Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  Mitch stood on the escalator that carried them into the museum, a step behind Zoey. She had her cell phone out, grinning as she snapped another selfie. He shook his head, reminded vividly of Jasmine. Alan was in Paris, the wedding was about to become front page news, and Mitch was failing at his only job for the next two weeks. Which pretty much made his purpose in Luke’s life—and Mitch’s six-figure paycheck—obsolete. And if he had no job, and no money, then it wouldn’t matter if he convinced Jasmine to go back to school, because he’d have no means of paying for it.

  And Zoey was taking selfies.

  Luke’s your best friend, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t fire Mitch if the wedding was leaked. But he would be disappointed, and that was almost worse.

  “This is amazing,” Zoey breathed as they stepped off the escalator. The glass pyramid above them served as a skylight, and a large information desk splayed out in front of them. Zoey got in line, and soon they had purchased two tickets and were headed toward the Department of Paintings, where the Mona Lisa was housed.

  Mitch barely registered the various works of art they passed on the way to the Mona Lisa. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that somehow Zoey had tipped their hand and leaked the location to Alan. He knew she hadn’t done it intentionally, or even verbally. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow Alan was tracking her. How else would he have figured out where they were?

  “Are you even paying attention to this?” Zoey demanded. She flung her arm out, motioning to a painting that took up an entire wall. “Look at this! It’s survived more than two hundred years of natural disasters and wars and probably being stuck in some old lady’s attic, and now we get to pay fifteen euro a ticket to see it.”

  Mitch folded his arms, trying to take in the painting. It was a scene of a war, maybe the French Revolution. Soldiers stood around a cannon, ready to fire. “I don’t think that would fit in someone’s attic.”

  Zoey rolled her eyes and tugged on his suit jacket. “Oh, come on. The Mona Lisa should be right through there.”

  Mitch followed Zoey, enjoying the gentle pressure on his arm. At moments like this, he could almost forget the way she’d completely brushed him off six months ago, like their stolen moments had meant less than nothing. They passed into the large gallery, and Mitch immediately knew which painting was the Mona Lisa by the flood of tourists around it.

  Zoey pushed her way to the front of the crowd. A few people grumbled, but when the men saw her, they immediately stopped talking and ran their eyes up and down the length of her frame. Zoey wasn’t especially tall, but in those heels, her legs went on for miles. Mitch had the sudden urge to rip his jacket off and throw it over her shoulders. Zoey wasn’t dressed especially provocative—in fact, she’d donned a fairly professional look for the day—but the men still devoured her like she was a rib-eye steak.

  “Oh my gosh, I see it!” Zoey yanked Mitch forward. His shoulder brushed hers, and he sucked in a breath. Heaven help him, he didn’t know how he would survive the next two weeks.

  She kissed someone else hours after kissing you, he reminded himself. More like mauled someone else. Their tongues had been so far down each other’s throats, it was a wonder they hadn’t choked to death.

  “This is incredible,” Zoey breathed.

  Mitch forced himself to stop staring at the back of Zoey’s head and take in the masterpiece. The area was roped off, and a glass case surrounded the framed painting. Mitch was surprised at how small it was, perhaps two and a half feet long by two feet wide.

  “It’s tiny,” he said. For some reason, he’d expected it to be bigger.

  “It’s amazing. This is one of the most famous paintings in the history of the universe, and we’re standing here, staring at it.” Zoey cocked her head and walked to the side, brushing past a few tourists with cameras as she kept her eyes on the painting. She walked to the corner of the glass box, then made her way back, passing behind the tourists to the other side. Mitch watched her progress, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. Eventually she came back and stood beside him, her eyes still on the painting.

  “What are you doing?” Mitch asked.

  “Seeing if her eyes really follow you wherever you go.”

  “And?”

