“How has your afternoon been?” Juliette asked.
“Fine,” Zoey said.
“And how was your final dress fitting?”
“Perfect.”
Mitch took a small bite of his salad, barely tasting the bitter herb. For an hour, Zoey was pleasant and amenable while they tasted dishes. But she didn’t give the waiters her usual warm smile, didn’t tease, didn’t make witty comments about the food. She hadn’t been herself for days.
This wasn’t his Zoey. Where was the girl who’d slammed Alan against a wall?
“Brooke and Luke chose these pasta dishes for their variety,” Juliette said. “The white wine is classic and should appeal to guests with a sophisticated taste, whereas the creamy fettuccine with lemon zest is an elegant twist on comfort food. The stuffed tortellini with pesto is my personal favorite.”
“They’re all delicious,” Mitch said. He looked at Zoey. “Which is your favorite?”
She shrugged. “They’re all great. I’m sure the guests will be happy, no matter what they order.”
Mitch pressed his lips together. Why was she acting like this? She’d seemed off all week.
“Yeah, but which one is your favorite?” Mitch pressed.
“I guess I like the cavatappi noodles with the white wine sauce,” Zoey said.
“I think that’s my favorite, too.”
A smile flickered across her face. “Well, look at that, Mr. Harris—we finally found something we agree on.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t like this complacent, agreeable version of Zoey. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it.
Fighting with her made him feel alive. Why had he never realized that before?
Zoey’s behavior didn’t improve as they finalized the selections. Had the confrontation with Alan a few days ago really shaken her so badly?
“I’m pleased you enjoyed the dishes,” Juliette said as the waiters cleared the dessert plates away. “I’ll get the final food totals to the caterers tonight. Don’t forget we’re approving the table linens tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock.”
“We’ll be there,” Mitch said. He and Zoey rose from their chairs.
“Thanks, Juliette,” Zoey said.
Maybe exploring Paris would help her shed this strange persona she’d adopted. Mitch sent a quick text to Phillipe, an idea percolating at the back of his mind.
Outside, the sun was just beginning its decent toward the horizon. Zoey looked up and down the curb, frowning. “I don’t see Phillipe.”
“I gave him the night off,” Mitch said. “I thought we could go to Notre Dame, since we have a free evening. It’s not far from here. We can take the metro to the Eiffel Tower afterward. You said you wanted to see it at night.”
He expected her to squeal—maybe even to hug him—but she just nodded and said, “Okay.”
Something was definitely up. And he wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Mitch turned toward Notre Dame, and Zoey fell into step beside him without a word. Car horns honked and mopeds zoomed past on the narrow road. A mime performed on a street corner, garnering applause from the small audience that had gathered.
Mitch looked over at Zoey, expecting her to pull him to a stop so they could watch the mime. But her arms were folded, her eyes focused on the street, and she kept walking.
He couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“Alan must’ve given up for the night,” Mitch said. “I haven’t seen him since right before the caterer’s.”
“I guess.”
He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Maybe you’ve scared him into hiding. He’s kept his distance the last few days.”
He’d expected the comment to make her laugh. Instead, her face fell. “I probably just made him more angry and he’s been plotting his revenge. I should’ve held my tongue.”
Finally—a response that consisted of more than one word. “I think it’s pretty clear at this point that Alan isn’t going away, no matter what we do. What I can’t figure out is how he’s tracking us.”
“Me either. Our phones came back clean. It’s not your computer. They didn’t find any bugs in Brooke’s office or at our apartment.”
“I know.” Mitch rubbed a hand over his face, the stress returning. “The only thing that makes sense is someone at Toujour is the leak.”
Zoey snorted, and he wanted to hug her, because it was such a Zoey response.
“Come on, you’re grasping at straws,” she said.
“Brooke’s almost always at work when we talk to her. She sends most of her emails from there.”
“The only person who would have easy access to Brooke’s office is Lianna …” Zoey eyes widened. “No. There’s no way Lianna is the rat.”
Funny—that’s who Mitch had first guessed as well. “I don’t want it to be someone close to Brooke and Luke, either. But how else is Alan following us?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has Lianna mentioned any financial problems recently?”
“Her mom’s been sick. But that doesn’t mean Alan’s paying her for information.”
Mitch was still waiting for the private investigator to go through Lianna’s financial records, but it made sense. “Who else at Toujour might do such a thing?”
Zoey sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. Brooke trusts all the employees implicitly. We all know each other really well.”
“We’re running out of time to figure this out.”
Zoey flicked a glance at him, then looked away. “We’ll just have to play up the fake wedding angle, if it comes to that.”
His heart thumped loudly in his chest, but he nodded. “Okay.”
“I know you hate the idea, but I’m not about to let—wait, what did you say?”
Mitch reached out, gently taking Zoey’s hand in his own. “I said okay.”
She blinked, then gave his hand a squeeze. It was so tentative he almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. “Okay.”
