Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  The pebbles were pinging around in her stomach, angry ricochets that made Zoey want to throw up. She’d been so sure at the time that causing a scene—and ruining the camera—was the way to keep this quiet. But all she’d succeeded in doing was making everything worse.

  Maybe Mitch was right, and she was too much of a free spirit.

  “So the paparazzi didn’t do anything illegal, the stories will still be printed, and Brooke and I will still be hounded,” Luke said.

  “Most likely.” Mitch swallowed, and for the first time, Zoey saw a hint of discomfort. “We can increase security measures around you and Brooke to try and keep the wedding secret. And we can increase security at the actual wedding—that way if paparazzi find it, they at least won’t be able to get in.”

  “We’re supposed to leave for Paris tomorrow,” Brooke said. “Speculation is already rampant that France is a possible wedding location. This is going to fuel the fire.”

  “Disguises have worked before,” Zoey said.

  Brooke shook her head. “Too many people are watching now. Everyone with a cell phone wants a photo they can sell.”

  “We can’t go to Paris tomorrow,” Luke agreed. “It’d be a dead giveaway. There’s no way we’re getting from here to the airport without being followed.”

  Brooke’s foot tapped against the ground rapidly, and her hands were tight fists in her lap. “So we’re supposed to leave the final preparations and approvals up to a wedding planner we barely know? I’ve worked too hard on this wedding to throw it all away.”

  “You can video conference with Juliette,” Mitch said. “At least then you can see things visually and make the decisions yourself.”

  “It’s not the same,” Brooke said.

  “I know, but it might be the next best thing,” Mitch said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I want for my wedding—the next best thing.”

  Luke’s hand landed on Brooke’s knee. “The most important thing is that the wedding remains a secret so we have one day free from the paparazzi. That’s what you want most, right, Brooke?”

  Brooke wiped her nose with a tissue and nodded.

  “I’ve been dropping hints for months about potentially opening an international office of Ryder Communications,” Luke said. “So Mitch will go to France without me under that pretense, and I doubt anyone will follow him.”

  Brooke barked out a laugh. “No offense, Mitch, but I don’t trust you with the wedding. I know you’re good with details, but you aren’t a woman.”

  Luke nodded. “I knew you’d say that. That’s why I thought Zoey could go with him.”

  Zoey’s mouth dropped. “You want me and Mitch to go to France tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Mitch has taken a lot of precautions to keep the flight plans secret, and no one will follow you or Mitch to the airport. I doubt anyone will realize you’re even in France. But if they do, you can stop in at Toujour, and Mitch can scout out locations for our international office. It’ll look like you’re both there for work. Brooke and I will fly in a few days before the wedding. Hopefully by then the fervor will have died down enough that the press won’t be camping on our doorsteps. By the time they figure out what’s happened, we’ll be on our honeymoon.”

  Brooke nodded slowly, her eyes glowing. “Zoey knows me better than almost anyone. We’ll stay in L.A. and pretend to still have not set a date. It’s perfect.”

  “But … what about work?” Zoey asked. At least she didn’t have any makeup clients scheduled for the next two weeks. She had known that with running Toujour, she wouldn’t have time.

  Brooke waved a hand. “I’ll assign your clients to someone else for a few weeks. It’ll be easier than trying to run the office through you from France. And you don’t need to worry about money—we’ll take care of everything, right, Luke?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I can live without Mitch for a few weeks, and he can work from Paris as needed.”

  Mitch’s shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. But he nodded and said, “Of course. Whatever you need, Luke.”

  Two weeks in France instead of two weeks running Toujour. Excitement rose up in Zoey like a phoenix, and she squashed it back. No. This was not a vacation—this was a chance to right a very serious wrong. A chance at redemption.

  Brooke leaned forward, grabbing Zoey’s hand. “You’ll do it, won’t you? Please, Zo? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  Zoey glanced over at Mitch. His mouth was turned down in a scowl, his posture annoyingly proper.

  She couldn’t say no to helping fix the problems she’d caused. Even if it meant spending two weeks working one-on-one with Mitch.

  “Of course I’ll do it,” Zoey said. “I’m not about to let some slime-ball paparazzi ruin the happiest day of your life.”

  Two weeks in Paris. Alone. With Zoey.

  Mitch ran a hand over his curls and clutched the steering wheel. Nineteen hours and counting until he’d pick her up so they could head to the airport. Two weeks spent almost constantly in her presence would be a delicious kind of hell.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d dumped soda on Alan’s camera. They were lucky her impulsive action hadn’t resulted in a lawsuit. Yet. He’d have to keep a close eye on her in France.

  Mitch pulled to a stop in front of Jasmine’s apartment and took a deep cleansing breath. He never had found her last night at Disneyland. Between the two parks and the crushing crowds, it had always been a long shot.

  He had to clear the air between them before leaving the country. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the wedding—or the press—if Jasmine was in L.A. throwing away her future out of some stubborn sense of spite. Whether he could sway Jasmine or not, he had to leave today on good terms with his little sister.

  Mitch rapped on the door, nerves making his hand muscles twitch. What if Jasmine wasn’t home? What if she was and refused to answer the door?

