Mrs Beauregarde Novels & Stories

"The owner is a Madame Genevieve Leclair in Marseille. She’s the widow of the geologist." "Buy the mine today. Buy it through a Thorne subsidiary so Marcus doesn't see it." Mavric looked at her, then back at the data. He was a man who prided himself on knowing every asset in the world. And yet, his wife had just found a billion-dollar mine from a library chair. "How did you find this?" Mavric asked, his voice low and intense. "I told you, Mavric. I speak the language of the honest." "The data doesn't lie. Only people do."

I rarely see him mad. Shaking this feeling off, I walk back to my room before closing the door as I walk in. I put my clothes into the basket that's by the closet and I put some deodorant on. I grab one of my bags and open it to pull my charger out and then I put my bags on the floor as I charge my phone. As I look down at my screen, I see a message that made me do a double take. Unknown: "Moving to New York was a mistake on your part. Watch your back principessa."

Worry etched upon their faces. “There is much to discuss my Lady. I do hope you don’t have a busy schedule.” Garret spoke earnestly as he stood from his desk. I eyed General Bregus warily before nodding to Garret. I needed answers, and it sounded like they might have those. If it meant that I would sit here all day, then I had no problems with listening to these two talk. I only felt bad for Marquise, who would continue to be holed up all day in Mr. Siege’s office.

Her smile faded, replaced by a quiet ache in her chest. The roar of the game snapped her out of her thoughts. She straightened her hat and resumed her walk to the appointed meeting room. A refined woman in her 40s looked up as Chateau entered the office. “Lady Chateau?” the woman greeted with a warm yet formal tone. “Yes, I’m Chateau,” she replied, extending a hand. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Madame Beatrice Arrawn. It’s an honor.” Beatrice smiled, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Beatrice. There’s no need for such formalities. I’m not so important as to warrant them.”

It always makes me laugh. "Goo après-midi, mesdames!"(Good afternoon, ladies!) A blonde-haired short female is practically running towards us in her high heels and a bright smile on her face. She comes to hug Mrs. Dimitri. Both exchange air kisses on the sides of each other's faces. "It's been a while, Beaut." She gushes. "Yeah, it has. Meet my daughter-in-law, who is the reason I'm here in your shop again. Maurie, meet Davinia. Davinia, meet Maurie, the designer, and the owner of Marcil."

Before I could respond, Mrs Hargrove clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Welcome to Château Beaumont! I'm sure you'll find your stay both educational and... transformative." Her eyes lingered on me for a moment too long. "The staff will direct you to your assigned rooms. Dinner will be served at seven in the main dining hall." A man in period costume stepped forward, his white powdered wig and embroidered coat so authentic it made me dizzy. "This way, please. Ladies to the east wing, gentlemen to the west." "East wing," I whispered to Thomas. "That's where..."

"What? No! Marcus, darling, surely you're not serious? I'm Caroline Dubois! My family are your most important clients!" Marcus's expression remained unyielding. "Ms. Dubois, while we deeply value your patronage, our policy is based on confirmed appointments and arrival times. Miss Sage was here first and her reservation predates yours for this specific slot. I will be attending to Miss Sage now." A triumphant surge went through me. Victory! Sweet, sweet victory. Caroline, on the other hand, looked like she'd been slapped. Her perfect composure shattered, replaced by a furious scowl.

Only Directors have Sigma clearance. This means that not even Karen Anderson is able to check her own file. It seems a trifle strange. Ingrid has checked her own file quite a few times out of curiosity. She knows that if the company turned against her and wanted her dead they would probably not make it public on the company intranet. With this revelation, her lip twitches ever so slightly into a sneer. She whispers, so that the other inhabitant of the room won’t hear. “So if that’s the case Karen, why the hell do the Directors have your personnel record locked up?”

She bought the dress without trying it on and left. I stared at the card in my hand. **Genevieve Moreau - Couture** This couldn’t be real. Things like this didn’t happen. Not to me. But the card was real. Heavy stock. Embossed lettering. An address in one of the most expensive districts in Paris. My hands were shaking. “Are you alright?” My manager, Sophie, had noticed. “Who was that woman?” “Genevieve Moreau. She owns—” “I know who she is. What did she want?”

Harrington, fanning her lightly as per her instructions. “Honestly,” Mrs. Beaumont began, swirling her champagne glass. “She asked me about her garden as though I’d be impressed by a few bushes and a gazebo.” Mrs. Harrington scoffed. “That woman is always trying to outdo herself. It’s embarrassing.” Lila bit her lip to hide her confusion. She didn’t understand what was so funny but knew better than to let it show. As they laughed, the shop manager appeared, a tall, polished man in an impeccable suit. “Ladies, is everything to your satisfaction?”