Grip tightening on her gym bag, Maddie said, “I have a lead on Véronique. I thought I should jump on it now if you want me to have a chance at getting that interview.”

Bet or no bet, Maddie knew her boss would give her entire impressive wardrobe for an exclusive with Véronique.

Elena studied her, incredulity clearly warring with interest. “Go,” she said, “but make your abject humiliation swift. I need you back at noon for the department heads’ meeting.”

“Yes, Elena. On the staff meeting, I mean. My abject humiliation is yet to be seen,” she added, shooting her a grin.

At her boss’s sceptical look, Maddie laughed and hurried out of the office.

* * *

Maddie glanced at her watch. Half past six. Good. She’d bet Natalii was still on Paris time, making it eight-thirty at night in her world and a pretty ideal workout time, given the Duchamps had a ball they were expected to attend in the evening.

Praying her hunch was right, Maddie adjusted her gym bag on her shoulder and headed to The Pierre’s elevator. As luck would have it, several residents were heading to the amenities floor, too, and swiped their access cards. She followed, slipping in behind them.

The small but elegant gym was nearly empty. There were no French design heiresses in sight. She slid onto an exercise bike with a good view of the door and began to pedal.

Twenty minutes later, the room had completely emptied out, and all Maddie had accomplished was a sweat.

Suddenly, irritable French spoken in rapid fire shattered the quiet whirring of her exercise bike. Maddie snapped her head around to see Natalii Duchamp stomping through the door, loudly berating someone on her phone. She looked wrung out, wearing the sort of bone-weary tiredness of someone who wasn’t on local time yet. Their eyes met, and the Frenchwoman immediately muttered “au revoir” and hung up.

“Désolée,” she murmured and dumped her towel beside a bike two along from Maddie’s.

Maddie rifled through her rudimentary French and plucked out the definition. Sorry. She shot her a smile. “Ce n’est rien,” she replied, hoping it meant “that’s fine”.

Natalii paused and cocked her head. “Your French is awful.”

Maddie reddened. Oh crap.

“But finding even one person in your insular little country making any effort at the second language is rare.” Natalii studied her and sniffed. “So, mademoiselle, I appreciate you for the effort you make.”

“Thanks. Um. Merci.” This time she mangled it on purpose and grinned.

Natalii winced but then laughed and waggled her finger. “Ha. Terrible. I am Natalii.”

“Maddie.”

“Mad-dee?”

“It’s short for Madeleine. My mother used to love the French books as a girl. I mean, different spelling but still. She was a huge fan.”

“Ah, Madeleine.”

Maddie stared. She’d pronounced her name exactly the same way as Elena did.

Natalii moved closer and slid onto the exercise bike beside Maddie’s. The LCD screen lit up as she punched up the incline. “So,” Natalii continued, “you are visiting Sydney, too?”

“No. Visiting this gym, though, yes.”

Natalii nodded and began to pick up her speed. She was fast, really fast. Maddie began to lift her own pace.

“What about you?” Maddie asked. “Staying here long?”

“My mère is here for the fashion week. I am here for her.”

“But not for you? You don’t like fashion?”

“I like it well enough. I like my fashion. I like young people’s fashion. Maman designs for, how do you say? The power-suit femmes.”

“Ah,” Maddie said. It was true. Everyone who was anyone wore a Véronique. But it wasn’t anyone aged under twenty-five.

“What is your job, Madeleine? Do you like fashion also?”

“Not exactly.” She started to puff now that she was reaching for the speeds Natalii was at. “I work as an assistant to someone working in the industry at the moment. My boss is good with fashion, like freakishly good, but I can take it or leave it.”

Natalii’s expression was intrigued. “So you have a boring job in fashion? How is this possible?”

“I guess it’s not for everyone.”

“Then why is it that you stay?” She tilted her head. “Is it your boss? Your eyes, Madeleine, when you talk of her, they take on a look.”

“A look?” Maddie panicked. Was she that transparent? “N-no! That’s crazy. I don’t! There’s no look. I’m totally look free! What are you talking about?”

Natalii blinked at her. “I merely meant you perhaps admire her. What did you think I meant? Why do you react this way?”

Maddie wobbled on her bike at her mistake, causing Natalii to smirk. “Ah,” the Frenchwoman said. She tapped her nose. “Oui. Now I see.”

“You see nothing! I mean my boss is a woman for one thing!” Maddie said, desperate for her secret not to be so damned obvious. “So whatever you’re thinking is wrong.”

Natalii ceased to laugh…and pedal. “Wrong?” She glared. “What is bad with this? I see nothing wrong with embracing the love of a beautiful woman.” Her expression dared Maddie to disagree.

She almost fell off her bike a second time, realising what Natalii had just revealed.

“I’m… I mean… No… That is… I’m not opposed. There’s nothing wrong with… Of course not. I mean I’m very…but obviously not with… I mean with her never. She’s straight. And married. And did I mention straight? So it’s impossible. And she doesn’t like me even a little. Not like that. Not even in any other way, either. Well, actually I’m not sure…because there was this one birthday cupcake.” Maddie blew out a breath, beyond embarrassed. Really, what did Elena think of her? She wished the question didn’t torture her as often as it did.

“Ahhh.” Natalii resumed pedalling. “The forbidden love?” She looked thoughtful. “Well. This is a problem.”

“Not love!” Did she have to completely ignore Maddie’s protests? “I never said that. It’s not that, okay?”

“What is her name? Your love that you cannot have?”

Maddie scowled. Was she being deliberately obtuse? “I can’t say. You’ll recognise it. She’s famous.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t want any part of this conversation ever getting back to her. It’s embarrassing, okay?”

“Ah. You feel I, some anonymous stranger, could somehow risk your heart? This is it?”