by Maggie Way
“It’ll look beautiful,” Juliette said.
“Brooke will love it,” Zoey agreed. “Do you think the caterers can manage?”
“I know they carve watermelons. I imagine carving pineapples won’t be too different. I’ll make sure they do a few trial runs so we can create a backup plan if necessary. It’ll be unique and elegant.”
“And go perfect with the sundae bar.”
“I’m sorry,” Mitch cut in. “Carving pineapples?”
“It’s going to look awesome,” Zoey said. “They’ll be cut in half and have a heart with Brooke and Luke’s monogram carved near the top. We’ll hollow out the center to use as the ice cream bowls.” Zoey turned back to Juliette. “Now, I know Brooke wanted a monogram on the dance floor. How will that work?”
“I have a few different monograms that I’ll send over for her approval today. We’ll bring in a wooden floor for dancing and either project or hand-paint the monogram on it, depending on Brooke’s preference.”
“I think she’ll want it hand-painted, but I’ll check with her.”
Hand-painted monograms and a hundred sculpted pineapples. The whole thing was so ridiculous. When Mitch got married—if he ever got married—he wanted a quick ceremony at the courthouse, and that was that. No wasting hard-earned cash that could be invested into a retirement fund on a party that would last less than a day, and that everyone would soon forget.
Okay, no one would forget Brooke and Luke’s lavish affair anytime soon. But the whole thing still seemed frivolous.
His mind flashed to Zoey, a short veil shrouding her face, bright red lipstick begging him to kiss her. A white silk gown hugged her form, very old Hollywood. He couldn’t imagine she’d ever agree to a courthouse wedding, although she was spontaneous enough for an elopement.
He shook his head. It didn’t matter what Zoey wanted for a wedding. Some other guy would get to deal with that.
Get to deal with that? What was wrong with him? More like have to deal with it. It would take a special guy to handle Zoey’s brand of chaos, and Mitch was man enough to admit he didn’t have what it took.
“I think that’s all for today,” Juliette said, tucking her iPad back into her messenger bag. “We have an appointment to review the set list with the quartet tomorrow at ten.”
“We’ll be there,” Mitch said. “Are you sure there’s nothing else we should be doing today?”
Juliette smiled. “Just enjoy yourselves. Things are going to get busy very quickly. This is Zoey’s first time in Paris, no? Show her the sights, and enjoy the downtime while you can.”
Zoey shot Mitch a smug grin. “Thank you, Juliette,” she said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Juliette waved and left the gardens.
“An afternoon of freedom,” Zoey said. “I’ve got a list of what I want to see.”
“Did you sleep at all on the plane? You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m back in California.” She looked around the gardens regretfully. “I think I could spend a week just admiring Versailles, but I’m sure we’ll be at the gardens a lot over the next two weeks.”
“Do you want to give the Eiffel Tower a try, then?”
“I think that’s best experienced at night. We could go to Notre Dame. Oh, or maybe Sacre Coeur! Or the Louvre or the Arc de Triomphe.” She took off down the path, calling over her shoulder, “Hurry up, slow poke.”
Mitch shook his head, admiring the view more than he should as she walked away. He hated how much he wanted to follow her anywhere, to do anything. Zoey was like a poisonous plant, luring in her prey. One bite and you were as good as gone.
Zoey’s enthusiasm as they drove into Paris was infectious. She had the window rolled down and kept pointing out landmarks with a squeal.
He’d traveled the world while working for Ryder Communications, but rarely had time to see more than the inside of a conference room. He’d forgotten that going to new places could be exciting. Mitch was glad they had some free time in their schedule to visit some of the sights. Zoey deserved to experience Paris, even if he was a crappy tour guide.
Zoey tapped away at her phone, then flipped to what looked like a map of the city. “Brooke says to go to the Arc de Triomphe first. Apparently the traffic circle from up there is insane.”
“It’s like five in the morning in L.A.”
