That Weekend in Paris (Take Me There(Stand-alone) Book 3)

by Inglath Cooper

  “We both know why I invited you.”

  “And I’m a man of my word. You keep your part of the deal. I’ll keep my part of the deal. Klein’s not ever going to hear from me what went on with you and Aaron.”

  “Might I ask how you know?”

  “Believe it or not, we found ourselves in the same waiting room of the counselor I see. Aaron was pretty messed up.”

  “I think his state of mind is strictly his responsibility. I had nothing to do with it.”

  He gave me a long questioning look. “Is that how you really see it?”

  I lifted my shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Aaron was a grown man. He made his own choices, decisions, and those led to a certain outcome.”

  “An outcome you helped create,” he said.

  “Might I ask why you care so much about Aaron?”

  “He’s a friend from way back, and I hated seeing him torn up the way he was.”

  “Oh, you hated it so much that you’re using what you know about it to go to bed with me and keep it from the guy who’s given you your best gig to date. Am I warm?”

  He didn’t even bother to look ashamed, and I recognized in him something I knew to be accurate about myself. Other people liked to deny the fact that self came first. We were all taught the golden rule growing up that we should do unto others as we would have done unto us, but what I know to be true, and I am now sure Pete actually lived by, was the fact that the other people were just kidding themselves. We all live for self.

  Wasn’t it the rare person who would actually step aside and wait for the other people in the burning movie theater to get out first? Wasn’t it far more likely that most people would step over anyone in the way to keep the flames from consuming them?

  My analogy wasn’t far off in comparison to Pete using what he knew about me. He would be literally burning my life down, the life I had recently redesigned for myself, and I wasn’t about to give up.

  “Enough talk,” I said. “Let’s get on with things.”

  “Hmm, romance, I like it,” Pete said.

  “You do know you’re pushing your luck, right?”

  He chuckled softly. “I’m guessing, yes. So, one night with you here and now, and you will never hear from my lips another word about anything other than my sincerest best wishes for you and Klein and your glowing happy future, babies and all.”

  “Shut up,” I said and lifted my face to his.

  It was two A.M. when I woke up and all but rolled Pete out of my bed. Spending the night was not part of the deal. “Please, go, now,” I said.

  He stumbled to his feet, shaking himself awake and saying, “I’d be offended, but judging from your response a couple of hours ago, I don’t think I’m being kicked out for lack of performance.”

  “You really are an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?”

  “Just stating the facts, ma’am,” he said, pulling on his jeans and shrugging into his sweater. “I know I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and it’s not that I wouldn’t have guessed as much, but I can certainly see why Klein lets you hang around.”

  “You’re disgusting. Get out.”

  “All right, all right,” he said, grabbing his shoes and backing out of the room. “The pleasure was all mine, ma’am, and a little of yours, too.”

  I pulled a book off my nightstand and hurled it at the doorway, but he’d closed the door behind him, and the hardback landed with a solid thud against the wood.

  I barely suppressed a scream, pressing my lips together and arching my back until I heard the apartment door open and close. I hated letting anyone get the best of me.

  If Pete had really had any idea what I’m capable of, he would never have come to my apartment that night. I picture the stack of pillboxes Klein uses to dole out his daily supplements. Since his stint in rehab, he takes a ton of different things, having bought into his doctor’s recommendations for attempting to undo some of the damage his heavy drinking did to his nutrient status over the last few years.

  When Klein sets his mind to something, no one is more disciplined or dedicated than he is. This handy bit of knowledge served me well in coming up with my retribution plan. He doesn’t know I still have the key to his place. He’d actually never given me one. I’d lifted a spare from his kitchen drawer, taken it to the hardware store one morning while Klein was still sleeping and had a copy made.

  I’d always believed in planning for the unexpected. But somehow, even though I had not anticipated Klein ending things with us, I always liked to have money in the bank where options were concerned. Having a key to Klein’s house had undoubtedly given me options.

  He keeps two weeks’ worth of supplements in dosing containers at a time to prevent having to redo them so often. That had given me fourteen days to play with, and when I’d learned of his trip to Paris, I slipped into his house one afternoon, planting my little concoction as something to take along with him. It had been so easy, really. I’d simply opened a few of the capsules with ingredients indiscernible from the color of what I was replacing it with.

  He would discover the first surprise on day three of his trip. I’d taken pity on him, deliberately waiting, avoiding the day of his concert. No point in depriving all of those people who paid to see him on their night out. My timeframe was generous, I thought. A few little punishments doled out within the two weeks. Plenty of time for Klein to change his mind about us. And if he doesn’t, my last pillbox surprise will be something very different from the killer headache he is likely to experience with the kinder examples of my efforts.

  Dillon

  “At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear.”

  ―Norman Maclean

  I GO BACK to the room at two o’clock, taking my suitcase with me. I let myself in quietly, tiptoeing across the rug-covered floor, to the side of the bed, where I see Klein staring up at me, his eyes open.

