He’s joking, I know he is, and yet his words inspire a very pleasing image in my mind. An image of the best backside that I have ever laid eyes on. I stared at it for five solid minutes this morning when he lingered in the shower after I was finished. He had to stay under the torrent of water a little longer in order to wash off the suds. Totally my fault. In our joint shower I suggested using Logan’s bottle of body wash as lubrication for the hand job that I was eager to give him, and though at first it was a perfectly practical choice, soon the lathering action kicked in, and an enormous amount of foam was produced, much to our amusement.

I type back:

*It probably smells like potpourri down there now!*

Then I stand stock-still in front of the double doors that lead through to my desk, quickly looking behind me to make sure that nobody is snooping over my shoulder; those last messages read out of context could be disastrous. I notice that for the second morning in a row, Layla isn’t at her desk and I’m about to find out why.

Much like yesterday, today my colleagues have gathered just beyond the doors and this time when they shout, “Congratulations,” I don’t fall to the ground, nor do I burst into tears. Instead I beam at them all, and very consciously exit my messages application and drop my phone into the depths of my bag.

I spend the next fifteen minutes talking with them in pairs or small groups, which not only enables me to thank them, but also saves me a time consuming trip around the entire office regaining favour after yesterday’s embarrassing display. Everyone I speak to, familiar faces and not so familiar, is extremely nice and mercifully no one accuses me of muffin thievery. Layla is very lively and chatty, and I’m almost certain that I hear her tell a few women that she and I migrate in the same social circle. I don’t have the heart to set her straight.

Amélie is quick to excuse herself from the short gathering, requesting that I stop by her office before the end of the morning. Once the chatting and mini-celebrations have died down, before I settle at my desk, I retrieve the drawings that I finished last night, as well as several notebooks full of garden sketches and designs, which I keep tucked away in my desk drawer, and I set off for her office. The extra elements that I’m handing over to her are all in keeping with my new Tuesday morning mindset. Whilst sitting on the metro earlier, I made the decision that I would communicate more openly here at work. No more tiptoeing around Amélie, pretending not to know things that I do know. I’m going to be open with her, and I’m sure that if she doesn’t like it, she’ll let me know in no uncertain terms.

I knock on her office door.

“Entrez,” her stern voice calls. Come in.

I immediately scan the room, looking for Rosita. Good, she’s not here, I think, however someone else is — André Pierson is visiting once more. Ah, what now, Gem? We stare at each other for a long moment. What would Logan do in this awkward moment, I ask myself. An answer coming to me immediately, I stride towards my boss’s boss, my hand outstretched.

“Mr. Pierson, we weren’t properly introduced the last time I saw you. I’m Gemima Samuels,” I say formally and courteously. Soon to be Gemima Leary.

“Oui, bonjour, Gemima,” he smiles and nods a little, and shakes my waiting hand.

“What is all that?” Amélie asks me, eyeing the amount of notebooks and papers that I’ve brought with me.

“Oh…” I look from Amélie to Mr. Pierson and back again. Do I continue with my new mindset? Yes, I think, confidence filling me as I lay everything down on Amélie’s desk. “Mrs. Clémence, these are the drawings that you asked me to do,” I begin. “I’ve completed the six that you requested, as well as other sketches that I thought you might be interested in seeing. These notebooks are full of ideas. Ideas largely inspired by the work of Madeleine Lily,” I say pointedly.

She looks at me in that way she does, as if able to read my thoughts.

Throwing another quick look at Mr. Pierson, I then tell Amélie, “I know about the possibility of her coming to work here and I’m guessing you’re thinking about having me work with her in some capacity. I don’t know where in the process you are with everything, and I know that it’s none of my business, but I just wanted you to know that I’m in,” I say surely. “I enjoy the job I do now, don’t get me wrong,” I add hastily, “but this,” I tap the notebooks, “this is what I’m really good at, Amélie. And given what you said to me the last time the three of us were in here together, I assume you think I’m good at it too.”

Her expression is hard to read. I can’t tell if she appreciates my forthcomingness or if she’s pissed off, thinking it brazen of me, especially in front of her boss. Shit, Gem! Have I been too open?

“I, um, just wanted to be honest,” I explain myself, my confidence wavering.

“Son audace me rappelle la vôtre, il y a vingt ans,” Mr. Pierson says, looking at Amélie with an amused look. Her audacity reminds me of you, twenty years ago.

Uh…is that a good thing?

“Elle parle français, André,” Amélie tells him. She speaks French.

“Uh, oui, je le parle,” I say to him as well. Yes, I do. I look back at Amélie who appears undecided in her response to me. “I’ll leave these with you,” I indicate my work.

“Merci,” she nods.

“I’m sorry, you were probably in the middle of something—” I’m about to excuse myself, but she cuts me off.

“We’re just discussing how much we should offer to pay you to be Madeleine’s apprentice…”

I can’t contain my squeak of excitement. Oh my god! “So you really are launching the new sector of the company?” I blurt out.

“It’s a very real possibility,” she reveals.

I hold my second squeak in, though I’m overly aware that due to containing my excitement I probably look like I’m constipated. Deep breaths, Gem!

Amélie sighs, telling me, “Seeing as you already know about this potential, we might as well inform you of the condition that would be in place on you. You would have to retrain part-time for several months, at least. I won’t have people pay to hire you if you don’t have the correct qualifications.”

Back to school, I think. Sure, for my dream job, why not?

“All expenses will be covered, naturally,” Amélie adds.

“Absolutely,” I stutter, feeling amazed by the prospect. “No problem at all.”

“It won’t be happening until autumn at the earliest. And no one is to know about it until then. No one,” she impresses.

I nod my understanding. According to Rosita, Amélie’s entire reason for wanting to branch out into a new design field was to stay ahead of the competition, and it seems that she wants the element of surprise on her side when she does.

“Les salaires sont la prochaine chose à discuter,” Mr. Pierson says. Salaries are the next thing to be discussed.

“Quelque chose de généreux,” I suggest for mine. Something generous.

André laughs at my words and Amélie Clémence actually cracks a smile. A world first?

“There are several things still to be discussed,” she then tells me. “Your enthusiasm is evident, Miss. Samuels, and therefore I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Nothing is set in stone.”

“I understand,” I say.

“However, it is encouraging to know that you would be willing to take up a new position within the company,” she continues.

“More than willing,” I press, unable to keep the smile off of my face. We then stare at each other for a moment. It starts to get awkward. “OK, I’ll, uh, wait to hear more,” I say, getting to my feet.

“I will look through your drawings with interest, Miss. Samuels,” she says as I walk towards the door. “Before you go…” she calls me back, and I turn on the spot. “How did you find out about Madeleine and these new prospects?”