Haylee raised an eyebrow at me. “Your boss must be nice.”
“Yeah. He’s great.”
“I thought you said your boss was a woman.”
I did?
“Yeah. My old boss. She left recently. Her replacement is a guy.”
“What’s his name?”
“John.”
“What his last name?”
I hesitated. “Oliver.”
I shrugged and hoped she wouldn’t notice I was currently watching Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. She didn’t. She just went back to the bathroom to blow dry her hair.
While she was upstairs, I checked my texts. My phone had vibrated several times in my pocket in the last few minutes. All of the texts were from the same person.
Audrey: You need to be in Paris tomorrow. There’s a flight that leaves New York tomorrow morning.
Audrey: I have booked a seat for you and emailed you the confirmation along with directions to meet my contact in Paris.
Audrey: I will not be able to meet up with you there, but this contact is trustworthy. She is an old friend of mine.
Audrey: She speaks English, thankfully, since I assume you have not yet learned any French.
Audrey: Pack something elegant just in case. Better yet, buy something there.
Audrey: Betty, don’t ignore me.
I let myself out onto the back patio behind the building and shut the door. I looked around to see if anyone else was nearby before calling Audrey back.
“It’s about time,” Audrey said without any kind of greeting.
“Sorry. My little sister showed up yesterday, literally on my doorstep. So I can’t really just leave for Paris right now—”
“Put her up at The Plaza while you’re gone. Shouldn’t be longer than a week.”
“I can’t put her in a hotel for a week. I think my family would get just a little suspicious if I did that. They think I’m a personal assistant.”
“If you’re going to lie to your family, why not say something more realistic? Like a lawyer or a plastic surgeon or something.”
I stared at the ceiling while considering pitching my phone across the room. “I think my family knows I haven’t been to law or medical school.”
“Well, whatever,” she said. “You’ll have to deal with it. You will be in Paris tomorrow, end of discussion.”
Haylee emerged from the bathroom, and I panicked.
I laughed loudly into my phone. “Oh, John. You’re so funny! Yes, I’m sure we can make that work. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“I won’t be there—”
I hung up on Audrey before she could finish. Usually it’s the other way around. I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.
Haylee skipped down the spiral staircase. The heat from the blow dryer had apparently woken her up.
She batted her ridiculously long eyelashes at me. “You’re going in to work tomorrow?”
I hesitated. “Yeah. My boss is going on an unexpected business trip, and he needs me there with him. I’m really sorry.”
Haylee plopped back on the sofa, wide-eyed. “For how long?”
“A week … ish. Probably.” I scratched the back of my neck, feeling guilty. “You can stay here while I’m gone.”
This is a terrible decision.
Haylee nodded. “Can I have some friends over?”
Just say no. Say no. Don’t you dare say yes.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound confident. “No parties, okay? I don’t want to piss off my neighbors.”
She smiled up at me, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll take good care of your home, don’t worry.”
Yeah. I bet you will.
I took Haylee, a theatre major, to Manhattan that night and got in line for tickets to see this year’s big Broadway show. When we discovered that was an impossible feat (“I told you,” Haylee said.), we got tickets to a movie instead—an indie flick I’d never heard of but Haylee said she wanted to see.
We sat in the dark, crunching on stale buttered popcorn. I was just relieved I didn’t have to make awkward conversation with her anymore. The whole movie was basically a long stretch of pretty cinematography without much plot. Around the middle, Haylee leaned over to me. There were only a couple other people in the theatre, so she barely even bothered to lower her voice.
“Hey. This movie is boring.”
“Kinda, yeah.”
One side of her mouth curled into a tiny smile. “You wanna get high?”
“No, Haylee.”
She shrugged. “It’ll make the movie more exciting.”
Three minutes later, we were outside in the alley behind the movie theatre. She passed her pipe to me, the weed in its bowl glowing orange. I focused on the spiral of smoke coming from it as I inhaled deeply, right before coughing. My lungs burned. Haylee laughed at me and lit the bowl again with her bright pink lighter.
“You don’t smoke weed much, do you?” She inhaled deeply, held it for a moment and blew the smoke out of her nose.
I shook my head and took another hit from the glass pipe, coughing a little less this time.
“How often do you smoke pot?” I said as she tapped the ash out of the pipe and stashed it in a semi-hidden pocket in her bag.
She smiled wide like the Cheshire Cat. “Depends. Are you going to tell Mom?”
I giggled, feeling giddy. “No.”
“Several times a week.”
“You’re a singer, though, right? Isn’t it bad for—” I pointed to my throat “—your … your … uh, ya know.” I dropped my arm and laughed so hard, I snorted.
Haylee bit her lip as she watched me losing my shit. “Amateur.” She leaned against the brick wall of the theatre and rolled her eyes. “I’m glad you’re cool with it.”
“Just don’t smoke in my apartment when I’m gone.” Catching my breath, I leaned against the wall beside her and sighed. “Shit. I have to go to Paris tomorrow, don’t I?”