  “Hey,” I say, “how are you feeling?”

  “The headache’s gone,” he says, cautiously, as if he’s afraid it will roar back at any moment.

  “Wonderful,” I say. “I’m so glad. Can I get you anything?”

  “Actually,” he says, his voice sleep-roughened, “I’m starving.”

  “Would you like me to order something from room service?”

  “That would be great,” he says.

  “Let me look for the menu,” I say, getting up to rummage around the desk, and then finding it in the middle drawer.

  “You can open those curtains if you don’t mind,” he says.

  I pull them wide, letting afternoon sunlight into the room, and then take the menu over to the bed.

  “Just let me know what you want, and I’ll call it in.”

  He slides up to sit against the pillows. “Thanks, Dillon. I really appreciate all of this. It’s way beyond the call of duty.”

  “I’m just sorry it happened. Have you ever had anything like this before?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s the weird thing. Nothing remotely like that, that wasn’t self-induced, anyway.” He closes the menu and adds, “I think maybe just the soup and some bread. I’m a little afraid to be too adventurous at this point.”

  “Sure. Something to drink?”

  “A bottle of cold water would be nice.”

  “Okay, got it.” I go over to the desk, pick up the phone, and place the order with room service. “She says it should be here in twenty minutes.”

  “I think maybe I’ll take a shower before the food gets here. I feel like the walking dead.”

  “I can leave the room if you’d like.”

  “No, Dillon. I’m cool with it. Really.”

  “You know,” I say, “I can find another room for tonight.”

  “Absolutely not,” he says. “I’m the one who’s put you in this position, and it’s not like I need this huge room for myself anyway. Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  I turn my head as he gets out of the bed and walks to the bathroom, aware that h
e’s in boxers and no shirt. I do catch a glimpse of his broad-shouldered back as he steps into the bathroom, and I feel a wave of heat sweep up my neck. As a distraction, I pick up my phone, drop onto a chair by the window, and scroll through my Instagram feed until bored.

  I drop the phone on my lap and stare out the window. I’m in Paris, in a beautiful hotel, a country music star on the other side of the bathroom door. Surely, I can find something more relevant than staring at social media.

  I head for the desk again, looking for some paper and a pen. A couple of lines had played through my head earlier. I’d meant to put them in the notes on my phone at the time but had gotten distracted and forgotten.

  I close my eyes and try to remember the first line, scribbling it down as the words come to me. I wait a few moments, recalling the next line, and writing it down as well. I tap my fingers on the side of the chair. Once I’ve found the melody, I add the words.

  “That sounds great,” Klein says, startling me.

  I look up with a self-conscious smile. “Oh, yeah, I was just messing with some thoughts I’d had earlier.”

  “It sounds great, really.”

  “We’ll see if I can make something of it,” I say.

  A knock sounds at the door. Klein goes to answer it, now dressed in jeans and an untucked, long-sleeve, blue shirt. A polite waiter brings the tray into the room, sets it on the corner of the bed at Klein’s indication. Klein gives him a tip, thanks him, and with a nod, the waiter leaves the room.

  “That smells great,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’m suddenly starving. Would you like some?”

  “No, I’m good. I had lunch earlier.”

  He carries the tray to the desk and sits down, taking the lid off the soup, and then quickly digging in.

  “Mmm,” he says. “That’s amazing. I feel guilty about eating in front of you though.”

  “You shouldn’t. I indulged myself earlier.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve pretty much messed up the day.”

  “Don’t be,” I say. “It’s not as if you could help it.”

  “Yeah, I know this is going to sound weird, but it almost felt like I’d been poisoned.”

  “Do you think it could have been food poisoning?”

  He shrugs, lifting his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve had food poisoning before, and somehow it didn’t really feel like that. I guess there are different degrees of food poisoning. Maybe this one was much more severe. Anyway, I feel like I owe you some time out of this room.”

  “I’m okay to stay here. You’re probably weak. I can’t imagine you would feel like doing much of anything.”

  “I feel remarkably better,” he says. “We could at least go for a walk.”

  “I’d like that. There’s a park, a block or so away, that’s really nice for walking around and taking in the sights.”

  “That sounds good,” he says, putting the lid on his soup bowl and pushing back from the desk. “I could use some fresh air, anyway. Let’s head out.”

  Klein

  “Vengeance in bloom shone in her eyes and smiled on her lips.”

  ―Alexandre Dumas

  IT ACTUALLY FEELS great to be out in the fresh air. We walk to the Jardin des Tuileries, a long block or so from the hotel. The sun is sinking, but it’s warm outside, and the park is full of people, all strolling and talking. There are a couple of large fountains around which people sit in chairs.

  “They seem to approach life a little differently here,” I say as we pass one of the fountain areas.

  “For a city that could legitimately be compared to New York,” Dillon says, “it does have a different feel. It’s not as hectic, frenzied.”

  “I was expecting a French version of New York, I guess.”

