Le Français: Chapter 13-17

Commissioned by ThL

Chapter 13

“Jules, I’m sorry,” Sinead said as she opened up the drawer of her desk and started sorting through all the crap she had in there.

“Babe, I know it’s not your fault, but fuck you anyways,” Jules groaned as she sat down at her own desk and looked across at her partner.

Or former partner.

“I didn’t think-” Sinead started, but stopped herself and sighed. “I thought it would be both of us, not just me.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should have let you give me a little of the credit,” Jules grumbled.

“You were being a good friend and partner,” Sinead sighed. “The best. I couldn’t have done it without you covering for me.”

“And I could have been more helpful on the actual case,” Jules said. “I should have done more with you.”

The arrests that had come out of Sinead’s deal with Marc hadn’t exactly been sweeping, but it had been surgical. Using the data Marc had dug up, and taking his hints, Sinead had been able to track down the accountant that had been behind the whole shell game scheme. This time she’d been in the room when Financial Forensics started their interrogation, and she’d even been able to lean back on her usual interrogation skills to help.

“It still should have been both of us,” Sinead said. “I need a partner for this - I can demand that they bring you over with me. I might have that leverage.”

Jules shook her head. “You’ve got some political capital now, don’t spend it on me right away. I mean, fuck you still, but you’re also still my girl and I’m not letting you turn a career-maker into a dud.”

Sinead packed up her desk. When the transfer had come in she’d been excited at the acknowledgement and challenge. She would be able to see if the tiny Financial Forensics department was actually dirty or not, and she could keep chasing the Le Francais case as she worked backup for the other, actual accountants. The fact that Jules wasn’t joining her had dulled that excitement significantly, but as she filled up the cardboard banker’s box in preparation for the drive downtown she still felt a little surge at the challenge in front of her. She’d be working out of the HQ now, which made for a worse drive to work, but the opportunity she saw was huge. Most cops would have probably seen the Financial Forensics unit as a dead end, if not a punishment, but after everything just to pick up crumbs on the edges of the Le Francais criminal enterprise she was quickly realizing it was work that could really lead somewhere.

Sinead loved being a detective, and she wasn’t looking to move on any time soon, but it would be nice to stick a couple of big profile arrests in her hat if she ever did decide to try and move up the ranks.

And there was the other thing. The piece of the puzzle that she hadn’t told anyone about. Not Jules, not the Captain. She could barely think about it herself without trying to find something else to occupy her thoughts because it worried her. Deep down she knew there was a little spark of excitement that sooner than later she would need to go see Marc again.

What he’d done was vile, making her trade a sexual experience for evidence. She’d hated every minute of it. She’d… done it willingly. More than willingly, she could only admit in her weakest moments late at night when it was just her and her vibrator and the sheets were twisted around her legs.

As she stood and put the lid on her banker’s box and looked around the office area she’d worked with Jules in for the past three years, Sinead couldn’t help but still feel guilty. Partnering with Jules, they’d made a ton of cases together and they’d been able to do it their way. Jules wasn’t just a friend or a good cop. They jelled well together, and that was harder to find than Sinead would have thought when she first joined the force.

“Drinks tonight?” she asked Jules.

“Yeah, definitely,” Jules nodded. “And this weekend. I’m going to get assigned some new partner that I’ll need to complain about.”

Sinead smirked a little. “Well, just make sure they’ll have your back.”

“I will,” Jules said and winked at Sinead. “I’ll see you later, partner.”

* * * * *

“Fuuuck,” Sinead groaned under her breath.

It had been a full week since she’d gotten her desk deep in the middle of the Police HQ building. The building itself was nice, and it was located in a great area of the city that was bustling with business and university students and the provincial government. Unfortunately, the tiny Financial Forensics department was assigned to a conference room worth of space that had no windows, stains on the carpet that she was mostly certain was coffee, and a light in the far corner that flickered every once in a while. And it smelled like old, damp printer paper.

Her two new coworkers, Hal and George, were both middle-aged and seemed to be opposites of each other. Hal was a tall, skinny black man with a thick moustache and a head of hair that was solidly silver at the temples. George was a portly white guy with a chinstrap of a beard and not a single hair on his head. He also wore old, wire-frame glasses and tended to sweat a lot as he bent over the shitty laptop at his desk. She’d met them before during the Accountant interview but hadn’t gotten to know much about them. After a week in the office, she still didn’t.

