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His gaze settled on her well stuffed tote bag, and he gave a nod of understanding. The bag contained more than what she would need if she planned to only stay a few hours. Martin was nothing like her deadbeat dad—he cared about her welfare. Her bodyguard met her gaze. “Call me if you need anything, Chloe. The hotel is only three minutes away.” He gave Jordan a quick look, heavy with warning, and headed for the door.
Chloe softly laughed. “I’m surprised Martin didn’t give you his iron handshake while looking you dead in the eye and calling you ‘son’.”
“I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he had,” added Jordan.
“Sorry, he is protective of me.”
“And so he should be. It’s his job to look out for you. I get the distinct impression he really cares about your well-being, and having someone like that protecting your life is worth its weight in gold.”
Martin had been thorough with his background check of Jordan, but it was only after he’d reached out to some other navy SEALs currently employed by the House of Royal that he’d finally given Chloe his reluctant approval to her plan to stay at the apartment, while he went back to the hotel.
She took Jordan’s offered hand, and he led her over to a winding set of stairs. At the bottom he took her tote bag, saying, “I’m afraid this is Paris, and few apartments have elevators, so we will have to climb all the way up to the fifth floor. We can stop for a breather every now and then if you need.”
Chloe gave him a look of mock outrage, as she plucked her tote back out of his hands. “I’ve just got off stage following nearly three hours of dancing and singing. If you think I can’t manage a few flights of stairs in one go, you are sadly mistaken, Mister Royal. Now kindly step aside.”
She’d seen a similar scene in an old 1950s movie starring Audrey Hepburn and took great delight in grandly instructing Jordan to move out of the way.
He was laughing at her teasing for the first few floors, but by the time they finally got to the top, Jordan was huffing and puffing. Chloe in turn, had barely raised a sweat. Her pulse quickly returned to its resting rate. She turned and smiled sweetly at him.
“I dare you to try and tell me you have an old college football injury. Bad knees perhaps?”
He winced. “Harsh. I’m out of shape because I’ve been avoiding the cardio classes at the gym. I never made it to college. Barely got through high school, kept getting kicked out of places.”
And here I was assuming that all billionaires went to Harvard. He really was a bad boy in his younger days.
She wasn’t going to mention that she hadn’t finished school. It was impossible to afford books when you were struggling to find enough money to eat.
From his coat pocket Jordan produced an elegant key and, stepping up to a nearby door, slipped it easily into the lock. Chloe’s excitement grew as she heard the bolt draw back. An old apartment in Paris and a fancy key, it was all so European and romantic. Just like in the movie.
But instead of Audrey Hepburn in A Roman Holiday, I am Chloe in Paris.
She finally snapped out of her day dream when instead of opening the door to the apartment Jordan turned and quickly punched a code into a nearby ultra-modern security pad. They definitely hadn’t had one of those in the movie. “The touchpad ruins the old apartment in Paris look, don’t you think?” she offered.
“Yes, but modern security systems are essential these days, especially in this part of Paris. The sixteenth arrondissement is notorious for break-ins.” he replied, pushing the door open.
He ushered her through the doorway and into the apartment. Chloe waited patiently while Jordan locked the door behind them. “LA isn’t great for burglaries either. I’m fortunate that I live in a gated street and have twenty-four-hour security on site. There is a certain notoriety to be had from robbing the homes of stars.”
Wannabe Bling Ringers can’t touch my house.
Jordan pointed to a small red button on the wall. “I expect you’ve got one or two of these panic buttons at home.”Yep, thank god.“This one is linked to the House of Royal security team. Most of those people are ex-military and some even former special forces. I would put good money on them beating Martin to this place if either of us hit that button.”
It took a great deal of effort for Chloe to pay real attention to the security briefing. She’d been on tenterhooks all day, eager to see Jordan again. In the aftermath of tonight’s performance, she was still coming down from the high. Her thoughts were scattered. But one thing was certain. All she wanted was to be with Jordan. To spend the night together as normal people. Or at least as normal as a famous person and a billionaire could be with one another.
You don’t want to be normal. You want it all. And to be loved.
A glance at her clothes, boots, and the two thousand dollar Gucci tote in her hand had Chloe silently chiding herself. How many women would kill to have the life she had. The success. The fans. The money. Millions of women was the obvious answer.
“Chloe?”
She lifted her head to find a concerned Jordan studying her. “Sorry. I’m still recovering from the concert. It takes a bit to get the body to process all the adrenaline. For my brain to slow.”
There was a lot to concentrate on when she was on stage. Choreography. Her position on stage. Her back up dancers. Costume changes. Even the lyrics to her own songs. And heaven forbid if she ever got the name of the city she was playing in wrong.
He bent and gave her a kiss full of promise. “Come on, let’s go and find you a drink and some food. You must be starving.”
She followed him down a narrow hallway. On either side of the cream painted walls hung black and white framed photos. Dozens of them. In each and every one of them were of groups of people smiling and laughing. Family.
“Who are all these people?” asked Chloe.