  He heard the chain slide, and the door opened. Jasmine wore shorts, a pink tank top, and a glare. Ear buds hung around her neck, and he realized he’d caught her just before a run.

  “Back to lecture me some more?” she asked.

  “No, but I do want to talk. Can I come in? Please?”

  “You’re the one who pays for this apartment, as you kindly reminded me yesterday. You can do whatever you want.”

  It wasn’t a warm invitation, but she hadn’t told him to leave, either. Mitch closed the door and motioned to the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

  Jasmine sank onto the couch without a word. Mitch sat on the chair across from her, the silence stretching between them like a weekend with no meditation.

  “I’m sorry,” Mitch said finally. “I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

  “I’m not ten anymore, Mitch. I can take care of myself.”

  “I was wrong for flipping out, but you were wrong to not tell me about your plans.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d flip!”

  Mitch ran a hand over his eyes and down his jaw, letting out another sigh. “I want you to be happy, and that means you need financial stability.”

  “No, that’s what you need to be happy. I need to follow my passion.”

  “You can do that while still in school. Let me set up an appointment with your counselor on Monday.” He wished he could go with her.

  “No. This internship is incredibly demanding—if I want to be successful at it, I need to be at their beck and call twenty-four seven.”

  “Jasmine—”

  She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Being nineteen is all about instability. You have to let me experience that.”

  Mitch swallowed. When he was nineteen, he’d been keeping his three siblings fed and clothed.

  But Jasmine deserved more than that. She deserved freedom and flexibility, even if she abused it.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “But a deal is a deal. I won’t pay for your apartment unless you’re in school.”

  �
�I can’t hold a job and still do the internship.”

  “I know. I’m offering to let you move back home. My housekeeper just went on maternity leave, and the agency hasn’t sent a replacement yet. I will allow you to take over her duties in exchange for room and board for the period of one semester. If you haven’t been promoted or made any sort of significant headway by Christmas, you’ll go back to school or start supporting yourself.”

  “What about my contract for the apartment here?”

  “The semester hasn’t even started yet—I’m sure we could sell it.”

  Jasmine folded her arms, and Mitch held his breath, wondering which option she’d chose. If she moved back home, he could keep a closer eye on things and make sure she was heading in the right direction.

  “I … I think I’d like to move back home.”

  Mitch closed his eyes, relief sweeping over him. She wasn’t returning to school, but this was the next best thing. He couldn’t believe she’d agreed to it. “You must really feel strongly about this internship.”

  Jasmine offered a small smile. “Moving back in with you won’t be too bad. But you can’t treat me like I’m still in high school.”

  “Okay, but you also have to accept that while living under my roof, you’ll live by my rules. I expect you to keep me informed of your whereabouts and keep up your end of the bargain.”

  “I know how to vacuum.”

  Mitch’s lip twitched. “You always were the cleanest one in the family.”

  Jasmine wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you, Mitch.”

  “One semester. Four months. You’d better work harder than you ever have in your life.”

  “I will. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He gave her a tight squeeze. “You remember that I’m leaving in the morning, right? You’ll have to find someone to buy out your contract and move home yourself. I’m sorry I won’t be here to help.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Mitch nodded and walked to the door. “Call me anytime, day or night.”

  “I will.” Jasmine gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try to have fun in Europe, okay? I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. I expect a full report on the internship when I return.”

  “You’ll get it.” Her eyes shone with happiness.

  As Mitch drove home, he couldn’t get that bubbly, bright smile out of his mind. Maybe Jasmine would be okay in the end, and he really was worrying for nothing.

  He stayed up most of the night, carefully packing and repacking for the trip before getting as much work out of the way as possible. Sleeping on the plane would help him adjust to Paris time, and had the added benefit of preventing long conversations with Zoey.

  How bridezilla would Brooke turn if he got something wrong? This was so far outside his comfort zone, it was on another planet. Weddings had a way of changing otherwise reasonable people into screaming banshees.

  And Brooke was sending Zoey as his backup. He was doomed.

  Luke’s driver picked Mitch up right on time. He must’ve dozed off, because he jerked awake when the car pulled to a stop.

  The door opened a crack, and light spilled in.

  “Be careful with that bag, please,” Zoey said, her voice muffled by the partially closed door. “It has all my makeup in it, and I don’t want a powdery mess when we get there.”

  The trunk popped open, and the car sagged as a suitcase was placed inside.

  “Sorry,” Zoey said, still outside. “Those are my shoes. I couldn’t make up my mind what to bring, so it’s pretty heavy.”

  Mitch’s nose crinkled as he mentally went over their itinerary for the next two weeks. How many pairs of shoes did she really need? He’d packed three—his everyday dress shoes, special occasion dress shoes, and tennis shoes for when he exercised.

  Zoey slid into the car beside him, careful to keep the middle seat empty. Her gorgeous hair, streaked with vibrant and unnatural teal highlights, was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She wore stretchy lounge pants in a bright pink that hugged her every curve. He forced his eyes to stop traveling her body and focus on her face.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “How many bags did you bring?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but six.”

  “What can you possibly have to fill six bags?” He didn’t think he could fill more than three suitcases if he packed his entire wardrobe.