Sinead could have brought in her crappy, out-of-date iPad from home and it would have had more processing power than the three laptops they were working with put together. She was almost surprised they actually got internet.

Still, she was pretty much being left alone. The two ‘veterans’ of the unit weren’t passing on any work to her, and the Captain in charge of them hadn’t shown his face in the dismal office since the day he’d shook her hand and led her to her desk. That meant she was free to pull on leads from the Accountant, and now she had one.

She had a thread. Now she just needed to pull on it.

Chapter 14

Sinead pinched her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear as it kept ringing and she kept her eyes trained on the restaurant entrance through her little binoculars.

“Yeah?” Jules asked as she picked up the other end of the call.

“Hey, you wanna come do a stakeout with me?” Sinead asked.

“...like, for fun?” Jules asked. “Did you meet a guy or something and need help vetting him?”

“No, nothing like that,” Sinead said, maybe a little too quickly. She’d had another moment of weakness the night before when she was alone with her vibrator. “It’s for the case.”

“You’re on a stakeout alone?” Jules asked.

“Technically it’s just surveillance,” Sinead said.

“Still. Alone?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. It’s boring stuff, mostly.”

“Am I going to get overtime if I come out there and freeze my ass off in the car?” Jules asked.

“Ummm…” Sinead hummed.

“Babe, are you getting overtime for this?” Jules asked pointedly.

“No,” Sinead said. “But I’m getting paid. I kind of make my own hours now.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jules asked.

“No one cares when I’m in the office or not, so I’m working when it makes sense,” Sinead said. “So I’m on the clock.”

“Are you safe?” Jules asked.

“Yeah,” Sinead said.

“... Really?”

“Yes, Jules. I’m just bored doing this by myself.”

“Sinead, I love you like a sister, but I am not doing a stakeout on a Thursday night just for fun,” Jules said.

“Alright,” Sinead sighed.

Jules still talked with her for another ten minutes before hanging up. It took another hour for Victor Berisha to walk out the doors of George restaurant with his guests, shake their hands and then stroll down the street towards his Porsche. Sinead snapped pictures of the guests, then checked her notes and wrote down the time. Almost exactly 9:30pm, just like the last two weeks she’d been tailing Berisha.

The thread she’d been pulling on led to Berisha, but she would have bet her entire pension that he was just a link in the chain that would lead her to Le Francais. Berisha was a flashy middleman who enjoyed spending his money. He had four cars to his name, a big apartment downtown, a house out in Mississauga for his wife and two kids, and another one out in Scarborough for his mistress. The sheer amount of money this guy spent just in property taxes had to be worth almost Sinead’s entire yearly salary.

There was only one thing in his schedule that had repeated, and that was his Thursday night dinner at George. He’d had different guests each time, but the first week it had been a couple of members of the Italian mob from down in Hamilton, and last week it had been a trio of Asian men that she hadn’t been able to identify, but definitely had the sleek looks of criminal upper management. This week he’d had another two guests, and she’d gotten clear photos of both men.

Sinead needed to know what was happening during those dinners. Was Berisha just schmoozing his contacts, or was he doing business at the Michelin-rated restaurant?

The problem was that even though she could tie Berisha to the accountant, none of it was illegal. There was no way she could get a warrant to bug the place, let alone his car or something. And getting more manpower on this would raise expectations and she couldn’t guarantee it would be useful. She needed to get in there next Thursday night herself, undercover. Anything she got would be inadmissible in court, but it would give her somewhere to start.

But getting in was a whole other problem. George was expensive and exclusive. And without a warrant, flashing her badge wasn’t going to get her a table and might even get her reported for soliciting bribes or kickbacks by trying to get a table.

Sinead felt her pussy clench a little.

She knew someone who could get a table at George. He’d done it before on short notice. And she’d sat in her car outside, telling herself she couldn’t go in.

Victor Berisha’s Porsche peeled off, headed back to his apartment. Sinead didn’t need to follow him to know what his routine would be for the night. He’d go change, then head to his preferred bar a block from his building, drink and flirt and flash his cash around, and then potentially pick up some woman who probably thought he was single and might be a catch.