Zoey shrugged. “She doesn’t sleep much these days. Looks like the Arc de Triomphe is within walking distance from Luke’s, and we can take the metro everywhere else, like a true Parisian.”
“Okay.” Mitch couldn’t stop his lips from curving up in a smile. Zoey’s eyes sparkled, making the green flecks hidden in pools of caramel pop.
“What, no complaint?”
“For the rest of the afternoon, I’ll follow your lead.” He’d just have to remember that today was a one-time thing. They were here to work, not to flirt.
“Ooo, sounds dangerous.”
Mitch rolled his eyes as the words made his pulse race. “The traffic’s kind of crazy. Why don’t we just walk from here? We’re only a few blocks away.”
“That works.”
He leaned forward. “Phillipe, we’ll get out here and take the metro for the rest of the day. Can you please pick us up from the hotel at nine o’clock tomorrow morning for our appointment with the orchestra?”
“Oui,” Phillipe said. “I will be there.”
He waited for a break in traffic, then jerked to the side of the road. Zoey slid sideways at the motion, her shoulder brushing against Mitch. Her arms were bare, and Mitch felt as though he’d burst into flames at the heat.
“Sorry,” Zoey breathed. Her eyes were wide, her lips curved up in a smile that drove him mad. What did that smile mean? Was she thinking of those few months last winter when they had almost been something to each other?
Zoey straightened and tightened her seat belt. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face as she turned toward the window. Mitch swallowed. He needed to get his head on straight. He couldn’t let her get to him. Again.
Phillipe double-parked beside a moped. He turned around, grinning. “This good, monsieur?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Phillipe.” Mitch quickly got out and held the door for Zoey. She slid across the seat, stretching one long leg out of the car. Her heels had to be at least six inches tall. How was she going to spend an entire afternoon walking in those things?
“Thanks, Phillipe,” she called over her shoulder.
Mitch shut the door, and Phillipe sped into traffic, cutting off three cars who honked loudly.
Zoey let out a long breath. “Phew. I thought we were going to die in that car.”
Mitch knew what she meant but felt like he had to defend Phillipe. “He’s a good driver.”
“If by good you mean terrifying.”
Mitch pointedly looked at her shoes. “I thought someone like you would appreciate living on the edge.”
“There’s living on the edge, and then there’s just plain being unsafe.” Zoey glanced down at her phone again, then pointed in the wrong direction. “I think the Arc de Triomphe is a block or two that way.”
Mitch laughed, gently turning her forty-five degrees. Her skin was soft and smooth, and he quickly dropped his hands. “It’s right over there. See it?”
Zoey’s eyes searched the horizon, then she let out a squeal that nearly broke his ear drums. She grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. Mitch stumbled, caught off guard by the gesture. Did she realize holding hands made them look like a couple?
“Let’s hurry,” Zoey said. “I’m making every second of today count. I want to see the city from the top.”
Mitch increased his stride. “Are you sure you can walk up all those stairs in heels? I think the elevator is for special needs only.”
Zoey shot him a scathing glare and dropped his hand. “I can do more in these heels than most men can do in tennis shoes. I will walk up every single one of those steps, and I’ll bet you a crêpe
I beat you to the top.”
Mitch grinned, unable to resist the challenge. “You’re on.”
They crossed the street, almost getting hit by an impatient driver who blazed through the intersection. Zoey barely seemed to notice. She turned around the corner and let out a laugh.
“What?” Mitch asked, looking around. The road was crowded with honking cars, the streets lined with businesses.
“The Champs-Élysées. I’ve dreamed of seeing this my entire life.”
The road was nice and everything, and the name did seem familiar, but Mitch wasn’t sure what the big deal was.
Zoey pulled out her phone and yanked Mitch to her side, smashing their cheeks together. She’d taken a picture before he could blink. “For Jasmine,” she explained. “This is one of the most famous shopping districts in the world. She is going to die of jealousy.”
Mitch took in the street with new interest. “I think I’ve heard Jasmine mention it before, now that you say that.”
