by Various
She looked perfectly serious, too. And why shouldn’t she? He’d once felt exactly the same way. Trey shook his head sadly. “Then I take it this is not a good time to ask you to run away to Paris with me?”
“Paris?” Her mouth fell open. “You are insane. I don’t even know your name!”
“Trey,” he said softly, watching her expression. “My name is Trey.”
“What happened?” Carter asked, holding his jaw as one of the waiters hoisted him to his feet.
The waiter shrugged. “I didn’t see it. I just heard a scuffle and then you fell down. Maybe you hit your head.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Susannah said. “You fell down. I think you tripped.” To Trey, she whispered, “Don’t you think you’d better go before he remembers or someone else tells him you hit him? You’re a party crasher, for goodness’ sake. They could throw you out. They could arrest you!”
“I don’t care.” Trey shrugged. The least she could do was give him credit if he was going to knock down someone on her behalf.
“Can somebody get me a drink?” Carter mumbled. “Scotch, rocks.”
“Yeah, sure. Why don’t you come with me?” the waiter suggested. “We can get you some ice for your jaw.” And he and Carter began to move away through the crowd.
“Okay, everyone, that’s enough. Nothing to see,” ordered a tall, slender brunette in an outfit so hideous it had to be expensive, as she elbowed her way to the center of the controversy. “Susannah? What was that all about? Is Carter okay?”
“Yes, Joan, he’s fine. See? He fell and he’s getting some ice for his, uh, head.”
Trey could tell by the way Susannah snapped to attention that this Joan woman was someone important. Joan narrowed her eyes at Trey and then Susannah. “Aren’t you going to tell me who your friend is?”
Susannah smiled stiffly. “He’s not with me. He’s, well, he’s an old friend of Carter’s. Trey, meet Joan Sanders.” She paused. “My boss.”
The woman arched one dark eyebrow. “A friend of Carter’s? Is that why he kissed Carter’s fiancée and then knocked him down?”
Uh-oh. Busted.
CHAPTER SIX
“OH, THE kiss. New Year’s Eve, you know,” Susannah hastened to assure her boss, as Trey offered, “Nothing important—midnight, that kind of thing,” at the same time.
She looked at him, he looked at her, and then he added, “And there was no fight. Parker and I—”
“Carter,” Susannah muttered.
“Right, right. Carter and I were just fooling around,” Trey explained. “Old pals. Roughhousing. Haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“Boys will be boys,” Susannah said brightly, her heart sinking. Joan had seen the whole thing. The jig was up. She didn’t like Joan anyway, and she’d known very well if she broke up with Carter she could risk losing her job, but she hadn’t planned to go out quite so dramatically. She snagged another crystal flute of champagne.
“Uh-huh.” Joan didn’t appear convinced, but at least she didn’t shout, “You’re fired!” or anything. “Susannah, do you have a minute? Maybe Trey can go check on his old friend Carter while I steal you away. Okay?”
“Oh. Sure.” Susannah smiled, trying to be brave. “Trey was just leaving. Right, Trey?”
He nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets, ambling away as requested.
She sighed with relief, telling herself she was glad to see him go. It would make her life so much simpler. And yet …
She also felt a good deal of regret watching him disappear into the crowd. He was one good-looking man who knew how to kiss like nobody’s business. Who was he? What was he doing here? And why in the world had he asked her to run away with him to Paris?
She’d gone to work for the Hotel Marceau in the first place because the Marceau part of Manley & Marceau International was headquartered in Paris. She’d harbored this silly dream about moving up the ranks and ending up in Paris. Had Mr. Great Kisser known that? If so, how?
Too late to find out now. He was gone. And she didn’t even know his last name.
“I was talking to Mr. Marceau, and I wanted him to meet my reps,” Joan announced. “If you can take your eyes off that man for five minutes. Oh, and by the way, your lipstick is smudged. And your dress is kind of, you know, falling off one shoulder. Whoever he was, he left behind some major devastation.”