  She finally peeled her eyes away from the painting. A smile graced her lips, soft but at the same time mischievous. “See for yourself, Mr. Harris.” She placed a delicate hand on each of his arms, brushing up against his back. “Now keep your eyes on hers.” Her breath tickled his cheek, a soft exhale that had him falling off a cliff with no parachute. Gently, Zoey pressed against his right arm with her hand, urging him to the side. Mitch held his breath, his eyes locked on the painting, afraid of turning his head and seeing her full lips so close to his.

  Zoey guided him first one way, then the other. He felt her skirt brush against his pant leg as his nerves unraveled.

  “Well?” Zoey asked, her voice a soft whisper behind his ear.

  Mitch swallowed. He hadn’t paid attention to the painting at all. “You’re right. Her eyes do follow you everywhere.”

  Zoey’s hands dropped, and he felt the distance like a physical ache. “Now aren’t you glad you relaxed for five seconds to enjoy that? Not many people can say they’ve looked into the Mona Lisa’s mysterious eyes.”

  “I am glad we have time to visit the sites,” Mitch said. He cleared his throat and blinked, forcing himself to act normal. “It’s not like I’ve purposefully avoided them before. I just haven’t had time.”

  “Luke works you pretty hard, doesn’t he?”

  Luke was constantly telling him to relax and take the night off. “Rick Ryder gave me an opportunity when I desperately needed one, and I can never repay him for his generosity. I will gladly work for Ryder Communications and do whatever is asked of me.”

  “Even though Rick’s no longer alive?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Luke’s every bit as good a man as his father was. He’s more than my boss—he’s my best friend.”

  Something flickered across her face that he couldn’t quite peg. “I’m glad you had Ryder Communications, and I’m glad you have Luke. I admire your work ethic.”

  Mitch felt his ears heat. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the silence. “So, what else do you want to see in this museum?”

  “I’ve heard that Napoleon’s Apartments are amazing. Let’s go there next.”

  For the next three hours, they wandered the Louvre. Zoey admired the artwork, and Mitch admired Zoey. There was a grace and confidence about her that was all too appealing. He didn’t like how she made him relax, how she made him want to be carefree and spontaneous. That didn’t pay the bills, and he’d do well to remember that it was exactly what had attracted him to her in the first place that ended up hurting him in the end.

  He hadn’t been in love with Zoey, but he’d been heading down that path. And all he’d been to her was a make-out session in a dark corner of a restaurant during an engagement party that had probably bored her.

  By the time they finished at the Louvre, it was late, and Zoey agreed that it would be best if they headed back to Luke’s apartment so they wouldn’t be tired for their appointments tomorrow. They were only a block from Luke’s high-rise when Zoey spoke.

  “I haven’t seen Alan,” she said. “Maybe he isn’t following us after all.”

  “He’ll show up eventually.” The fact he hadn’t already hopefully meant that he wasn’t tracking Zoey’s movements through her phone. Mitch would have a private security firm check tonight to be sure.

  “If he does, I’ll do whatever necessary to distract him,” Zoey said.

  Mitch’s muscles tensed, and his palms began to sweat. “Please don’t. Your distractions have a way of making things worse.”

  “Is that all I am to you—a big screw-up?”

  Mitch paused on the sidewalk, turning to face Zoey. “No, of course not. I just meant—”

  “I’m sorry ab
out this whole mess.” Her voice caught on the last word. “I would never intentionally do something to ruin Brooke and Luke’s wedding.”

  The words sliced through him. “Is that what you think I believe?”

  “You’ve made your opinion of me abundantly clear.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You see me as irresponsible and impulsive.”

  Mitch shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring at the ground. “I know you mean well, but we really don’t need to antagonize Alan more than we already have.”

  “Message received.” She stepped around him, head held high.

  “Zoey, wait—”

  “I know this is important, and I’m not going to mess it up. If you think a quiet, demur Zoey is the way to achieve our end goal, then that’s what you’ll get.”

  “I didn’t mean—” A motorcyclist cut off a car, and the resulting honks drowned out the rest of his sentence. Not that he’d known what he was going to say.

