After the break, the spotlight shone back on Katie Jones. She grinned into the camera and said dramatically, “Ladies and gentlemen, Guillaume Riche!”
My heart began to thud wildly the moment the stage lights flashed on, revealing Guillaume standing there. He looked even more handsome than I’d ever seen him. He was wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves ripped just above the biceps to show off his impressive arms, and his tight jeans clung perfectly to the sculptured curves of his legs. His hair was professionally tousled into little wayward spikes; he looked like he had just gotten out of bed looking clean-shaven and perfect. The guitar he was currently strumming was the final touch; it was emblazoned with the French flag, and his Jodi Head strap read RICHE down the front in bold, Swarovski-crystal letters.
As the crowd went wild with screams and whistles, I smiled. Guillaume Riche had crossed the pond for his first American appearance as a ready-made superstar. The crowds loved him. In fact, there was a girl in front of me who was screaming so loudly that I was fairly sure she was about to hyperventilate. Although I was no longer working with KMG, I felt a little swell of pride for the small role I’d played in his career. This felt better than all the boy bands I’d ever helped unleash on the world.
The band started playing, and when Guillaume started in on the first verse of “City of Light,” I was stunned to hear a chorus of voices throughout the auditorium join in. Guillaume looked surprised, too, but he grinned broadly and turned the enthusiasm up a notch. Around me, scores of girls were still on their feet, singing in unison with Guillaume. It was an incredible thing to see. In that moment, I missed working with Poppy so much it hurt; I missed KMG; I missed the buzz and excitement of working on a project that was bound for such success. I even missed Guillaume.
“City of Light” ended with a standing ovation from the crowd, and then Katie Jones joined Guillaume at the mic and promised the audience they’d be back after the commercial to talk to Guillaume about his breakout success and his penchant for getting into crazy situations.
After the brief break, the house lights faded again, and the spotlights swung toward Katie’s interview area, where Guillaume was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, holding a coffee mug, and looking very French. I felt another pang that I tried to dismiss.
The crowd went wild again while Guillaume laughed and waved with his free hand. Finally, the screams quieted.
“That’s quite a reaction you’re getting,” Katie said with her signature slow, toothy grin.
Guillaume smiled back. “I’m a lucky, lucky man,” he said. A few girls in the audience screamed, and Guillaume obliged them with another wave.
“Some would say it’s talent and not luck,” Katie said. She glanced at her notecards. “Okay, so it looks like your album is really doing great in the United States, right?”
“Yes. It’s such a thrill,” Guillaume said. I smiled. They sounded like words right out of Poppy’s mouth—and I suspected they were. “I’m really grateful that everyone is listening to my music. I’ve always wanted to be a big hit with the American girls.”
The crowd erupted in still more screams, and Guillaume blew a few kisses. “I love American girls, Katie,” he said over the din. “Too bad you’re married.”
Katie smiled again and shook her head. “So I have to ask you,” she said. “What’s with all these crazy stunts? You were arrested for skiing on the river in Paris last week? And you’ve gotten locked in the Eiffel Tower? Is that right?”
Guillaume glanced offstage, where I suspected Poppy was standing, shooting him death looks. “Well, Katie, the Eiffel Tower thing was a mistake,” he said. I breathed a sigh of relief. Good; he was sticking to the story. “It was all a misunderstanding. But yes, I admit that the waterskiing thing was a little crazy.”
The audience laughed and Guillaume made an embarrassed face. “I guess I just felt like having a ski, you know?” he said, widening his eyes into that same puppy-dog look of innocence he had tried with me. The audience seemed to eat it right up.
They talked for a moment more about the next single on the album, the inspiration for his songs, and his plans for a US tour in the fall. Then Katie peered down at her notes.
“So, Guillaume, I’ve been told that you have some sort of public apology to make tonight?” she asked.
My heart skipped a beat and I sat up a little straighter in my chair (which was hard to do with the Texan sharing my seating space).
“Yes, Katie,” Guillaume said, pulling a slightly sheepish face that I suspected he had practiced in the mirror to achieve maximum cuteness. It worked. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a fuckup.”
The audience laughed, and Katie reminded Guillaume that he couldn’t talk like that on American TV. “I guess that’ll be bleeped out,” Katie said with a smile, glancing at the camera.
“Sorry, sorry,” Guillaume said, not looking sorry at all. “Anyhow. The thing is, I had this great publicist, Emma, for a month.”