by Julie Kriss
Thirty-Four
Aidan
* * *
Samantha didn’t answer my texts on Sunday. She didn’t answer my phone calls or messages. She didn’t acknowledge me at all.
Something was wrong, but what could I do? Showing up at her building and banging on her door seemed like an asshole move so early in our relationship—our real relationship, that was. If I knew Samantha at all, I knew she wouldn’t appreciate a guy who demanded her attention nonstop. Maybe she needed a day of space, especially since we were going to be back to work Monday morning. After a day of impatient fretting, I decided to make sure we talked on Monday.
Except on Monday, she didn’t come to work.
“Where is she?” I asked Jade, the receptionist.
“Sick,” Jade said. “She called early and said she wouldn’t be in.”
So her phone wasn’t broken, then. It worked well enough for her to call Jade, but not me.
Something was definitely wrong.
I walked back to my office, trying her cell again. No answer. It went straight to voicemail, as if her phone was off.
I had just sat at my desk, perplexed, when Jade rang my desk phone. “I have Emma Riley here, wanting to see you. Were you expecting her?”
I wasn’t expecting Samantha’s sister, but no way was I going to turn her away. “Send her in.”
Emma came in to my office. She was dressed to kill in a pencil skirt and sleeveless top that fit her perfectly. Her red hair was tied up on top of her head.
“Well,” she said without preamble, closing my office door behind her and sitting down, “you’ve done it, Aidan.”
“Done what?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. I’d met Emma once, when I set up the contract for her to find me an executive assistant. Now I could see that she resembled Samantha, though she had a more aggressive air about her. And even without knowing her, I could tell she was definitely pissed at me.
“Of course you don’t bother looking at the gossip sites, do you?” she said. “Even when they’re talking about you.”
She was being rude to a paying client, which meant something was really wrong. “Emma, tell me what you mean.”
“That little stunt at the benefit, showing up with a model. You thought she wouldn’t see that? I sent it to her myself.”
The penny dropped. I pinched the bridge of my nose. That was why Samantha was ignoring my calls. “I gave Angelica a ride because her car service didn’t show. We arrived at the benefit and went our separate ways. I don’t suppose the gossip sites mentioned that?”
“No. At least, not until today, when Angelica Barnes gave a statement that you two are only acquaintances and are definitely not dating.”
“Which I would have told Samantha myself if she’d answered any of my calls or texts. But fine. Once she sees the update, I’ll talk to her and explain.”
For the first time, Emma fidgeted. “You can’t exactly do that.”
“Why not?”
“She left.”
That made no sense. “Left where?”
“New York.”
For a second I was so stunned I could do nothing but stare at her. Then I got up and paced to one end of my office, then the other. “You’re telling me,” I said finally, “that Samantha—the calmest, most competent person I know—saw a single photo on a gossip site and, without talking to me, she packed a bag and left town?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.” Emma sighed. “Okay, I agree—it’s insane, stupid behavior. And it’s nothing like the way she usually acts. In fact, I’ve never known her to be insane or stupid in my life. That’s why this is extra worrying.”
I leaned on my desk and looked hard at her. “You know where she is, don’t you?”
“She told me, yes, so that I wouldn’t worry whether she was safe. But she told me not to tell you, and I promised.”
That should have pissed me off. Instead, my mind started ticking, thinking about where she would go. Because there was no way I was going to let Samantha walk out of my life because of one stupid photo. “Why did she do it?” I asked Emma. “She could have called me, even if it was just to yell at me and call me names. Samantha has the coolest head of any woman I’ve ever met. Why would she pull this stunt now?”
“I think it’s for a few days. She’ll come to her senses and come back. But she did it in the first place because her pieces are falling apart.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Emma looked thoughtful. “She told you about our adoption, right?”
I nodded.
“It’s hard to explain,” Emma said. “We have great parents and had a happy childhood. We’ve both done well. But when you’re not only adopted, but abandoned, there’s a piece that is always missing. Most adopted kids know there’s a record somewhere of who their real parents are, even if they can’t access it. Samantha and I don’t even have that. We’ll live our entire lives without knowing.” She looked away, her eyes serious. “And even when you’ve had a good life like we have, it’s like a puzzle piece that’s missing. The rest of the puzzle is there, but there’s that one hole, and you know you’ll never have the piece that fills it. You’ll never have the answers.” She looked at me. “Her puzzle started breaking apart. It wasn’t just that silly photo, Aidan. It was you.”
“Me?”
“You’ve pushed her off balance. She’s never had a serious boyfriend in her life, or any man she’s had real feelings about. Samantha is like me—everything is under control as long as true emotions aren’t involved. Deep feelings mess up your life. Everyone knows that.”
I looked at her. Emma might look obviously different from Samantha—the red hair, for one, and she was taller with fewer curves—but when you talked to her, you saw the similarity. Emma was as smooth, as unruffled as Samantha was. She was calm and imperturbable. All the qualities that made for a top-notch executive assistant. She had every detail in place, like Samantha.