Feeling like an idiot, Susannah righted her strap, brushed little sparkles off her shoulders that had fallen from her hair and pulled a compact out of her tiny evening purse. As she redid her lipstick, they were joined by Kerry, another of the convention sales reps. Kerry was very sweet, and Susannah actually liked her a lot, even though she felt sorry for her sometimes. Kerry was shy, and it wasn’t easy being shy and trying to succeed in sales.
“Hi, Susannah.” Awkwardly, Kerry added, “Joan, were you looking for me?”
“I was just rounding up all my reps to meet Mr. Marceau,” the boss noted.
“Well, I’m here.” Kerry sighed. “I lost my date a while ago, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just my brother.”
“You brought your brother on New Year’s Eve?” Susannah asked. And she’d thought she had it bad.
Kerry smiled. “It’s not like it sounds. It’s just, he’s leaving for Paris tomorrow, so this was his last night in town and I thought …”
She was starting to get a bad feeling about this. “Leaving for Paris tomorrow?”
“Uh-huh.” Kerry perked up. “Oh, there he is. Over by the bar. Isn’t he adorable?”
Before she even followed the path of Kerry’s finger, Susannah knew who she would see. The mystery man. Mr. Great Kisser. And Kerry’s brother. Who’d ever have guessed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS SUSANNAH stared, Kerry explained, “He’s a commodities trader. You know, Chicago Board of Trade. Or I should say, he was a trader. Made a fortune, lost a fortune, made a fortune again. Decided to quit and move to Paris, buy a bookstore and live in a garret on the Left Bank.” She laughed. “My brother! He’s always been a little, you know, whacked.” Then she stopped, noticing the expression on Susannah’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She sipped champagne as she tried to process this new information. Not a party crasher. Not a bad boy right off the street, mingling and making nice while he planned to steal people’s jewelry or something. Just meek little Kerry Jameson’s brother.
Joan smiled her most wicked smile. “Don’t worry, Kerry. She’s just realized that the man she slapped the hell out of, the man she was giving mouth-to-mouth to at midnight, is your brother.” She chuckled. “I actually saw him first and was kind of hoping to move in on him myself but then Suze nabbed him.”
Kerry was staring at her as if she had three heads. “You—you nabbed my brother? You made out with my brother? But you’re engaged, Susannah.”
“I didn’t mean to. It was just a mistake,” she rushed to assure her. “See, Carter never showed to pick me up and I was really mad and I came here to throw the ring at him and break up with him, but the ring wouldn’t come off, so I slapped him instead, only it was Trey. Your brother, I mean,” she added. “Then he kissed me because it was midnight. That was the only reason. And, Joan, I was not trying to nab him. I swear.”
“No prob, Suze,” Joan offered, patting her on the shoulder. “He’s leaving for Paris tomorrow. What would I have done with him anyway?” Giving him another look, she made a tsk-tsk noise with her tongue. “It is a shame, though, that all the cute ones seem to escape before I get a chance. But, hey, if his dream is to live in a garret, he’s not my type anyway.” She glanced at Susannah. “Or yours. Our sensible, responsible Susannah Quincy would never go for a guy like that. Right, Suze?” Joan laughed.
Susannah sighed. She had no idea who she would go for at the moment. She’d thought that driven, ambitious Carter was her type. Until he’d decided business was more important than she was and stood her up on New Year’s Eve. Meanwhile, Trey’s kiss had been p
retty spectacular. Way to rock her world.
Maybe it was just spectacular enough to change types altogether. Or maybe that was the champagne talking.
Was it champagne that was making him look so sexy, lounging there in his jeans, leaning on the bar? He turned, saw that she was looking, raised his glass and winked at her.
And she felt the impact slide down her from the top of her head to the end of her pointy red stiletto heels.
“Susannah, are you coming?” Joan waited expectantly. “We’re off to see Paul Marceau and score some brownie points with our charming conversation.”