“You’re going to Paris with your boss?” Haylee said, looking impressed. “Sounds romantic. Are you his assistant or his mistress?”
I started laughing again, this time at the thought of being John Oliver’s chippy on the side. Then I thought about the word chippy, and it reminded me of a chipmunk, and then I pictured John Oliver hanging out with a sexy chipmunk mistress. There was no stopping my laughing fit at this point.
* * *
My throat was still pretty scratchy the next day as I went through customs at the airport. I didn’t even mind. Haylee and I had stayed up late into the night, talking about her classes, her friends and her professors. She talked about how her friendship with her BFF, Amber, had gotten a little weird this year and about the guy she had been seeing on and off and how their relationship was a complicated mess. I told her how things with Nate had ended, although I couldn’t give her specifics of why. I told her about Ruby and Ruby’s new girlfriend.
“I just can’t believe she’s dating a cop,” I said, stuffing a cracker into my mouth. Crumbs spilled out of my mouth into my lap. “So dumb.”
“What’s wrong with dating a cop?” Haylee ate a cracker and managed to not make a mess. She was always more graceful than I when it came to food.
I stared at her. “Well, it’s just that … ya know, Ruby is a fan of the recreational drugs occasionally, and now she has to give them up.”
“It sounds like Ruby really likes this new chick though,” Haylee said. “She’ll do what she needs to do to keep her. It could be true love.”
I snickered.
“What?”
“You believe in true love?”
Haylee laughed. “Of course I do! You don’t?”
I shrugged. “There are seven billion people on this planet. The chances of meeting your soul mate are pretty slim.”
“I think soul mates and true love are different. I think you can have one soul mate and multiple true loves,” she said. “But true love exists. It has to.”
“And why do you think that?”
<
br /> “I’m a theatre major. I have to believe that.”
The flight to Paris was long and uneventful. Audrey had booked a first-class ticket for me, so I got a private, spacious cabin with room to stretch out. Audrey had booked flights for me a few times and had never bothered to provide me with luxury travel before. As I sank down lower in my semi-comfortable seat, I became suspicious.
She must really need this assignment to go well. Either that or she’s buttering me up before she has me killed. But why would she bring me all the way to Paris to have me killed? No, she’s not having me killed. She has no reason to do that… Or does she?
We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport around four o’clock local time. Even though I’d been there a couple days ago, I was still astounded by its beauty. The entire airport looked like a giant had picked up the whole building and dipped it in gold.
I collected my luggage and headed for the exit. The June sunshine felt warm on my skin as I looked for a taxi outside. Just then, a familiar voice caught my attention.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
I looked over my shoulder. A tall man with brown hair and a five o’clock shadow smiled at me, his hands buried in the pockets of his dark dress pants. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his jacket rested over his shoulder like he was a runway model. I could see myself rolling my eyes in the reflection of his gold aviator sunglasses.
I laughed and shook my head. “You are ridiculous.”
Rhys picked up my suitcase. “I missed you too, kid.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I’d never seen the postcard version of Paris before.
A few days before, when I was in France to steal the bottle of wine, I’d seen the stunning beauty of the south of France and the crazy fancy airport on the outskirts of the capital city, but I hadn’t seen the parts of Paris they put in movies.
The address Audrey gave us took us directly to the center of the city. I was in awe. Old buildings, many with the classic Parisian gray-blue roofs, lined narrow, winding streets. We drove along the Seine and weaved between other tiny European cars on the truly terrifying Arc de Triomphe traffic circle. Rhys navigated the city like a pro.
“I’ve been here a couple times,” he said as I gazed out my window, my eyes trying to look everywhere at once.
“Have you ever done an assignment in France?”
“Not yet. This’ll be my first.” He glanced at me and chuckled at the dumbfounded look on my face as I surveyed our surroundings. “It’s better at night. Especially that.” He pointed.
Out of nowhere, a tall structure peeked out over a line of buildings. The Eiffel Tower.
I know it’s cliché, but I couldn’t help but stare at it. It was so … tall.
“Whoa.”
I looked at Rhys to see if he was as impressed with it as I was, but he just smiled at me and swerved to avoid some tourists crossing the street.
We stopped at a red light, and Rhys tapped on the steering wheel, his brow pinched in thought.
“What? What are you thinking?”
“The address Audrey gave us … I think I’ve been there before, but I can’t remember why.”
“Is it someone’s apartment?”
Rhys’s mouth twisted. “I don’t think so. Could be. I honestly don’t remember.”
We managed to find an underground parking garage a few blocks away. Rhys kept glancing at me as we walked down the street, passing other tourists and gorgeous shop windows.
“What?” I laughed quietly, peering up at him through my eyelashes. “You keep looking at me weird.”
“Nothing.” He smiled and looked away. “I just … nothing.”
“What?”
Spit it out, dammit.
He kept his eyes focused straight ahead as we crossed the street. “I just … forgot what your freckles look like.”
“Oh.”