Sinead pulled out her phone and thought about calling, but decided to text. I could use some help on a case. Need a table at George next Thurs, 7pm.

She got a reply when she was halfway back to her place.

Fornier: It’s a date. Be at my apartment at 3pm on Thurs. It’s good to hear from you, petite rebelle. I’ll be looking forward to our next adventure.

Sinead swallowed and wanted to ask him why she would need to be at his place four hours early, but instead, she just sent him a thumbs-up emoji. She’d be there, despite her better judgement.

Chapter 15

“What are you smiling at?”

Marc looked up from his phone. Most of the office was dark, though one of the up-and-coming auditors was burning the midnight oil on the other end of the floor. That or he just wanted to be that guy who never left before the boss - not that Marc was the very tip-top boss of the business, but he knew that everyone on the floor saw him that way.

It was part of why he promoted them.

Jillian was also still out at her desk down near the elevators, though it was her job not to leave before Marc did and she was paid well to do it.

That left just Marc and Astrid in the small island of light that was his office.

“Just enjoying une petite victoire,” Marc said.

“Must be fucking nice,” Astrid grunted, turning her attention back to her computers.

Marc would have liked to have called Astrid Kennedy Beauchamp his best investigator, but she was freelance and hated the idea of her being ‘owned’ by anyone. She was a thin woman and would have been conventionally attractive if she had stayed in line with the plans that her parents had likely laid out for her when she was somewhere around the age of two. Top private schools all the way, then an Ivy League post-secondary education where she was supposed to meet the love of her young life, with marriage right after graduation as the new son-in-law joined the family business, or perhaps she would join the other families business for a time before starting to pop out wealthy, entitled babies to repeat the cycle.

Astrid looked the part, mostly. She was still cute and dressed herself in the attractive, casual way that only someone who grew up in money could carry off with such a laissez-faire attitude. But her cute, aristocratic look was betrayed by her hair and her demeanour. She wore her hair long and dyed a vibrant green that was almost neon.

“I’ve almost got this bitch, by the way,” Astrid said. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of fuckin’ minutes…”

She also swore like a sailor. Marc had thankfully been able to convince her to tone down the most offensive of her filthy language while she was in the office. The swearing didn’t actually bother him, it just wasn’t appropriate for a workplace setting.

Astrid was a hard-working, highly intelligent woman with an attraction to danger that made Marc feel a bit of a kinship with her, though they chased it in different ways. He went scuba diving and enjoyed exploring wrecks at over 40 meter depths, and had continued to train in karate long after most of the students his age had moved on (though that practice had slowed considerably in the last decade.) She, on the other hand, had found her spark in the grey areas of internet hacker culture. It’s how she’d gotten kicked out of her Ivy League school, though she’d also admitted to him once that it was how she’d gotten in to the school in the first place. It was also how she’d made a stupendous amount of money for herself despite only being twenty-three.

Marc was attracted to her, and she was to him, but they would never work. It wasn’t even the age gap - they were just too similar in the bedroom. They liked the same things. They liked doing the same things. Being in control. Neither of them was interested in being controlled.

So they were friends, of a sort. Detached, since without romance the age gap did provide a connectivity issue in a lot of areas of life. Marc sometimes gave her the sort of advice she wasn’t going to get out of her parents on bleeding edge financial decisions, and she did work for him that needed to be off the books of the company.

“So what was the ‘little victory?’” Astrid asked as she continued to tap away rapidly at her keyboard. Marc had known it was going to be a larger job for her this time, so he’d had the desk moved into his office and the computers set up for her in the configuration that she’d sent over. The small jobs she just did from home, or wherever it was she worked usually, but the big stuff he had her come in for. “Don’t tell me you found some way to turn that blonde of yours even more into your pet, or you needed to discipline her for something.”

Marc smiled softly. “No, Felicity is still as perfect as ever,” he said.

“Then what is it? You don’t smile like that unless it’s a dominance game, Marc,” Astrid said. “Do you have a new plaything?”

He sighed a little and put down his phone. “I might,” he said. “It’s a… complicated situation. She’s receptive, but not initiated into things.”

