“I didn’t tell you because it’s only a temporary arrangement, and because it’s been keeping me quite busy. As to the internal problems…”

“In the form of one very large Max.” Monique glided into the elevator.

“I can handle them just fine by myself,” Summer finished.

“But it doesn’t hurt to have him impressed by your parentage.” After pressing the button for her floor, Monique turned to study her daughter. “So, I look at you in the light and see that you’ve grown more lovely. That pleases me. If one must have a grown daughter, one should have a beautiful grown daughter.”

Laughing, Summer shook her head. “You’re as vain as ever.”

“I’ll always be vain,” Monique said simply. “God willing I’ll always have a reason to be. Now—” she motioned Summer out of the elevator “—I’ve had my morning coffee and croissants, and my massage. I’m ready to hear about this new job of yours and your new lover. From the look of you, both agree with you.”

“I believe it’s customary for mothers and daughters to discuss new jobs, but not new lovers.”

“Pooh.” Monique tossed open the door to her suite. “We were never just mother and daughter, but friends, n’est-çe pas? And chère amies always discuss new lovers.”

“The job,” Summer said distinctly as she dropped into a butter-soft daybed and brought up her legs, “is working out quite well. I took it originally because it intrigued me and—well because Blake threw LaPointe up in my face.”

“LaPointe? The beady-eyed little man you detest so much? The one who told the Paris papers you were his…”

“Mistress,” Summer said violently.

“Ah, yes, such a foolish word, mistress, so antiquated, don’t you agree? Unless one considers that mistress is the feminine term for master.” Monique smiled serenely as she draped herself on the sofa. “And were you?”

“Certainly not. I wouldn’t have let him put his pudgy little hands on me if he’d been half the chef he claims to be.”

“You might have sued.”

“Then more people would’ve snickered and said where there’s smoke there’s fire. The little French swine would’ve loved that.” She was gritting her teeth, so she deliberately relaxed her jaw. “Don’t get me started on LaPointe. It was enough that Blake maneuvered me into this job with him as an edge.”

“A very clever man—your Blake, that is.”

“He’s not my Blake,” Summer said pointedly. “He’s his own man, just as I’m my own woman. You know I don’t believe in that sort of thing.” The discreet knock had Monique waving negligently and Summer rising to answer. She thought, as the tray of cheeses and fresh fruit and the bucket of iced champagne was wheeled in, that Max must have dashed around like a madman to have it served so promptly. Summer signed the check with a flourish and dismissed the waiter.

Idly Monique inspected the tray before choosing a single cube of cheese. “But you’re in love with him.”

Busy with the champagne cork, Summer glanced over. “What?”