  Zoey paused, looking up at the sign above a doorway. “This is Luke’s place?”

  Mitch nodded. The sign for the apartment complex was small and inconspicuous, tucked into the centuries-old building that had been renovated into a coveted piece of real estate. Mitch followed Zoey inside, and they rode the small elevator up to the fifth floor, where Luke’s penthouse apartment was housed. The silence between them was thick and strained.

  Mitch unlocked the door and let them inside. He barely glanced at the room—he’d stayed here during two previous visits. The apartment was small by American standards, but filled with expensive materials and opulent decor. The door opened to a small living room, with a bedroom and private bathroom on either side.

  “Zoey …” Mitch began. He’d hurt her feelings, and he didn’t know how to make it right.

  “Do you have a room preference?”

  “I usually stay in that one” —he pointed to the room to their right— “so that’s probably where Phillipe put my luggage. Yours should be in the other room.”

  “Great. I’m going to bed now. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t sleep on the plane.”

  “Zoey …” he began again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say—don’t be angry at me? It’s okay if you antagonize Alan with your crazy schemes? Truthfully, a subdued version of Zoey might make the next two weeks easier, in more ways than one.

  Zoey pinned him to the floor with a glare that could’ve cut diamonds. “Goodnight, Mitch. I’ll be ready to leave by nine o’clock.” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but shut her bedroom door firmly behind her.

  Mitch rubbed a hand over his face and silently groaned. He was forever screwing things up with her. He hadn’t meant to be insulting.

  In his own room, he sank down onto the queen-sized bed, this time letting out a real groan. The mattress was the perfect balance of soft and firm. He reached down and gently eased one shoe off, then the other. His feet let out a sigh of relief at being released from their tight confines. He’d have to consider dressing more casual and wearing the tennis shoes he’d brought for his morning runs if they kept walking all over the city.

  No, these shoes would be fine. They weren’t here to play tourist, and Phillipe would drive them to their appointments with Juliette.

  Mitch stripped down to his boxer-briefs, then lay back on his bed. Hopefully Jasmine would still be on her lunch break. She’d seem excited for her first day when he’d talked to her a few hours ago. She’d already found someone interested in the contract for the apartment and would be moving home this weekend.

  The phone rang and rang. Maybe she was already off break. He was just about to hang up when Jasmine finally picked up.

  “Hello?” Her voice was a strained whisper.

  Mitch sat up in bed, frowning. “Hey. I’m just calling to see how your first day is going.”

  “Great. Everything I hoped for and more.” He heard the false brightness in her tone, hiding the stress underneath.

  “Jas, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Jas …”

  She let out a sigh. “It’s just been a stressful day,” she said, her voice still a whisper. “I don’t think the boss likes me. There have been some communication issues, and I got her coffee order wrong and took some samples to the wrong design house. But it’s nothing. I’ve got things under control.”

  “That doesn’t sound under control. Where was the communication breakdown?”

  “I’m sure it’s just some traditional hazing of the new intern.”

  “Wait, you mean your boss is trying to make you fail?” The hairs on the back of Mitch’s neck pricked up in anger.

  “Not my boss. Her assistant. But it’s fine. I have a plan, and tomorrow will be better.”

  “Jasmine, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “If you ask me that one more time, I swear, Mitch, I am going to lose it.” Someone said something, but the words were muffled, as though Jasmine had covered her phone. When her voice came back on, it was nervous. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Mitch.”

  “Bye,” Mitch said. But Jasmine had already hung up.

  He set his phone on the bedside table, wishing he could jump through the line and wring the neck of the assistant trying to make Jasmine look bad. He took a deep, cleansing breath. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe Jasmine would decide fashion wasn’t worth it after all and go back to school.

  She was making a huge mistake, and there was nothing he could do about it but sit back and watch.

  Mitch closed his eyes and lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed, slowly and consciously relaxing each muscle in his body. It would take at least thirty minutes of meditation to make the stress from today disappear.