“Mmm,” Astrid nodded, still typing away. Marc could see the text on the screen moving quickly in the reflection of her eyes. “New bitch, huh? You haven’t broken in a chick properly before, have you? And Felicity doesn’t count - she took to it way easier than you had a right to.”

Marc pursed his lips in a little smile. Even Astrid didn’t know about his arrangement with Felicity, and she knew more than most about his sexual side. “It’s been a long while,” he said, thinking back to his early thirties when he’d had a string of girlfriends that had only partially fulfilled his desires. He hadn’t been as sure of himself and his wants back then, and had still thought he wanted something different and more traditional.

“Well, if you need any help breaking her, I’m fucking available,” Astrid said. “My boy toy is starting to like femdom punishments a little too much lately; I could use a spin with a hot chick that needs to learn her place.”

“It’s much too early for something like that,” Marc said. “She’s… Every encounter with her is a balancing act, and might be the last one.”

“So you’re saying she’s a challenge,” Astrid smirked as she looked up from her screens at him. “Fuck, you are loving this stubborn cunt, aren’t you? I’m a little jealous you get to have so much fun.”

“Small steps,” Marc said. “Lots of small steps. Now, are you into that server or not? If there is something hiding in those files I need it for my meeting in the morning.”

Chapter 16

Sinead blew out a breath and considered bailing again. The Victor Berisha angle wasn’t her only lead, but it was the one with the best chance of succeeding. It wasn’t the risk that made her hesitate though, it was that feeling she’d had in her gut since she’d asked Marc for help.

She pushed it down and got out of her car, fetching her bags from the back seat before heading into the building. Marc had been vague when she’d asked again why she needed to be at his place this early if they were going to dinner at 7 PM, so she assumed that they were going to do… things. Then she would need to get ready to go out and blend in at the fancy restaurant.

With her dress and knapsack of shoes and things over her shoulder, she took the elevator up to his loft and walked down the corridor, hearing every step of her boots along the way. Her nerves were spiking like she couldn’t believe it, and her thumb was digging a nail into her finger, but she also had this sensation that she’d been thinking about more and more as the week went on. Of a hard-yet-soft, smooth and warm, pulsing cock between her lips. She could almost taste him already and it made her so fucking mad.

She was acting like a fucking whore. This wasn’t her.

At the door, she hesitated before knocking, but not because of her thoughts. She frowned as she heard the dull sound of voices from inside. She waited, closing her eyes to listen closely, but she couldn’t tell what was being said.

Sinead swallowed nervously. He wasn’t planning on… she wasn’t even sure what. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to organize a gangbang and force her to do that, but… an orgy? He was French, and that was a very European thing, right? Could she do that? Be in an orgy?

Swallowing again, she steeled herself to be ready to say no to anything too wild. And definitely not anything she’d never done before. She wasn’t trying things for the first time in an orgy, or with Marc in general. Sinead knocked.

The door opened quickly, and he was there with that fucking smile.

“Detective,” he said warmly, holding out a hand to offer to take her bags. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Mr Fornier,” she said cautiously, lowering her bags from her shoulder but not handing them to him.

“Please, come in,” Marc invited her, opening the door fully and turning his spurned offer into a gesture through the hallway. The voices beyond in the kitchen area hadn’t stopped talking, but it wasn’t so many that she was worried it was a crowd.

Sinead entered the apartment and kicked off her boots, regretting the loss of the two inches they gave her as it just made Marc seem that much bigger than her. She followed him down the hallway and found three people waiting around the kitchen island, along with a bunch of travel cases.

“Sinead,” Marc said, turning with that goddamn smile still as he introduced the others. “This fine young man here is Lorenzo. He’ll be your stylist for this afternoon, c'est un magicien, tu verras. This is his lovely assistant Porcia, and this is my good friend Tina and she’ll be giving you your mani-pedi.”

“Oh,” Sinead said, feeling overwhelmed in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Hello.”

