Cautious yet optimistic and graceful
Part 2 & Part 3
CW: Morally gray reader, Fem!Reader, John Wick type of violence, drinking, Marquis is a bit of an ass, French is not the reader's native language but there are only 2 sentences in French. Both say “City of Lights” but the reader's French is off.(will update as the fic goes)
AN: if the title is still messed up idk what to say I have been working too many hours. I have parts 2 and 3 planned if there is an interest! IDK French sunset times nor the weather so just roll with it. I also watched the entirety of community s4 so if he's ooc blame it on that. No beta
The other managers have it easier you think. If anything goes wrong in New York, that's okay because New York is gritty. Paris has such a large history and many different names that it is hard to include in one hotel. In Casablanca, Sofia has her dogs with her at all times so the hotel is a bit more laid back. Maybe you are just bitter because your hotel in Paris is considered to be the epitome of class. 5-star dining, showing off the best French cheeses, hotel complete with a small vineyard for exclusive house-made wines.
Maybe because you share the city with a very wealthy and powerful agent of the table. Marquis Vincent de Gramont was a thorn in your side. While never made explicit you felt like he had a hand in making you manager.
Whether it was him wanting fresh blood running and influencing the Continental or your previous weapon (swords, often French by some weird coincidence) when you were still doing hits for the high table pulling on some patriotic thread in him. The not knowing gave you small comfort.
You liked the concierge though, a woman named Camielle. You were given the option to fire her but declined wanting to make sure someone understood the hotel, at least during your few years running it.
The gentle buzzing of your desk phone took you out of the work you were doing. Using the back end of your pen you punched the answer button.
“Marquis de Gramont asked if you're free for dinner tonight. I said yes.” Camielle told her, her French accent coming across even on the phone.
You bite back a whine. The threat of Marquis visiting always buzzed in the back of your head and you were sure that while not a member of the high table, he had enough power (in many senses of the word) to fully shut down your hotel. You also never spent time with him alone. You would occultly see him at some “business” even that was far and few between.
You nod your head, before realizing that she couldn't see you.
“What time? Did he say where?”
“Huit. Eight. He said the rooftop.”
You thank her before she hung up, probably to help a guest.
Of course, he did. The location was formal, secluded and your favourite. Should you bring a guard? He won’t kill you, business is forbidden in Continental grounds you thought stabbing your pen against the notepad in front of you.
While replaying the conversation in your head, the realization that he didn’t specify why he wanted to go to dinner hit.
The rooftop was your favourite place in the hotel. Seeing other parts of Paris made the hotel feel small, like a normal business other than a safe haven for the criminal underworld as well as regular tourists alike.
You went up early, earlier than the expected time. You could brainstorm what he wanted to talk about. New ideas that you decided to implement to various levels of success? You're planning on something to do with a section of the Catacombs, but no solid ideas yet.
You kept one security guard by the door, to the roof, while Chidi was someone skulking around somewhere. You talked to the chef before and arranged a menu for the evening. If the Marquis didn't like it you were sure that he would implore you to make changes.
His arrival was heard of before you saw him. A small nod from one of your guards alerted you that he was on his way up. You feel your nerves clawing in your stomach, back to fixating on why he wants this meeting.
While you hate to give him credit, he looks good. A suit that only seems to accentuate his long legs, a stunning red suit jacket, with a black tie and vest all over a white dress shirt. The chains across his vest and ring glinted in the light. He wouldn't be Vincent if not for dressing up like this. You slightly deflated realizing this was probably what he was wearing and not something special to see you.
Bottle of champagne set in the ice bucket, stamped with the Continental embossing. He didn't change your menu so you assumed that he was content with it. Hoping you only had to so small talk with him until the food arrived or he decided to drop some sort of bomb on you.
“The view is beautiful,” he said, gaze burning into you. Wonderful. You have to make small talk before whatever he is here for is here.
You turned your head to see the Elifle tower situated against the evening sky.
“It is.” you agree as you turn your face back to him, realizing that he never looked at the surroundings, but was looking at you.
“C’est la ville du lumier”. Maybe the conversation would go faster if it was in french.
“'La ville lumière'” he corrects you before switching back to English. “You do not use the 'du'”.
Heat rises to your face after making a small mistake in French.
“Sorry. My French is primarily used for business.” You let the last word hang in the air, both knowing what you meant.
“How you do anything is how you do everything, Mademoiselle,” He says changing the subject.
Like being annoying you think in reference to him choosing to call you mademoiselle, most show you respect by calling you The Manager, keeping with the sister hotels. You take a slow sip of your drink, stalling for anything to say.
He places his hand on yours.
“You approached dinner with me like you approach your hotel. Cautious yet optimistic Gracefully.”
You sit in stunned silence. He gives your hand a small squeeze bringing your attention back to him,
“That is a compliment.” he continues. “It is good to see fresh ideas in the Continental.”
You thank him quietly, thoughts racing as you try to pull everything together. He likes your ideas? All of the compliments, his hand on yours, the romantic location. Is he flirting with you? Does his speech about the way you do anything apply to him in the bedroom? What would that even be? Still annoying?
He takes a sip of his wine, the movement snapping you out of your perverted thoughts, finally, you find an opening for actual conversation.
“I was thinking of something underground. With the catacombs? Or something inspired by them.”
You think he mumbled ‘tourist” under his breath but decided to let it slide. He tilts his head indicating you to keep going.
“And something maybe like a speakeasy?” You saw him about to correct you but you kept speaking “Even though France only banned absinthe.”
You expected him to be annoyed and you were only half right. Part of him was irritated, the other part proud that you are learning history.
A slight clearing of the throat grabbed your attention. The food.
“Marquis de Gramont. Manager.” The server nodded toward you both before setting down the plates and leaving.
The dinner a few weeks ago was the first time you spent time with him one on one (as long as you didn't include his guards). However, a quick mutual liking based on annoying each other took place. Almost like childish flirting, if you thought that he would date. Does he have an arranged marriage? You forbid yourself from googling Marquis traditions and rules.
And maybe on the side of your friendship, you had a small crush. You tried to avoid it and push your feelings down to nothing, but a flash of his long legs in his exquisite style, or his voice pulls your feelings back to yourself.
He could just be lonely. You didn't know his exact age but you guessed early 30s. Given the years of practice and training, those successful in your business were older. You were somewhat close to him in age, closer to him than some of the big names.
Giving in you picked up your phone and punched in one of his numbers. While the phone rang you picture one of his staff bringing him the phone, probably on some kind of silver platter. On the few times you called him before one of his staff answered, asking you why you were calling.
“Bonjour Mademoiselle. What do you need?”
Oh shit. That's not his butler. That’s him.
“Do you know much about wine? And are you free tomorrow night?” You try not to sound nervous and unsure on the phone, but his answering threw off your game.
“Oui, and oui.”
Taglist: @heartrot666 (it will not let me tag you :-( )
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