At least, until I came along. Now Samantha was a woman who left town on a whim and played hooky from work.
“You’re saying she pulled this stunt because she has feelings for me,” I said.
“Yes.” Now Emma looked annoyed. “What did you do to her? I know my sister. A few dates and nice words from a good-looking man wouldn’t do it. Your money would have no effect on her. She’s hard to impress—you could put her on your private jet and she would just shrug. Even great sex wouldn’t crack Samantha, though I don’t want any details, please. So what the hell did you do?”
I dared her to play other roles and be other women, I thought. I pushed her outside herself and I made all the pieces scramble. “It’s just my charm,” I said, deflecting the question. “And I don’t have a private jet. I fly commercial. I’m rich, but I’m not an asshole.”
Emma still looked annoyed. “Well, if she’s just another fuck to you then I’m going to have to castrate you, Aidan. Because you broke my sister.”
I raised my eyebrows. I could very easily see this woman robbing a man of his balls and going on with her day. God help any man who tried to take her on—he’d have to have confidence the size of Staten Island.
But if she wanted to do a cold negotiation, then I was her match. Cold was the Man in Black’s middle name. “She isn’t just a fuck to me,” I said. “She’s the only woman I want, not that it’s any of your concern. And if you think Samantha is broken, then you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Are you going to tell me where she is?”
“No,” Emma said. “Of course not. That’s off the table.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if you’d leave, because I’m going to go find her.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You think you can do that?”
“I know I can do it within half an hour if I track her credit cards, but I don’t need to. I already know where she is.”
“You’re bluffing,” Emma said. “You can’t possibly know.”
“I already do.” I smiled.
“Big emotions, Emma. I’m going to go express mine to your sister. You might want to get out of the way.”
Thirty-Five
Samantha
* * *
Paris was even more beautiful than I’d imagined. It was a big city, full of life and intense energy. But the air smelled different than New York, the people were more elegant, and the architecture was some of the most beautiful I’d ever seen.
I stood in the winding neighborhood of Montmartre, looking up at the extravagant, white-domed church of Sacre-Coeur, watching the tourists pass by. I’d just had a baguette with fresh cheese, and in my bag I carried a well-thumbed guidebook and a pamphlet of conversational French phrases. It was all perfect for the role of “American tourist,” but this time it wasn’t a role. It was just who I was.
How I got here was a blur. There had been that photo of Aidan and my stupid reaction to it. My logical mind had told me that there was a rational explanation, that the Aidan I knew wouldn’t spend the morning making love to me while he was already fucking a supermodel. I’d told myself to talk to him about it even as I’d packed my bags and gone to the airport. It was like I was splintered into two people, and the crazy Samantha had already maxed out her credit card on a plane ticket before she even knew what she was doing.
Part of me wanted to be run. Part of me wanted any excuse at all.
I’d landed, found a hotel. Remembered to call work and tell them I wasn’t coming in. Crashed and slept. Then I’d woken up, showered and changed, and gone walking.
I looked around, letting it sink in for the millionth time. I was really in Paris. I’d gone to the Eiffel Tower first, then the Arc de Triomphe. Being the awestruck American tourist I was. I didn’t know where the best bistros or the coolest jazz clubs were. I’d learned the hard way that they didn’t do American coffee here, but shots of espresso topped with milk that powered you straight out of your jet lag. I wore jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt and carried a messenger bag. I wasn’t sophisticated, and I didn’t care. This was the city I’d always dreamed about, the greatest place on Earth.
At the bottom of my bag, my phone was off. Was Aidan still trying to talk to me, I wondered? Maybe he was angry with me by now. I felt an ache deep in my stomach at the thought of him that last day, the way he’d touched me. No man had ever touched me like that, and how it made me feel was terrifying.
I didn’t think he would touch another woman like that while he was making promises to me. It was just a photograph. But then again, we’d played a lot of games. Maybe Aidan played other games I didn’t know about.
The thought made me want to throw up.
I gazed at Sacre-Coeur for a while, then wandered down the hill to the neighborhood streets. This was idyllic Paris—café’s, patios with bright umbrellas, Parisians walking by with their groceries tucked under their arms. I found a café with a menu in English and sat down, ordering a cappuccino.
On the table next to me, left by the last customer, was a copy—an actual newsprint copy—of the New York Times. I’d only been gone from New York for just over a day, and still I leaned over and picked it up, leafing through it, the splintered part of me that still longed for New York, and Aidan, eager to scan the news.
My cappuccino came, and I sipped it as I turned the newsprint pages. And then, in the business section, I saw the headline.
The Egerton brothers, the ones who had commented on my ass, were under investigation by the SEC. They’d been set to offer their company publicly on the stock exchange, but then evidence had come to light that proved they had stolen the software that they’d used to launch the company. The theft itself would have gotten them in trouble, but the fact that they were going to sell shares in a company based on fraud brought in federal investigators. The company was finished, there would be no IPO, and both men were looking at criminal charges and possibly jail time.