Lorenzo was a true Italian and spoke with a thick, lisping accent. He was immaculately put together, every detail carefully chosen to make him look like he’d stepped right out of a fancy fashion cover shoot. He was also very gay.  Porcia, his assistant, was a Caucasian woman with a full build and her hair tied up in a bun, but her makeup was almost show-quality as she immediately started fussing with Sinead, taking her bags from her and getting her onto one of the tall island chairs. Tina was also a shock, as she was staggeringly statuesque with a hard jawline and strong Adam's apple that hinted at her being trans, but she also had a massive rack and long hair almost down to her ass.

All three of them were talking to her at once and she struggled to keep up with their notes and comments. Porcia was turning her face this way and that, while Lorenzo was feeling her hair and checking where her hairline fell on her brow, neck and behind her ears. Meanwhile, Tina was checking her hands, and then pulling off her socks to check her toes and tutting that they were completely uncared for at the moment.

Marc shouldered his way in between the stylists and whispered to her. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “If they finish first, I’ve lain out your outfit upstairs on the bed. Feel free to try it on.”

“My what? I- You’re going?” Sinead asked with a crease in her brow.

“I have a few things to take care of. I won’t be long, amuse-toi bien,” Marc said reassuringly, squeezing her shoulder softly and then slipping away. She watched him go, feeling… strange. She couldn’t place what she was feeling. Not happy that he was leaving, nor relieved. But not sad.

She decided it was frustration, even if she knew that wasn’t right.

“Now, bella,” Lorenzo took her attention. “Mister Marc, he says he does not want you to lose any length to your hair, yes? But if you want, I can do this for you. You have some split ends that need fixing, and I can make it like he won’t even notice.”

“Um,” Sinead stammered. “I- try to leave as much as you can.”

“Of course, bella,” Lorenzo smiled and winked.

“Honey, how do you feel about French tips?” Tina asked her, stealing her attention.

“I work, so I can’t-” Sinead started.

“Oh, I know,” Tina interrupted her. “Marc told me all about you. I just need to know what style you like.”

“He did?” Sinead asked. “Um… French tips are fine, they just need to be short.”

They were a whirlwind around her, and Sinead was caught up in it.

Chapter 17

Marc hadn’t wanted to leave Sinead, but he really did need to run back to the office to take care of a few things. It had been about three hours since he’d left and he was on his way back. He’d considered doing something more to apologize but realized that would likely be too much. His instincts were based on his ongoing pseudo-relationship with Felicity, and Astrid’s thoughts on the matter were still in his head even though he hadn’t spoken to the hacker since the previous week.

An apology for being late with Felicity was the way he made sure she felt wanted in their agreement. He didn’t need to do it, but it enhanced their connection when they were together much like the other gifts he gave her. They hadn’t ever talked about it, but Felicity was a bit of a submissive princess. The gifts and the dates and feeling adored aroused her and let her more fully give herself over to Marc’s wants. The whole thing was transactional, but the gifts weren’t part of that.

Marc wasn’t sure what sort of woman, deep down in the dark corners of her psyche, Sinead was. His instincts had him set up the pampering for that afternoon, and the outfit she would wear, but he wasn’t sure that was the route she would naturally fall into.

So he decided not to add anything else to his plans and headed straight home.

Inside his apartment, it looked like the stylists were finished. He’d paid and tipped them ahead of time, though Lorenzo had stayed behind talking with Sinead about her hair and better ways she should take care of it. Marc smiled a little - he’d discovered Lorenzo when he’d gone looking for a new barber, and while the man focused on women he had an eye for men’s looks and had taken on Marc as a client. This was the first time that Marc had ever invited the man to his home for a private booking, but he’d accepted it readily enough and even teased Marc a little about wanting to pamper his date.

“Mister Marc,” Lorenzo said when he saw Marc walking into the apartment. “We have done all we can, and we have turned out a masterpiece. Miss Sinead, she is bellisima.”

Sinead stood and turned with a nervous look in her eyes but her jaw thrust out just a little like she was daring him to say something.

“Lorenzo, Maestro, you have turned a flower into a work of art. Merci,” Marc said as he smiled and approached Sinead. He took her hands in his as he looked down into her eyes. Her coppery hair was perfectly styled, shimmering from whatever product Lorenzo had put in it but full and silky. Her makeup was immaculate, her freckles almost disappearing but still retaining her pale, cooler complexion as her eyes popped and her cheekbones looked a little more distinguished. Her lips looked inviting as hell, too. Even her fingernails shimmered with a natural tone except for the tips which looked like they’d been dipped in silver. “Are you happy with the results, petite rebelle?”

