the likelihood of being down to one owner. In the end, it took Amrita getting him a glass of water, and Cillian drinking half of its contents before he got himself under control.
