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“I love you too,” I whisper, dragging him to me and taking his mouth in a possessive kiss that would banish both of our doubts.
I groan when I hear the muffled ring of his phone inside the flat.
He doesn’t seem happy with the interruption either. The ringtone is one I recognize as belonging to his assistant.
“I told Lily I would be out of touch for a few days,” he mutters without releasing me.
“If she’s calling anyway, it must be important. Why don’t you find out what she wants?” I extricate myself from his arms and gesture for him to go. “I’ll clean up.”
He heads inside and answers the call. Some of the impatience with the intrusion leaves his voice when I hear him mention the recreation center and problems with one of the construction contracts.
“That son of a bitch. He agreed to those terms months ago, so unless he wants to take me on personally about this—” He rakes a hand through his hair and grinds out a curse. “No. On second thought, forget it. I’d rather cut the bastard loose and go somewhere else. The center is the most important thing. Can you forward me the file with the other bids, Lily? Thanks.”
He meets my gaze as I carry the last of the dishes in from the terrace and start filling the dishwasher.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, muting the call. “I need to take care of this right now. I could be a while.”
“It’s okay. Do whatever you have to. I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen, and then I think I’ll take a little walk outside.” His brow rankles, but before he can voice an objection I walk up to him and silence him with a brief kiss. “I’ll be fine. You took care of all my monsters, remember? Besides, what kind of trouble do you think I can run into on a street full of haute couture and luxury hotels?”
He doesn’t look enthused with the idea, but he doesn’t argue. With a tight nod, he steps into the other room, resuming his conversation with Lily.
Chapter 26
I head out a few minutes later, wearing cropped black pants, ballet flats, and a cap-sleeved striped shirt that makes me feel a bit like Audrey Hepburn. The tree-lined Avenue George V outside Nick’s building is bustling with pedestrians and street traffic. Shoppers and tourists and residents of all types stroll past me as I meander on the sidewalk, admiring the city’s historic architecture, from the residential buildings and famed designer boutiques to the charming bistros and cafes.
Paris is a feast for the senses and I soak it all in, feeling transported and alive, and so very in love.
My stroll has taken me to the end of the long boulevard before I realize how far I’ve wandered. I turn back, eager to explore the city with Nick once he’s finished with his business. I’m nearly to his building when I spot a flash of strawberry-blonde hair and a familiar face up ahead of me on the shady sidewalk.
Claire Prentice.
She’s stepping out of a Rolls Royce limousine with an older gentleman just outside the entrance of the Four Seasons hotel. She’s dressed expensively, draped in an elegant champagne-colored dress that accentuates every curve with understated, but unquestionably sexy, style. She’s much taller than her obviously moneyed companion, whom I guess to be at least twice her age with his thinning dark hair and rounded midsection.
She glances my way but doesn’t seem to notice my wave.
“Claire!” I try again, hurrying toward her to say hello.
My shout halts her. She turns her head in my direction and I see the surprise register on her beautiful face. Her expression freezes, her smile held in place as I approach.
“Avery, hello. How lovely to see you.” Despite the warmth of her voice, I feel a prickle of awkwardness as I near her and the gentleman accompanying her. She air-kisses my cheek, still beaming at me in greeting. “What a surprise to see you here. What brings you to Paris?”
“I’m here with Nick. His apartment is just up the street from here.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize he kept a place in Paris.”
As she speaks, I glance at her companion, whom I notice seems more businesslike than intimate with her. “What about you? Are you here on an acting job?”
The man smirks, then murmurs something to her in French before stepping away from us, toward the doorman standing at the entrance of the pricey hotel.
“Uh,” Claire stammers. “I’m here with my friend.”
And then I realize I must be an idiot. The fancy hotel. The older, wealthy man. The sense that he and Claire have possibly only just met each other. It all adds up and now I feel worse than awkward. I wish the pavement would open up and swallow me.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”
“Of course, you didn’t,” she whispers. Then leans in close, adding wryly, “In a way, what I do is acting, right?”
I blink at the odd statement. The inadvertent admission that has just told me something even more unexpected.