“I…” Sinead hesitated. “I’m definitely ready for a night out somewhere fancy.”

Marc just kept his smile fixed as he tried to read her through her eyes. She was nervous and annoyed at not being in control, and at being surprised by him. He could see the argument in her - that he thought she’d needed three stylists to make her up appropriately, but also that she knew the effect they’d had.

“We should be getting ready,” Marc said, dropping her hands and turning to shake Lorenzo’s as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, mon ami. Thank you again.”

“My pleasure, Mister Marc,” Lorenzo grinned as he shook Marc’s hand firmly. “And Miss Sinead, you are an absolute rose. If you ever need me, I will make myself available, yes? To work with you is to work with a goddess.”

Marc escorted him out, suppressing his desire to roll his eyes a little at the man’s dramatics, and then returned to Sinead. She was still standing, her arms crossed over her chest a little more defiantly now that they were alone. She was wearing a loose tank top in army green, and her tight jeans, though she was barefoot as her delicate toes shone with the same silver French tips as her fingers.

“Well, what now?” Sinead asked. “I’ve been pampered and done up for you - do you fuck my face now to ruin it all?”

“That could be fun,” Marc said, his smile sliding into a bit of a smirk. “But no, petite rebelle. That would be a waste. Now we both need to get dressed for our dinner. Our reservation is in less than an hour.”

“I need to know what I’m paying for all this with,” Sinead said, gesturing to herself. “All of this is more than I asked for.”

“Detective,” Marc said, hardening his voice just a touch. “The first time you came to me, all I asked you for was dinner. Now you ask me for one, and you seem to be entirely hostile. So let me put this to rest - I have no designs to fuck you tonight. Your payment, if you can manage it, is to be a delightful and sexy dinner partner in between whatever espionage you are enacting.”

“That’s all?” Sinead asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve prepared an outfit for you upstairs,” Marc said.

“And I don’t need to crawl naked on my hands and knees to get there?” Sinead asked.

Marc thought he almost heard a request in there.

“Not unless you want to,” Marc said. “And I would certainly enjoy a show like that. But no, that is not what I’m asking you for tonight.”

Sinead swallowed and softly bit her lower lip as she frowned at him, clearly unsure of everything that was going on. More unsure than even when Marc had set about his hour with her last time.

He’d been right in the car - the gifts weren’t what was going to do it with her. She’d appreciate them, but they weren’t setting her at ease.

“Fine, Sinead,” Marc sighed. “I’ll be the monster you expect of me, at least a little.”

“That’s not-”

“Strip, Detective,” Marc ordered her.

Sinead sucked in a breath through her nose. Her posture, the way she clenched her hands, even the bent to her mouth all said her instinct was to fight that order. But the look in her eyes spoke of a battle going on inside her.

“You are going to strip, là, maintenant, espèce de tête de mule,” Marc said, a little more softly but still evenly. “And I am going to show you the outfit you will be wearing tonight, and I will watch you get dressed how I want you to dress. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Sinead hissed softly and then started undoing her belt.

She wasn’t a princess submissive. Marc still wasn’t sure exactly what archetype she might end up closest to, but at this stage, she wasn’t interested in things being easy. She needed to be able to tell herself that she was being forced into what she very obviously wanted.

Sinead was focused on him, trying to read his face as she pulled off her shirt and then pulled off the black utilitarian bra that she barely needed. She was looking for him to prove to her that he was the horny monster she told herself he was; she wanted to feel superior to him. To feel like her nakedness, her sexuality, was what he was after. Marc didn’t take his eyes from hers though. She pushed down her tight jeans next, forced to bend to do it since they hugged her legs, but she kept looking up at him - defiant and not wanting to be the one to look away. Her panties went next, and she picked up her clothes in a bundle and stood straight and defiant, not covering herself.

When she was naked, Marc closed the distance between them. Her small breasts were rising and falling, and her nipples were hard, but he didn’t touch them. Instead, he took her chin between a thumb and finger and looked deep into her eyes, ignoring her nakedness.

“Good girl,” he said softly. “Now go upstairs. Lentement.”