“You go on ahead.” She couldn’t seem to break away from Trey Jameson’s intoxicating gaze. “I have something I need to take care of.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SO …” TREY swiveled on his stool far enough to gaze at her, and Susannah wondered what in the world she thought she was doing, passing up a chance to schmooze with one of the company presidents, just so she could try to get a handle on someone whose own sister thought he was nuts. Lazily, he inquired, “Did Kerry tell you all about me?”
“Not really. A little.”
“Sorry I’m not some party crasher off the street? Did that blow my excitement quotient?” he inquired with a certain edge of sarcasm.
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.” He gave her that devilish smile again, and she had to clench her jaw to stop from drooling on him. “I’ve got you figured, Susannah. Especially now that I got a gander at the boyfriend.”
“Fiancé,” she corrected.
“Not for long.” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “You think you want the go-getter corporate mover-and-shaker guy, the guy who you can buy an SUV with, have a nice house in Oak Park and maybe a lake house in Wisconsin. Kids later. Private schools. You think that’s what you want for yourself. Because you think you’re a good girl right down to your white cotton undies.”
She could feel her face suffuse with rosy color. “I don’t wear white cotton undies.”
“Prove it,” he whispered, his blue eyes raking her.
“Well, I could if I wanted to,” she contended, which was actually true. This dress required a certain lack of foundation garment. Which was both scary and exciting. Not that she planned to show him what was or was not under her dress. Not for even a second. But wouldn’t he be surprised? “I don’t feel the need to prove anything to you,” she added hastily.
“Too bad.” His smile widened, growing cockier. “Fess up, Susannah. When you saw the way I was dressed, when you thought I crashed the party, when you thought I was up to no good and rotten to the core, you loved the idea of hanging out with the bad seed.”
“You’re still the bad seed.” Deciding she was probably as certifiable as he was, but unable to walk away, Susannah took the stool next to him at the bar, sliding her dress up to manage it, careful not to reveal more than she wanted to. “You may be a slightly less bad seed now that I know you’re not a jewel thief, but you’re still a bad seed. Kerry told me how you ran away from your good, steady, cushy job to smoke black cigarettes and argue existentialism in cafés on the Left Bank.”
“Okay, first, I don’t smoke. Second, I want to run a bookstore, not argue existentialism, which went out of fashion, what? Forty years ago?” As she began to object, he raised a hand to hold her off. “And third, you don’t know much about traders, do you?”
“Commodities traders?” She admitted, “No, I don’t.”
“It’s not a good, steady job. It’s like gambling. And it’s a lot crazier and more reckless than moving to Paris.” He shook his head, chewing on the stem of a maraschino cherry he’d stolen out of a bowl on the bar. “So you thought I was a jewel thief, huh?” He grinned. “I give you points for creativity. That’s a new one.”
“Well, you said you used to work with diamonds, or something like that. I don’t know, I …” Embarrassed, she grabbed a cherry, too, twirling the stem between her fingers. “Plus you seemed awfully interested in my ring.”
His gaze softened. “It wasn’t the ring, Susannah. I was awfully interested in you.”
CHAPTER NINE
SHE didn’t know what to say. Whichever way she turned, Trey seemed to throw her a curve. “You really are nuts, you know that, right?” she inquired, leaning closer to him at the bar, somehow thinking that if she stared at him long enough, she would figure him out.
“Nope. Not nuts. Just willing to take a risk.” He took a healthy swig of his drink, which looked like water with a slice of lemon in it. Didn’t smoke, apparently didn’t drink and she’d thought he was a bad boy?
“But, Trey, you asked me to run away to Paris with you. Tomorrow! You don’t even know me,” she persisted. “Don’t you think that’s pretty crazy?”
“Nope. I just believe you have to seize the moment and go for what you want when you see it.” He spun his stool around so that he was looking out into the party. “Look at this place, Susannah. Framed posters of cancan girls, a miniature Eiffel Tower, curvy red velvet chairs right out of Maxim’s … Somebody was trying to make us think of Paris, don’t you think?”
He’d lost her again. “Yes. So?”