I had no idea what to say to that. My neck felt warm as I bit the corner of my lower lip.
“I think this is the place,” he said, pointing at a small gallery with a slick, black, polished exterior.
I followed him in. Only a few other people were inside, browsing and chatting in their little groups. They all looked like tourists. The fanny packs, baseball caps and Mona Lisa t-shirts gave them away. I guess that comes from having a gallery in the center of the city.
One painting, a watercolor of the Eiffel Tower, was priced at several hundred euros.
“This place is awful,” Rhys whispered. “It’s art for tourists.”
“It’s art for anyone who wants it,” said a British voice from behind us.
Rhys looked over his shoulder, eyes widening. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hi, Rhys,” the woman said, crossing her arms over her shoulders. “I haven’t seen you in a few years.” She gave me the once-over and went back to glaring at Rhys.
Rhys winced. “Hi Amelia. How are you doing?”
“It’s Emily, asshole.” She looked at me again. “Don’t worry, love. He’ll cheat on you, too, and then disappear for two years without a single phone call.”
I stared at Rhys. “You did what?”
Rhys hesitated. “You look good.”
“You need to get out.”
“We’re not together,” I added quickly.
A middle-aged woman who was admiring the painting next to us raised an eyebrow. She slid up her large black sunglasses, resting them at the base of her pile of soft brown curls as she studied me.
“Is there a problem?” she asked in a French accent. Her voice was smooth, and her accent was easy for me to understand. She looked at Rhys and I, focusing on us like she was trying to read our thoughts.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry for the disruption,” Emily said. “These two were just leaving.”
Rhys and I hurried out before more attention was brought on by Rhys’s crazy ex.
“And don’t you dare come back here!” she screamed at us from the doorway as we hurried down the street, away from the gallery.
I slowly looked up at Rhys. “So you had been to that gallery before.”
He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. “We had sex on her boss’s desk one time.”
“Gross.”
Rhys shrugged. “Well, what are we going to do now? We were supposed to meet Audrey’s contact there.”
“I’m guessing it’s the French woman who followed us out of the gallery,” I said quietly, “and is currently walking several yards behind us.”
Rhys slowly looked over his shoulder. “Huh. Yeah, you’re right.”
Just then the woman looked directly at us for a few seconds, her face expressionless. She crossed the street and got into the back of a parked car, disappearing from view behind a tinted window.
“That had to be her,” I said, watching her tiny car speed away and whip down a side street.
“We don’t know that.”
“No. I’m telling you … that had to be her. I know it. She looked at me funny in the gallery. What French woman would be caught dead in a touristy little gallery like that?”
Rhys opened his mouth to argue but closed it again as he realized I was probably right.
“Shit,” I said. “What are we going to do?”
Rhys checked his watch and looked around, thinking. “Je ne sais pas.”
“What?”
“It means ‘I don’t know.’” Rhys smiled. “Wow. You don’t know any French, do you?”
I rolled my eyes and started walking back to the parking garage. “No, I don’t.”
“You may want to learn. Audrey sounded like we might be sent here on a regular basis.”
“We?” I repeated. “What, you and I are a package deal now?”
“Is that a problem?”
“In my experience, you and I working together doesn’t always work out. We’ve wrecked a car and almost died. Oh, and you stole a bunch of money from me—”
“Hey, I gave it back!”
“Should we call Audrey?”
He had a point.
Back at the car, Rhys started the engine, paid the parking fee and pulled out of the garage.
“Where to, milady?”
I slumped down in my seat. “I guess we should find a hotel and get some food. I haven’t eaten since the flight, and I need a shower. I feel gross.”
“Yeah, you’ve looked better.”
I glared at him. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. You just look a little … disheveled, that’s all.”
I continued glaring. “Drive.”
Rhys nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
We drove away from central Paris, found a small boutique hotel and checked in. Our rooms were next to one another, and I was grateful not to be sharing for once. I just wanted some peace and quiet and a bed to stretch out on. And maybe a big tub to soak in.
Once I was inside the small hotel room, I left my shoes by the door, rolled my suitcase to the corner and threw myself onto the bed.
Oh, yeah. That hits the spot.
“Hey, cool!” Rhys yelled from the other side of the wall. “There’s a door between the two rooms!”
“Hush now. Mummy’s taking a nap,” I yelled back, my face half-buried in my pillow.
After a magnificent snooze and an even nicer bubble bath, I dried my hair and got dressed. The view of the city was amazing. The evening sky cast an orange glow on the stretch of blue roofs and narrow streets. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, dwarfing everything else around it.
Rhys knocked on the door leading to his room. “Can I come in now?”
I unlocked the door and he beamed. “You look freshened up. Did you sleep?”
“A little, yeah.” I pointed to the folder in his hand. “What’s that?”
He sat on the bed and opened the folder. “I thought we could order some room service.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go to a restaurant? I looked it up on Yelp. There are approximately a million restaurants in this city.”
“True,” he said. “But I don’t want to be seen with you.”
Thick as Thieves Page 3