“How’s the internship going?”
“I haven’t talked to her yet. She was supposed to start today.”
“She’s going to do great. I’ve always admired Jasmine for her drive. She knows what she wants, and I think she’s going to get it.”
“She’s moving back in with me.”
Zoey raised an eyebrow. “What about her apartment?”
“A deal is a deal, and I’m not going to pay for it if she isn’t going to school. But I still want to be supportive. It seemed like a good compromise.” No doubt Zoey thought he should keep throwing money at Jasmine.
“That’s really great, Mitch.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I get why you won’t pay for her apartment anymore, but you’re still helping her out. She’ll appreciate her success more since you aren’t making it easy for her.”
Well, that was the last thing he’d expected Zoey to say. “Th-thank you,” he stammered.
“There’s more than one right way, Mitch. I’m glad you’re letting Jasmine find hers.”
And the warm, fuzzy feelings were gone. He was being supportive, yes. But he still thought Jasmine was making a big mistake.
Mitch shoved his hands in his pockets. “Let’s cross the street. There’s a tunnel underneath the traffic circle with access to the monument.”
They crossed the street and entered the tunnel in silence. Let Jasmine find her own way. He snorted. Like Zoey had parented a nineteen-year-old and was all-wise. He was letting Jasmine move in so he could keep an eye on her, and hopefully encourage her to get back on track.
Zoey had no idea what she was talking about.
They exited the tunnel, and Mitch’s mind abruptly cleared. The structure towered over them, more impressive than he’d expected. The white stone rose toward the sky, an intricately carved tribute to Napoleon that took his breath away. A flame burned in the center of the archway.
Zoey bypassed the tour guide speaking in accented English and headed straight to the ticket booth.
“Don’t you want to hear about the history of the monument?” Mitch asked, glancing back at the tour guide.
“I can read a textbook on French history later. Who knows how long we can get away with playing tourist? Brooke’s already texted me three things to check on tomorrow.”
Mitch sighed, stepping into line behind Zoey. He shouldn’t be surprised that she wasn’t a fan of history. It was yet another way they were completely incompatible. If only his body would get the memo, and he could stop finding her so dang attractive.
Mitch bought two tickets, and they bypassed the elevator with a “handicapped only” sign and found the stairs.
“Two hundred eighty-four steps to the top. Still sure you can make it?” Mitch asked.
Zoey snorted, elbowing her way in front of him. “Yes—while keeping my heels on. And I’ll still beat you to the top, guaranteed.”
The inside of the arc had fifteen flights of stairs, zig-zagging back and forth with each flight. After four flights, Mitch’s legs started to burn. By ten, he was struggling for air. But Zoey kept going, slowly pulling ahead of him, first by two steps, then by five, then ten.
“How are you doing this?” Mitch gasped, struggling to pick up the pace. His own feet ached in his well broken-in black dress shoes. He’d ran from one end of conference centers to another in these shoes, but his arches burned, and his toes tingled from all the stairs.
“I spend an hour on the Stairmaster four times a week.”
“And you wear those shoes while you’re at the gym?”
She stopped walking, giving him a chance to catch up. He stood on the step below her, wishing for a water bottle.
“Of course I don’t,” she said. “Wearing heels to the gym would be ridiculous.”
“And wearing heels while wandering around Paris isn’t?”
“If I’d known we’d have a chance to explore the city, obviously I would’ve opted for some flats. But I’m not about to let shoes slow me down.” She started up the steps again. Mitch sucked in a deep gulp of air and followed.
“You could’ve warned me you did the Stairmaster before we made that bet.”
She put a finger to her lip as though thinking. “Should I get my crêpe with bananas or with strawberries? So many decisions.”
“I could still win, you know. We have three flights of stairs left.”
“Try and catch me. I dare you.”
And then she sprinted up the last three flights.