“So here I am, bumping into you on New Year’s Eve, offering you a chance to go to Paris, and there’s Paris all around you. Don’t you get it?” he asked impatiently.
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s kismet, it’s fate, it’s your destiny, looking you right in the face.” He slid his stool in her direction, taking her hands, holding them between his own, staring at her intently. “I know what your job is like, because my sister has the same job. I know what you think you want—to climb higher in Manley and Marceau and run a hotel of your own. Am I right?”
“Yes, but—”
“It may be what you want, but it’s not what you need,” he argued, and she began to be very angry with him. How dare he presume to tell her what she needed? How long had he known her? An hour? “Your heart was telling you, tonight, to come here and get rid of your insensitive, uncaring boyfriend, even if that meant risking your job at the same time.”
She shook her head vigorously. “You don’t understand—”
“Yes, I do. Better than you think. I believe, deep down, you wanted to dump the guy and get the job dumped for you.” He pressed her hands tighter. “I think you knew before you got here that you wanted out. And guess what? You ran smack-dab into the one guy who was offering you a free trip, nonstop, right where you wanted to go.”
“I think you are making a lot of assumptions based on what you want,” she argued, snatching her hands back, placing them on the edge of the bar and holding herself very straight and still. “Yes, I wanted to lose my boyfr—” She stopped and started again. “My fiancé.”
Trey reached for her hand, but she pulled it away before he could catch it.
“I was reading this book before I came. Blissfully Single. Excellent book,” she declared, really starting to work up a head of steam, to think straight, finally. “All about how women don’t need men, except for sex and fun, how marriage is a trap and a drain. I totally saw some of my own patterns in that book. And I think I saw tonight, for sure, that Carter was not someone I wanted to spend my life with, and that I had made a mistake.”
She pushed herself away from the bar, rising from the stool. “And, yes, I knew that there was a possibility that could make things uncomfortable for me here at the hotel, and that maybe I would be looking for a new job. But it never meant, for even one second, that I would consider throwing away my whole life to run away with some juvenile delinquent nut-job following some misguided, immature dream to run a beatnik bookstore.”
There was a long pause. “Flattering portrait you’ve painted of me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you ought to consider this.” She lifted her chin. “Instead of tucking me in your luggage and taking me on a one-way flight to Café Cliché, maybe, if you’re so interested and all, you ought to give up Paris and stay h
ere with me.”
CHAPTER TEN
WELL, that hadn’t gone well, had it?
She’d slapped him by accident, she’d kissed him on purpose, he’d slugged her fiancé, she’d lied to her boss, he’d asked her to go to Paris with him on a whim and then, to top it off, she’d called him immature and basically asked him to stay in Chicago and be her boy-toy, although she wasn’t entirely sure she was serious when she asked it. She could’ve been trying to insult him. Not that it mattered. Trey had stalked away from the bar and told her he had better things to do with the dwindling moments of his New Year’s Eve than talk to a stick-in-the-mud princess.
Stick-in-the-mud princess. Ha! Was that the best he could come up with?
Meanwhile, all of this had taken place while she still had a fiancé somewhere at this same party. A fiancé she really, really needed to break up with sooner or later.
“Susannah?” someone behind her asked in an acid tone.
Speak of the devil. She turned. “Hello, Carter. How are you?”
“Not well.” He looked a little fussy, that was for sure. “My jaw is throbbing,” he said tersely, and she could see the big bruise on his cheek. “That guy who was hanging all over you hit me, remember? Now if you’ll just tell me where he is, I will go pound the snot out of him and get this over with.”
If she were to be honest, she thought Trey could take Carter down nine times out of ten, even if Carter had backup and a baseball bat, but she didn’t want to say that and make things worse than they already were. If that was even possible.
“Carter, I …” She had no excuse. “I’m sorry he hit you. I actually planned to slap you myself, because I was angry that you ditched me. On New Year’s Eve. When I looked really, really good.”
“Let’s not start that again,” he snapped.