Champagne Problems

F O U R

The last week has been pretty hectic for the guys, especially for Riley. He's the only one of his friends who's in college, so he has to work for Monsieur Arnault quite often without his friends around to help. On top of that, he also has a part-time job at a bookstore, which adds to the stress. His mother wasn't exactly thrilled when she found out what they did in Monte Carlo, and she made sure Riley knew it.

It's Friday, and Riley's last class of the day is finally over. He glances at his watch and sees that it's 2 p.m. He knows Monsieur Arnault expects him at the hotel by 2:45 p.m. Riley gathers his books, which have remained unopened throughout the class. He just couldn't bring himself to pay attention today—Madame Boulanger's lectures aren't exactly captivating, and her shaky English doesn't help either. Riley had chosen to pay extra for an education in English, especially since he still hasn't mastered French, but days like today make him wonder if it's worth it.

He walks out of the classroom, heading to the driveway in front of the campus. As he reaches his car, he pulls out his keys and starts the drive to Monte Carlo for the sixth time since last Saturday. The traffic is heavier than usual, and for a moment, he worries he might be late. But he eventually pulls up to the hotel with a few minutes to spare. Grabbing his bag from the passenger seat, Riley heads straight inside.

As soon as he steps through the doors, he's greeted by Monsieur Arnault's familiar disapproving glare. "There you are, once again in your hideous clothes," Arnault says with a look of disgust.

Riley glances down at his outfit—black skinny jeans, a sleeveless Green Day shirt, and a black bandana tied around his hair. He knows his fashion sense isn't appreciated by most people, especially not by the likes of Monsieur Arnault. He's used to the stares, especially from customers at the bookstore where he works part-time. It's not every day you see a guy with tattoos and a punk rock aesthetic working in a bookstore.

"You will be checking the guests in and out today, understood?" Monsieur Arnault says in his thick French accent. Riley nods, hiding his frustration. As soon as Arnault turns his back to return to his office, Riley rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Well, hello, Mister Irwin," a girly voice chirps from behind him. He turns around to see Daphné standing there, a big smile on her face that highlights her dimples.

"Well, hello to you too, Miss Arnault," Riley replies, mimicking her formal tone.

"I haven't seen you since yesterday," she says, flipping her straightened hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I've been busy cleaning this hotel in those wonderful uniforms of yours. You probably didn't recognize me," he chuckles, adding a wink for good measure.

"Well, then I guess you'll be glad to be in a different environment tomorrow," she says, smoothing her skirt as she speaks.

"What are you talking about?" Riley asks, genuinely confused. He has no idea what she's referring to and briefly wonders if she thinks he has the day off tomorrow, which isn't the case.

"Oh, Grandpa didn't tell you yet?" she says, surprised.

"Grandpa tells me nothing," Riley chuckles.

"You and your band friends will be joining us tomorrow on our yacht for my brother's birthday—as servers," she explains.

That, at least, sounds better than cleaning toilets or checking in some moody guests. Much better.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then. I have a meeting right now, and I'm already pretty late," she says, and after a quick goodbye, she heads off.

Daphné takes the door on the left, which leads to their private garage. She climbs into the driver's seat of her Aston Martin Vanquish Volante, a graduation present she received just a month ago. Pulling out of the garage, she drives to the Sea Lounge, which is only a 10-minute walk from the hotel. However, since she's running late, she opts to drive instead.