My mind went back to Aidan at the airport as we’d waited for our flight to Chicago, reading a report about the Egerton brothers on his laptop. This was originally a revenge thing for me, but now I’m finding interesting information. And then: You should know this about me, Samantha. I’m not a nice person, especially in business.
I had a sinking feeling. Was this Aidan’s doing? Because of me?
It was absurd. What kind of ego did I have, thinking that the biggest financial story of the year was because of me? But Aidan had been so sure. And he’d said he had interesting information.
I blinked at the story in front of me as the words blurred and came into focus again. If it was true, what kind of person did that make Aidan, the man I’d spent hours in bed with before I left New York? Ruthless. Cold, even. Sure, the Egertons were jerks, and if they’d stolen software and then tried to sell public shares, then they deserved a federal investigation. But now they were ruined, maybe forever. And I had the feeling that Aidan Winters would have no problem sleeping at night.
I closed the paper and pushed it away. Then I reached into my bag and got out my phone. I turned it on, letting it power up and find a signal. Messages and alerts started downloading, several dozen in all. Texts from Emma, who I’d told where I was so she wouldn’t worry. And then texts from Aidan.
At first he’d texted me like normal, and then when I hadn’t answered he’d been curious. Then alarmed. But the latest text was from an hour ago, and he wasn’t alarmed anymore. I scrolled to it and stared at it, taking it in.
I hope you’re enjoying Paris, he wrote. I’m on my way.
Thirty-Six
Aidan
* * *
Did she think it was over? She was wrong.
As the plane landed at Charles de Gaulle, I pulled my bag from under my seat. I’d be out of the airport in minutes, because I had no checked bags. Just what I could carry.
I was wearing jeans and a tee. I hadn’t shaved and I’d left off the expensive watch. This wasn’t a role for me; this was the real Aidan, the runaway kid from Chicago. The woman next to me in the first-class seat had eyed me up and down numerous times, giving me a quiet invitation. The old Aidan would have struck up a conversation with her, given her a fake name, then fucked her anonymously in a hotel somewhere. The new Aidan wasn’t interested at all.
I only wanted one woman, and I’d come here to find her.
When I’d come to Samantha’s apartment, the game had been over.
But now we were playing again. A new version. And this was the game that I played for forever.
Thirty-Seven
Samantha
* * *
I spent the next morning in the Louvre, looking at some of the greatest art in the history of the world. It was incredible, but even as I stared at the Mona Lisa, I thought of Aidan. I wondered if he’d ever been here and seen this.
I’m on my way, he’d said. But I didn’t know what flight he was on or when he’d land. I didn’t even know if he was telling the truth. Though something told me that the man who could sink the Egerton brothers with one blow wasn’t fooling around.
I walked out of the Louvre, pausing to turn back and look at its astounding beauty. Even with the crowds everywhere, it was breathtaking. I’d kept my phone on, and it sounded in my bag with a text.
Aidan: Do you want me to guess where you are?
I didn’t even think; that stupid photograph felt like a year ago. I called him.
“Samantha,” he said when he answered. “Bonjour.”
My knees tried to go weak, right there at the Louvre, at the sound of his voice. I loved his voice. “How did you guess where I am?” I asked.
“It’s your happy place, remember? Did you think I wasn’t listening?”
My hand was shaking, my throat dry. Just his voice was doing this to me. I’d missed him so much, and it had only been days. I was in big, big trouble.
“You came here for me,” I said.
“Yes. I’ve been here before, though only on business and never as a tourist. I like it. Is it as magical as you thought it would be?”
&n
bsp; “Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m glad. I could ask where you are, but you seem to have gone temporarily insane, so you’re not going to tell me.”
I started walking away from the museum. “I’m not insane.” Just in love with you. “Just hurt, I think.”
“Which means you’re insane, because I know you wouldn’t believe that I’d leave your bed and go fuck a supermodel. You’re far too smart for that.”
I hadn’t believed it, not really. But he was Aidan Winters, and larger than life. He could have anyone. “It was a moment of weakness,” I admitted.
“Her car service canceled on her, if you care. We split a ride, then went our separate ways. But I’m not wasting any more time on that. Right now I’m going to find you.”
“How?” I asked, because he had me curious now.
“I could do it nefariously, I admit. I know people who can track your credit card. I know other people who could probably track your cell phone if I paid their fee.”
“If you do that, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I know, and you’d be right. So I haven’t done it. Besides, I’d rather guess. It’s more fun that way.”
I shook my head. “Aidan, Paris is a huge place. There’s no way you can guess where I am right now.”
“Can’t I? You’re not at the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe, because you’ve already been there. Those were the first two places you went.”
I was silent in shock.
“I’m right,” Aidan said with that irresistible cockiness. “I’m trying to figure out where you went next. Montmartre is a Samantha kind of place, but then again so is the Left Bank. I can’t decide which one you went to.”
Again I was silent, because he was so freaking close. “Are you sure you’re not tracking my cell phone?”