What was he doing? A week together in Paris didn’t change anything. She kept her hand in his as they crossed the street, then rounded a corner. It was like holding a hot ember after hours in the snow—painful, but too comforting to pull away.
Zoey halted, her hand still in his, and let out a slow breath. Mitch followed her gaze, and realized they were approaching Notre Dame. The cathedral stood tall on its island, the two white bell towers cutting through the blue sky, with dark clouds in the background.
Zoey’s jaw was slack, her eyes wide and lips turned up. She brushed her teal-streaked bangs back with a hand.
The cathedral was beautiful. But Zoey was stunning.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Amazing.”
Mitch stared at Zoey, her face alight with awe, and had to agree.
“Are you ready?” he asked. He didn’t know what specifically he meant—ready to see the cathedral? Ready to fool Alan? Ready to give Mitch—them—a second chance?
He didn’t know what he wanted her answer to be.
“Ready,” she said and pulled him onto the bridge. They made their way through the swarm of tourists and avoided the vendors selling souvenirs, and then they were in front of the cathedral. Gargoyles glared down at them with menacing expressions, and the arched doorways had images of the twelve apostles carved into the stone.
“The photos don’t do it justice,” Zoey said.
And Mitch very much wanted to remember this moment. Impulsively, he dropped Zoey’s hand and pulled his phone out of his suit coat pocket. “Let’s take a picture.”
Her eyes widened, and she laughed. “Are you serious?”
“I know how much you like selfies.”
“It’s not a selfie if someone else takes it.” But Zoey yanked the phone out of his hand and approached a middle-aged couple holding hands. She held out the phone. “Would you mind taking a picture for us?”
The woman nodded, babbling something in what sounded like It
alian. Zoey quickly walked back to Mitch, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. He felt her tense, and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far and she would pull away. But then she slipped an arm around his waist and relaxed into his side.
“Smile,” Mitch said.
“This is weird,” Zoey said, but she complied.
The woman snapped a few pictures, and Mitch retrieved the phone and returned to Zoey.
“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Zoey asked.
Mitch placed the phone back in his pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You hate having your picture taken.”
“But you love it. And I don’t mind so much when it’s with you.” He quickly looked away, not sure he was ready to see her reaction to his confession. What had gotten into him tonight? Was he seriously considering starting things back up with Zoey?
“Well, thanks,” Zoey said.
“No problem.” He inclined his head toward the doors. “Shall we go inside?”
“I don’t know. Do you think I can enter a church without lightning striking?”
A laugh burst from Mitch, and a few tourists glanced their way. Mitch gulped, his shoulders shaking as he tried to remain quiet. “I think you’ll be fine.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Zoey stepped across the threshold, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Phew,” she said.
Mitch shook his head. Zoey was crazy.
He was glad she was acting more like herself.
“Wow,” Zoey breathed. She pointed to the stain glass windows. Sunlight hit them, scattering rainbows of light across the mostly empty pews. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful,” Mitch agreed. How had he come to Paris three times and never visited one of the most famous landmarks in the world? It had taken Zoey to show him what he was missing.
Zoey pointed to the choir at the front of the cathedral, singing in Gregorian chant. “Are we interrupting mass or something?”
“No, I think they do that for the tourists.”
Zoey pointed to the tourists lighting candles in the wings. “And what are the candles for?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh! Look.” Zoey’s voice was a hushed whisper but brimmed with excitement. She tugged his hand, pulling him underneath one of the archways. “The detail is exquisite. Have you ever heard tourists be so quiet? This place is amazing.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, feeling a lump rise in his throat. “I know.”
They explored the cathedral for nearly a half hour in reverent silence. It almost felt like time had reversed six months, and they were two friends who flirted just hanging out. But did Mitch want to return to that? He’d finally allowed himself to trust Zoey, and she’d spit in his face.
“Can we climb to the top?” Zoey asked.
“Sure. I think you access the roof from outside. Are you ready to go?”
Zoey nodded, and they exited the cathedral. The sky had grown dark while they explored the interior, and gray clouds billowed in the distance. Mitch bought the tickets, and they waited in the short line near the north tower.
“Are we going to have another contest?” Zoey teased.
“No. I know you’ll beat me, especially since this time you’re wearing those.” He pointed to her flat sandals.
“Hey, it’s not my fault you wear the exact same pair of dress shoes every single day.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“And you don’t like change.” The words weren’t accusing, but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. Sadness?
“Sometimes I like change. I’ve never visited the cathedral before, and I like this.”
The line started moving, and Zoey bounced on the balls of her feet. “Think Quasimodo will be ringing the bells?”
“You never know.” When he was with Zoey, he believed anything could happen.
Unlike the Arc de Triomphe, the stairs to the top of Notre Dame were long and winding. Mitch pulled at his tie. He could touch the walls on either side of the staircase, and people streamed in front of and behind him.
Climbing claustrophobic staircases, visiting tourist sites, asking random strangers to take pictures … this wasn’t him. And yet somehow it was, when he was with Zoey. He was different around her. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
They tumbled through the doorway at the top and onto the roof. Zoey dragged him to the edge, where a horned chimera kept watch. She threaded her fingers through the wire barrier and let out a sigh.