When Mitch walked onto the top of the arc five minutes later, he was gasping for air, feeling like an idiot for being shown up by a girl in stilettos. Zoey waited for him, a grin splitting her face.
“I think I’ll take my crêpe with Nutella, whipped cream, and bananas,” she said. “I’ll save the strawberries for when I beat you to the top of Notre Dame.”
He’d happily lose again if he could see that smile.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the five-foot-high spikes surrounding the roof. He loved the way their hands looked together, rich cream against dark coffee.
Zoey dropped his hand and wrapped each of hers around one of the spikes, peering down at the street. “Holy crap. The traffic looks even worse from up here.”
Mitch stepped up beside her and peered down. The area around the Arc de Triomphe was a chaotic tangle of vehicles. There were no clearly defined lines or rules, and horns blared as Mitch witnessed more than one close call.
“These people have to be insane,” Mitch said.
“I don’t know. There’s a beauty in the chaos, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know if beautiful is the word I would use to describe it. Disorderly. Unsafe. Dangerous.”
She turned around, facing him. Her arms were folded, a sure sign of dissatisfaction. “You know what, Mitch? You’re so busy trying to be safe that you forget to live. Sometimes you have to take a risk.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch saw a man in jeans and a baseball cap. There was nothing to make him stand out from the crowd, but a prickle of familiarity made Mitch take a second glance. It only took him a moment to recognize the profile.
“You mean a risk like dating a reporter?” Mitch asked.
Zoey’s head whipped around. “What?”
“Looks like your boyfriend’s followed us to France.”
Chapter Eleven
There was no freakin’ way Alan had followed Zoey to Paris. That would be creepy. Weird. Unacceptable.
She searched the crowd on top of the monument for someone in a business suit and tie, but only Mitch matched that description. Her eyes roved the crowd again, this time looking for Alan’s silver-streaked hair.
Mitch grabbed her arm. “Don’t look. We need to figure out a plan, and I’m not sure letting him know we’re aware he’s here is the best course of action.”
“I’m not sure he is here.” He couldn’t be.
Mitch sighed, the sound filled with exasperation. “At least be casual abo
ut it. He’s standing near the corner, a few yards behind you. Jeans, a gray T-shirt and a baseball cap, camera around his neck.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t just look like Alan?” She craned her neck, searching.
If Alan was here, that meant he’d followed them. He might know they’d been to Versailles. Might realize they were planning a wedding. So how could she convince him it wasn’t Brooke’s?
“Geez, could you be any more obvious? He’s going to notice us.”
“So?”
“So if he knows we’re on to him, he’ll be more aggressive and harder to lose.”
She glared, knowing her smoky eyeshadow would make it that much more intimidating. “I am being casual.” His faith in her was insulting. With exaggerated slowness, Zoey turned around, pretending to admire the architecture of the monument. “How’s this?” she asked, adding an extra bite to her tone.
“You look like someone trying to look casual.”
“There’s no pleasing you.” She scanned the crowd, passing right over Alan before zeroing back in. Dark hair tinged with unnatural gray peeked out from under a UCLA ball cap, and well-worn jeans hung low on his hips. He raised the camera to his eye, instantly transporting Zoey back to when she’d doused it in sticky soda. Had he bought a new camera or managed to fix the one she’d tried to ruin? Is that how he’d gotten the pictures off of it?
Alan. In Paris. Why did Mitch have to be right?
Zoey turned away, careful to keep the motion natural. Her heart jumped in her chest with each painful thump. “It’s him,” she said.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of accusation in Mitch’s voice? “How did he know we were here?”
Her mind rapidly filed through a thousand possibilities, from the plausible to the absurd. Surely he hadn’t bugged her purse in the five minutes they’d had an actual conversation at the charity event. That was a little too 007 for real life. Besides, she hadn’t even brought that purse with her to Paris, although she’d dumped all the contents of it into the one she carried now.
“Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions,” Zoey said. “It could be a crazy coincidence.”
“Come on, you don’t really believe that.”
