Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Yesterday, had he asked me if I wanted to do anything with him, my answer would have been a hard and fast no. Now I’d found myself unsure. Possibly leaning a little more toward yes.
He frowned. “Why do you look shocked?”
Because I was in shock. I had thirteen more days with this sharp-jawed bastard, and based on the current trajectory, instead of finding poison ivy at a local flower shop and rubbing it on his pillow at night, I was afraid I was going to end up drunk-banging him. And drunk-banging was how two out of the three horrible relationships I’d been in had started. A little prosecco or chardonnay and my inner sex fiend pulled an Incredible Hulk move.
I definitely could not drink around him, and what a travesty that was. I was in France. The wine capital of the world. Enjoy the wine or enjoy regret from doing the nasty with my work enemy. Shit. He’d asked me a question, hadn’t he?
“Why would I be shocked?” I said, the pitch of my voice a little too high. “I’m not shocked. I’m just—”
“This look—” Vance’s eyes widened to the point they looked like they were about to shoot out of their sockets like a cartoon character—“absolutely says shocked.”
I waved a dismissive hand at him before taking a random photo of tulips. “No, that’s me trying to force myself not to give in to the jetlag.”
He gave an incredulous look. Okay, so it was a horrible lie, but points for creativity.
“We don’t have any more ticketed items until the Eiffel Tower,” I said. “Why don’t we just go do our own things? You can set your timer and flit from one site to the next while I meander around the city.” And I could try to convince myself why fucking him on the trip was a bad idea. Reason number one, his bedpost probably had so many notches it looked like termites had ravaged it.
Pressing his lips together, he shoved a hand into his pocket. And if I needed any more of a push to spend the rest of the afternoon away from him, that sexy, concerned, I will-alpha-you stance right there was it.
I placed a hand on my hip. “If you’re looking at me like that because you think I can’t manage walking around Paris by myself, just stop.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face did,” I said.
“It’s jetlag…” He smirked, and for the first time since his New Year’s party, I didn’t hate it.
After I’d split up from Vance, I went back to the pâtisserie and grabbed that eclair.
I had been right. It was delectable. Airy and super chocolatey. And wandering the city had been exactly what I’d needed to clear my head. By the time I’d checked off the Arc de Triomphe, Trocadéro, one of the flower markets, Notre Dame, and Shakespeare and Company, I’d come up with three solid reasons not to get drunk and possibly hook up with him.
1. Probable slut puppy.
2. Sleeping with a coworker is like shitting where you eat.
3. Having to sit across the conference table from someone who knows what my orgasm face looks like would be awkward as hell.
Those reasons were why, instead of ordering a nice glass of champagne when I’d sat down at one of the terrace cafés to watch the sunset behind the cathedral, I ordered sparkling water. Not that I expected the no-drinking thing to last long but gold star for effort, right?
Closing my eyes, I listened to the tinker of glasses mixed with the conversations in French. Then my phone rattled on the metal bistro table.
(205) 555-9072: The tickets for the Eiffel Tower are in half an hour. See you soon…
“Shit…” I’d completely lost track of time. I had no idea where I was in relation to the Eiffel Tower, but how far could I be?
I swiped off the text thread, pulled up my map, and clicked on the directions. Twenty-eight minutes. Okay, so that far. Great!
How did you get my number?
(205) 555-9072: I texted Margot
Why do you have Margot’s number?
I hit send and immediately regretted it. That sounded… jealous? No… No way in hell. I mean, so what if he had Margot’s number? Why would I care? I didn’t care. It was just weird.
Not that it matters, but it’s weird.
That made it sound better, right?
(205) 555-9072: She gave it to me Friday after work, in case you died. She wanted to make sure she knew.
And I’d thought I was crazy.
I rummaged through my purse for cash as the waiter passed by without looking in my direction.
(205) 555-9072: Are you close?
Travel Tip Number 3: Do as much as you can on your own, especially if your travel partner is an uptight time watcher.
At least that sounded like me before I found him less asshole-ish.
(205) 555-9072: So, you sent that to say that you’re close and you’ll see me in a few minutes.