“This is a dream,” Zoey said. “This can’t be my life.”
It could’ve been Mitch’s life for years. He’d been traveling with Ryder Communications for three years, and while he’d certainly been busy, he could’ve made time to see the sites if he’d wanted to. How had he never appreciated what a gift it was to travel the world?
“Believe it, Zoey Carlson.”
She rested her forehead against the wire fence, staring across the river. “I wish I didn’t feel so guilty.”
“Guilty?” That was the last thing he’d expected her to say.
“Brooke should be here, not me.”
“Brooke has already been to Notre Dame. Twice, if memory serves. You’ve seen the photos.”
“I know. But it’s my fault she’s not here now.”
Is that what had her so upset the past few days? A lump formed in Mitch’s throat, and he wondered how much of her blame was self-inflicted, and how much was his fault. He’d been so hard on her.
“No one could’ve known Alan was a reporter,” Mitch said.
“You knew. You called it from the moment you saw him.”
“I didn’t know-know.”
“Brooke is supposed to be my best friend. But what kind of friend am I? I flirted with the wrong person, and now we’re being chased all over Paris and telling lies.” She closed her eyes, and Mitch had to lean forward to hear her over the gust of wind that suddenly hit them. “I want to quit Toujour, but I’m a coward and haven’t told Brooke, because I know it’ll hurt her feelings.”
“Wait … what?”
“I’ve been running a makeup business on the side since Toujour first started floundering. At first it was just a backup plan because I was so sure the company would go under, but then I really liked it. So I kept taking on more and more clients. Brooke still doesn’t know.”
“Why haven’t you told her?”
“Because she’s my best friend, and Toujour is her dream. It’ll crush her when she finds out it’s not mine.”
“If makeup makes you happy, you should do it. Brooke will understand.”
“I thought financial security was the most important thing.” A gust of wind twisted Zoey’s hair around her face, and a strand stuck to her lip gloss.
He had thought that was the most important thing. But suddenly, seeing Zoey happy seemed infinitely more important. What good was a paycheck from Toujour if she was miserable in the process? “Maybe I was wrong.”
She laughed, letting go of the wire and leaning into him. “Four words I never thought I’d hear you say.”
Mitch wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close in a hug. Her body nestled against his like a puzzle piece he hadn’t known he was missing. His knuckles brushed against her cheek, and he saw her suck in a breath. Slowly, he pulled the hair away from her lip gloss.
“Thanks,” she breathed.
He reluctantly let her go. “We should probably hurry to the metro if we want to see the Eiffel Tower tonight, or we’re going to get caught in the rain.”
They made their way to ground level and walked back across the bridge. Mitch looked up at the sky. The clouds were even darker now, and the wind whipped Zoey’s hair around.
“Maybe we should run,” Mitch said. He could just make out the metro sign in the distance, still nearly two blocks away.
The sky rumbled, and the rain started to fall. Mitch cursed. He fumbled with his silk tie, tucking it bet
ween two buttons to try and protect it inside his shirt. He ducked his head and quickened his pace.
Wait. Where was Zoey? He turned around, frantically searching the sea of prepared native Parisians scuttling by in umbrellas and tourists in raincoats.
Zoey stood in the middle of the sidewalk, her head thrown back and arms open wide. Rain cascaded down her hair and over her shoulders. Thunder cracked again, and the rain intensified.
Zoey laughed. She spun in a tight circle, then wiped the rain out of her eyes. She started running, and Mitch thought for sure she’d lost her mind.
Then he saw the puddle, right in front of him. Zoey landed in it with both feet, and the water leapt around her, mingling with the rain. It splashed onto his shoes, and he knew then that his suit was a lost cause.
But he didn’t care.
Zoey cocked her head to the side, an enticing invitation on her lips. “Haven’t you ever played in the rain?”
“What do you think?” Mitch asked.
She skipped forward, grabbing both his hands in hers and towing him toward the puddle.
“Oh, no,” he said. He looked around, hoping no one was watching. They were acting like children.
“Mitch.” Zoey stepped closer, and her green eyes bored into him. “Let loose, just this once. Come on.”
He couldn’t look away. She took a step back, pulling him toward the puddle.
“Together,” she said.
And so Mitch jumped.
Zoey laughed as Mitch’s shoes sunk into the puddle. His curls had flattened against his head, and his suit hung limp on his shoulders.
“What, you don’t think I know how to have fun?” he asked.
“Oh, absolutely not. I fully expect you to come to your senses sometime in the next thirty seconds and realize we’re both acting like children.”
Mitch leaned down, his hands hovering over the puddle.
“Don’t you dare.” Zoey took a step back.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t—”
Mitch scooped the water into his hands and flung it at her. Zoey squealed, running down the sidewalk. Mitch chased after her, and she felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind a second before she was lifted into the air.
Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) Page 13