  Today, Zoey would be subdued. She would be calm. She would channel her inner Brooke.

  She would hopefully avoid Alan.

  She speared the last bite of her omelet and chased it down with a croissant. That settled it—she was never returning to California. She wondered if Luke’s personal chef accepted coupon books filled with IOUs for eternal gratitude and undying love as payment.

  Her phone skittered across the desk as it rang the trilling chime that meant someone wanted to video chat. Zoey quickly downed her juice and picked up her phone. Brooke was trying to call her.

  Act natural. Don’t let on that Alan’s here. Zoey quickly wiped her mouth with the napkin and then accepted the call. “Hey,” she said, putting on a bright smile.

  “Hey,” Brooke said. Her makeup was flawless but didn’t cover the anxiety in her eyes, even if it did mostly hide the dark circles. Brooke shifted, and Zoey could just make out the bookcase behind Brooke’s desk at Toujour. Looked like she was putting in another late night at work. “How are things going with the wedding planning?”

  “We visited Versailles yesterday. It’s so beautiful, Brooke.”

  Brooke smiled, and some of the tiredness left her eyes. “Isn’t it perfect? I’m so excited. I know Luke’s security team was a little leery about the location, but when we visited in March, I knew it was the perfect place for our wedding. It’s so different from anything else.” She didn’t say the words, but Zoey knew what Brooke really meant—Versailles was completely different from the vineyard in California where Brooke had planned to marry her ex-fiancé. No doubt the differences had helped convince Luke the security risks were worth it. Plus, when they’d chosen the location, the paparazzi had merely been a nuisance instead of a threat.

  “It is perfect,” Zoey agreed. “Juliette is really sweet and seems competent.” She’d be even sweeter if she could stop being all sexy and appealing with her long legs and French accent, but Brooke didn’t need to know that. “We’re meeting with the string quartet this morning, and I think we’re reviewing the cake options tomorrow. Juliette mentioned something about a tasting. Oh, and the florist in a few days.”

  Brooke sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “I wish I could be ther
e. I hate that the paparazzi is preventing me from being a bride.”

  “I know. But Mitch and I have everything under control.” Zoey wished she could reach through the phone and give Brooke a squeeze. “I’ve got your back.”

  “I know you do. Luke and I are finally in such a great place. I just want our wedding to reflect that.”

  If it didn’t, Zoey would be to blame. She swallowed hard. “It will. Promise. Now, you want nontraditional music for the ceremony, right?”

  “Yes, but still really classy. No Bach or anything. Just pretty, pretty instrumental songs. Can you video chat with me while you’re there so I can hear them play?”

  If it weren’t for Zoey, Brooke would be here doing this herself. Zoey rubbed her finger over the side of the phone case, wondering if Brooke could feel her guilt from an ocean away. “Of course I will, as long as the internet connection’s good. But I have everything under control. Okay? You can trust me.”

  “I know, and I do.” Brooke blew out a breath, causing her bangs to puff outward. “I hate this. I hate the whole freakin’ media.”

  “Parasites, all of them.”

  “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Zo.”

  “I’m the reason you aren’t here yourself. I’m so sorry, Brooke. If I could go back in time and change things, I would.”

  Brooke’s brows furrowed, and she pursed her lips. “There’s no way you could’ve know this would happen. It’s not your fault.”

  Except it maybe—probably—was. Zoey wished she could stuff this guilt into a garbage sack and toss it in a bin.

  “The paparazzi hasn’t been giving you any issues there, have they?” Brooke asked, leaning toward the camera.

  “No,” Zoey said quickly. “I haven’t run into a single pap.” Which was technically true. They’d more run away from Alan than into him. And besides, they still weren’t one hundred percent sure he was paparazzi.

  Except he totally was.

  Brooke leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh. “Good. I can’t wait for those bottom feeders to find some other pseudo-celebrity to stalk. I just want to live my life in peace and quiet.”