  “Not all of us wear the same three suits every day.” Zoey yanked the door closed and buckled her seatbelt.

  “You know there are baggage limits for flying, right?” Originally, she was supposed to fly to France commercially. He’d booked her first-class ticket himself.

  “Not when you travel by private plane.”

  “But you didn’t know you were traveling that way until yesterday. It would’ve cost a fortune to check all those bags, and I’m guessing they’d all be over the weight limit, too.” If Zoey wasn’t careful, she’d be bankrupt by thirty.

  “I can tell this trip is going to be a blast. There’s nothing I love more than a man who criticizes me every two seconds.”

  Her words hit him right in the chest. Is that really how she saw him—a critical, nit-picky jerk? He cleared his throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Thank heaven his dark skin never showed a blush. “I didn’t mean to criticize you. I was just worrying about the financial ramifications of how much you pack.”

  “And what did you bring, one tiny bag?”

  It wasn’t tiny, but he had managed to fit everything into one large-ish suitcase. “I’m an efficient packer.”

  “Of course you are. Because you’re a man. All of this” —she motioned to herself— “doesn’t happen without a little help. I have standards to uphold, and I’m not about to let them slip while I’m in Paris for the very first time.”

  Mitch wanted to roll his eyes—who needed an entire suitcase for makeup?—but he couldn’t deny that whatever she did, the results were impressive.

  They made it to the airstrip without anyone following them. Mitch trailed Zoey up the stairs to the Challenger 604. Zoey froze just inside the interior, her mouth hanging open.

  “Holy Toledo.”

  Mitch raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been on Luke’s jet?”

  She placed a hand on her hip, glaring at him. “When would I have been on his jet?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve known Luke longer than I have.”

  “Yeah, but we’ve always been more acquaintances because of Brooke than friends. And he was just an Average Joe from a middle-class family when we met.” She ran a hand along the smooth leather of one of the oversized captain’s chairs. “This is incredible.”

  “It gets us where we need to go.”

  Zoey gave him an incredulous look. “Can you please just relax for five seconds and appreciate the amazingness that is this airplane? We’re going to be flying in the sky, across the ocean, in a private jet. I get to spend the next two weeks living in Paris. This life is unreal.”

  Mitch set his briefcase on the small table between the four chairs. He shrugged out of his suit jacket. “This trip is for work, not pleasure. Brooke has a list long enough to keep us busy from the time we wake up until the time we go to sleep every day.”

  “I don’t think so, mister. We are taking time out to see the Eiffel Tower, and tour the Louvre, and whatever other Paris must-experiences there are. Brooke will have no problem with that. I’m ninety-nine percent sure. And if she does have a problem with it, well, she’ll be in the blissful newlywed haze by the time she finds out. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, I always say.”

  And that right there explained so much about Zoey and why they could never be together. He’d do well to remember that over the next two weeks.

  “Welcome aboard Ryder Communication’s Challenger 604,” the flight attendant said. Eliza was in her mid-forties, with chestnut-brown hair and kind eyes just beginning to s
how signs of wrinkles. She’d been the plane’s only stewardess for as long as Mitch could remember. “Can I get either of you a pre-flight drink?”

  Zoey laughed, sinking into the chair across from Mitch’s. “I’ll have a Dr. Pepper.” She gave Mitch a pointed glare. “Since this is a work vacation.”

  “A water with lime for me,” Mitch said. “Thank you, Eliza.”

  Eliza nodded and made her way to the galley kitchen near the cockpit. Mitch booted up his laptop and started shuffling through a stack of papers Brooke had given him. “I think the first thing we should do is schedule an appointment to check out the venue. Brooke has one scheduled for Tuesday, but I’ve sent Juliette an email asking her to meet us at Versailles as soon as we land. I want to make sure she’s aware of our needs and has everything prepared for the wedding.”

  “This is an eleven-hour flight, plus however long it takes to refuel in New York.”

  Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. Why couldn’t they just get through this quickly so he could sleep? “Yeah, I’m aware. I’ve made the trip before.”

  “Eleven hours on a plane. Literally, the only people who are going to see you, are me and Eliza. And maybe the pilot.”

  “Your point?”

  “For that eleven-hour flight, you chose to wear a suit.”

  “Not everyone goes out in public in pajamas.”

  Zoey folded her arms, her lips pursing as her brow drew together in a scowl. “These aren’t my pajamas. They’re yoga pants. I’d think someone as yoga-obsessed as you would know that.”

  “I’ve never seen a pair of yoga pants that say juicy across the butt.”

  “You were staring at my butt?”

  Mitch felt his cheeks heat. “You’re twisting my words.”

  “You’re wearing a suit. On an airplane.”

  “I like to maintain a professional appearance at all times.” Mitch glanced at his laptop, then quickly opened the email that had just arrived from the wedding planner. “Juliette says she’s okay with the new meeting time. Now are we going to come up with a game plan for when we land, or not?”

  Zoey leaned back in the airplane seat that was more like a spa chair, a Dr. Pepper in one hand and her favorite romantic comedy playing on the iPad. The remains of her steak dinner had been taken away moments before by Eliza.