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No, I think as I make the landing, looking down the hall in the direction of Lucas’s apartment. It’s not that I pushed myself too hard. I’m under prepared. If runners like Alex are going to be in the race, then I need to be pushing myself even harder.
I stumble down the hallway, already thinking of what I need to do. I’ll have to stay away from beer for a while. Alcohol will put on weight, which will make me slower. I’ll need to eat leaner meat, stick to vegetables, possibly run twice a day.
I lean against the door while I search for my keys. Site seeing with Hunter is definitely out. The only thing I can think of is sinking my swollen muscles into Rachel’s tub and taking a very long nap in my bed.
Possibly her bed.
She won’t mind.
I groan when I finally get the keys into the door, dropping them onto the floor while kicking the doors closed. “Hunter,” I rasp, grimacing at the pain in my throat while I strip off my clothes.
No one answers.
My hands slide against the walls, trying to keep myself upright as I walk into Rachel’s room and start the tub. “Hunter?” I call again, wondering if he’s alright.
Once again no one answers. Not even Lucas.
I ease my body into the hot water, hissing in both pain in joy as I feel my muscles relax. I lean my head back against the headrest and decide my talk with Hunter will just have to wait. My eyes shut, and I imagine myself crossing the finish line, my body slamming into the banner with Alex just a few feet behind me. I imagine his face, a mixture of anger and horror and a small smile graces my lips.
5
RACHEL
I tug at my pencil skirt, trying to pull it down after I finish walking towards the museum. I take a moment to gaze up at the pyramid made from glass. Architecturally speaking, the building is extraordinary. I could gaze at it for hours. The palace surrounding it makes me want to return to my art history books, peak inside and reread all the facts about the paintings and the artists residing within its premises.
Entering the pyramid, I flash a badge I received in a packet about a week ago, which had also contained information on the French culture and some tips and tricks on how to travel around the city. The guard nods at me, allowing me to walk past the long line of tourists already forming outside the museum.
I guess it’s good to get here early.
Thankfully, I’ll be working amongst the beautiful paintings for the rest of the summer and won’t need to worry about lines. At least for the Louvre. I’m sure there were plenty of other lines waiting for me.
I frown while I stride through the museum, my heels clacking on the polished floor. I really wish I would have gotten at least some site seeing out of the way. I feel like I completely wasted my time, and I’m worried what my boss will think since I missed out on the yesterday’s meeting. I’m sure my manager already thinks the worst of me. I know I would.
I inwardly groan and stare down at my attire. Maybe I should have worn flats. I’m probably going to be on my feet all day. I scowl at my skirt, wishing it was a bit longer. In my attempts to look like a stylish Parisian, I ended up looking like an awkward American girl, who has no clue what she’s doing in a place like this.
My gaze lifts as I hear the clacking of heels heading towards me. In front of me, I see a petite older woman, looking to be in her late thirties or early forties, with blond hair in a neat bun at the top of her head. Her dark eyes zero in on me. Herdark-rimmedglasses hang low on her nose. I smile brightly, happy to see she’s also wearing a pencil skirt and blazer combination just like me. I guess I chose correctly. A small red scarf is tied pristinely around her neck, making me want to go shopping later.
The woman stops a foot from me, looking me up and down for a moment before saying, “You must be Rachel Miller.”
I nod and hold out my hand, excitement making my movements jerky. Her English is absolutely perfect with only a slight French accent. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Arnaud.”
“Dr. Arnaud,” the woman corrects me, taking my hand gently and shaking it so quickly I hardly felt her touch at all. “I didn’t go to school all those years to be called Mrs.”
“Oh.” My hand lowers and I instantly want to crawl under one of those paintings hanging on the wall and hide from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“You didn’t come to the meeting yesterday,” Dr. Arnaud says while turning round. I rush after her, not knowing how she is able to walk so briskly and gracefully with heels on.
“Yes, I was having some problems with jet lag. Unfortunately, I fell asleep and woke up 22 hours later.” I chuckle awkwardly, hoping she will understand. Given her job, I’m sure she travels all the time and knows how it can affect the body.
“Excuses won’t get you anywhere,” she says, making me feel even more mortified and angry with myself.
She’s right. They won’t. My gaze lowers to the floor as I follow her while worry eats at me, making my stomach churn and my fingers pick at one another. I mentally kick myself, knowing I should have just busted my butt and gone to the meeting. Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty now.
“Unfortunately, I won’t have time to give you a tour of the museum now,” says Dr. Arnaud while she turns around. I watch her hand gesture towards a grey door. “You’ll just have to make do. This is where you can put your things.” Her gaze lowers to my feet as I keep shifting my weight back and forth. “Heels aren’t a requirement. You’ll be doing a lot of walking here.”
Crap. I should have known.
Dr. Arnaud smiles thinly. “Just try not to wear tennis shoes.”