  “New York is a little fast for me. I get the appeal. It’s kind of like being at a party twenty-four hours a day. I just don’t think I have the energy to live that. Nashville’s way more my speed.”

  We walk in silence for a minute or so, and I can tell there’s something Dillon wants to say, so I wait, giving her the time she needs to voice it.

  “So, I got an email from Riley.”

  This surprises me. I stop, pull back, and say, “What?”

  “Apparently, she saw a photo that some paparazzi had taken of us going into the rehearsal building yesterday.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It was just the photo in the email. Nothing else. It seemed a little odd.”

  “It is.”

  “Is she the jealous type?”

  “It wouldn’t really matter,” I say. “We’re not together anymore.”

  “What happened there?” She presses her lips together and then says, “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s fine, really.” I blow out a sigh, tip my head back and look up at the sky for a few seconds. “I broke up with Riley because it just didn’t seem like we were going to be a good fit for each other. A couple of weeks after that, she sent me a text saying that she had discovered she was pregnant. She didn’t keep the baby.”

  Dillon stops, turning to look at me with wide, horrified eyes. “You mean—”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice thickening around the word, and then I swallow hard to push back the knot of emotion hanging there.

  “So you didn’t know until—?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh. Klein. I’m so sorry.”

  I glance down at the ground, kick my toe in the soft, sandy dirt that is the footing of the garden. “I would’ve liked to have known, to have some role in the decision.”

  “I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t let you do that.”

  I’m quiet for a few seconds, weighing my words. “It would be easy for me to blame her, but in truth, I did break up with her. I put her in that position, so really, I guess it’s my fault.”

  “You had every right to know about the baby, to be given a chance to work something out between the two of you.”

  “She wanted to get back together, tried to convince me. I mean, she didn’t tell me about the baby, but I guess she thought if I didn’t want her, for just her, then maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea for the two of us to have a baby together.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Our innocent baby shouldn’t be the one to pay the price for our inability to work things out.” I look at Dillon then, and there are tears in her eyes.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes. At some point along the way, Dillon hooks her arm through mine, and I welcome the connection to someone who feels empathy for what I have felt, who clearly understands the loss.

  “It’s not right,” Dillon finally says, as we approach the end of the garden. “You should have had a say, Klein.”

  We turn and head back the way we came. I squeeze her hand against my arm but find I can’t say anything that won’t reveal just how broken I am.

  ~

  WE’VE WALKED FOR a good while in silence when Dillon says, “Do you ever wonder why human beings have to hurt one another the way we do? So much of it is just unnecessary. It’s not as if we feel good after we hurt someone we care about. I mean, I can’t imagine that Riley did not regret what she did. Did she really need to hurt you that much?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s so crazy, how we can meet someone and see in them things we think we want and find so appealing, and then at some point down the road, sometimes not even very far down the road, we see them in a completely different way. And what we had once called love, we realize, isn’t that at all.”

  “It is crazy, isn’t it?”

  “We have blinders on when we first meet someone, and all we’re seeing is that immediate, I don’t know, physical attraction, I guess. We all show the very best parts of ourselves to people when we first meet them and cover up the less appealing parts.”

  “True,” I say.

  “So maybe,” Dillon says, “what we should be doing is giving
very little credit to what we see initially, because the good is not that good, and the bad can be really bad.”

  “I’ve often thought that it’s kind of funny how we go to school for twelve years growing up, to learn all the things we learned in elementary school and high school. And I wonder if we would be far better served to learn about life skills, like how to find a person who really will love you the rest of your life, for better and for worse.”

  “I think I would’ve gotten a lot more out of that,” Dillon says, “than I got out of chemistry, for sure. But then again, when it comes to love, or what we think is love, do any of us ever really listen anyway?”

  “Probably not,” I say.

  “My mom,” Dillon says, “tried to teach me the red flags she said I should never ignore in a man.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

  “Let’s see,” she says. “A good man can always say he’s sorry. So, if I found myself with someone who could never apologize, I should cross him off the list of possibilities.”

  “I’ll agree with that one. I would say we all need to be able to admit we’re wrong when we’re wrong. What else?”

  “Never accept a man who talks down to you. Like, ‘If you’d work out, you’d look a lot better.’ Oh, and she also said that when a good man loves you, you’ll have a certain glow about you.”

  I smile at this. “I kind of think that’s true. And it works both ways. I mean, should we really want to spend our life with someone who doesn’t make us happy?”

  “The thing is,” Dillon says, “I don’t think there’s any way that we can be happy, one hundred percent of the time. Do you?”

  “I think we could be happier a lot more than we are,” I say. “But, on the other hand, I don’t think we can look to another person for our happiness.”

  “There is one other thing my mama used to say,” Dillon says.

  “What’s that?”

  “That we have to figure out how to make our own self happy, and that whoever we let into our lives should add to it, make it better, bigger, greater. And they shouldn’t want to change who we are. If the person we let in doesn’t pretty much want to keep us exactly as we are, then they don’t have any business being there.”