His words, the expression on his face, are heartbreakingly sincere.
“It’s okay.” I smile. “You’re taking me to Paris. I think that’s payment enough.”
“I’m taking you to Paris and forcing you to play a part in something that’s not real.” His gaze drops from mine for a moment as he hangs his head. Almost as if he’s…ashamed? “I’m asking you to lie for me. And that’s not really fair.”
Heather comes over the intercom and asks us to please buckle our seatbelts, as the plane is preparing to depart. Once we’re buckled in, and Alex is watching me, I decide to ask some questions. Questions I probably should’ve asked a few days ago, when he first proposed this idea, but oh well. I guess I got a little too excited.
No one could ever call me a spontaneous person, but with this situation, I am the definition of spontaneous.
“What exactly are we doing while we’re in Paris?”
“I’ll be in meetings mostly, I believe. I’ll need you with me during the evening, when we’ll be entertaining with the Descheaux’s. Dinners out I’m thinking, probably nothing more.” He pauses, his expression telling me he’s going to say something that might make me uncomfortable. “You’ll need to be extra attentive, and act as if you like me.”
Please. That won’t be difficult.
“I don’t think I told you, but we’re staying at the Ritz. I want to scope out the competition while we’re there, and they’re the best of the best. We’ll have a suite, with separate beds of course.”
“Of course,” I say with a quick nod, my hands gripping the chair’s armrests when I feel the plane swing round. “I guess we’re taking off.”
“You still a little anxious?”
“Not too bad. The alcohol has taken the edge off.” I smile, but it feels a little shaky, so I let it fall. Instead, I reach for a slice of cheese and nibble on it. “I hope Heather serves dinner soon.”
“Once we’re at flying altitude, she’ll feed us.” His gaze is intense as he watches me, and I feel as if I’m on display. I try to relax my grip on the armrests as best as possible, but I’m not a fan of taking off. I never have been. At least the seats are comfortable. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay with this?” he asks.
“Okay with what? The flight? A little too late to ask now,” I tease.
“No, I mean all of this. Our trip, and what I need you to do. You might end up spending a lot of time alone. But you’re more than welcome to explore Paris. I don’t expect you to sit in the suite all day long,” Alex says.
“I definitely plan on exploring.” Though it won’t be much fun seeing it alone. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this, so I can’t complain. “I want to see as much as possible while I’m there.”
“It’s a beautiful city with plenty to see.” His smile is wistful. “I’m jealous of your freedom.”
And there it is, the difference between Alex and I. While everything has been given to him, he’s still worked very hard to ensure his family’s business is successful. He’s beholden to it. No matter what, he can’t shake it. He’s obliged to Wilder Corporation whether he wants to be or not.
I’m beholden to no one. If I wanted to, I could return to Carmel, quit my job, and do whatever I wanted. It’s my choice. And I have plenty.
It seems as if Alex has no choice at all.
Chapter 23
Alex
We arrive in Paris a little over ten hours after takeoff, the flight a long but comfortable ride, and even a little faster than usual thanks to the plane catching a tailwind. Caroline was tired from consuming so much alcohol on the charter plane to Los Angeles, so after Heather served us dinner, Caroline decided to take a quick shower and go to bed.
Yes, the plane has a shower that you can use for no longer than five minutes. Caroline was completely dazzled by this fact.
She’s been dazzled by the entire private jet experience, and I’ve enjoyed watching her excitement. She’s never flown on a plane like this before. She’s never flown first class for Christ’s sake, and our differences have never been more apparent as they were last night.
Long after she went to sleep, I stayed awake. I worked some, but all I could think about was Paris, and what we needed to do. Meeting with the Descheauxs, who I hardly know, though I’d done a little internet research thanks to my assistant Kelsey. I spoke with Alain Descaheaux on the phone during a conference call a few weeks ago. And we had a video conference once, with Louis, the remaining surviving son, in attendance. They were both perfectly polite, but I couldn’t get a strong read on them.
And that’s usually my specialty. I’m good with people. Working the job I do, I have to be.
After taking a five minute shower, I tried my best to get some rest, but I tossed and turned for hours, eventually gaining a couple hours of restless sleep. I finally give in and get out of bed, change into my clothes for the day, and settle into my chair with a cup of coffee and fresh fruit served by an always smiling Heather.
Father gave me a dossier file on their hotel business for me to study, plus I had internet links about the family to read from Kelsey, so I pull the file from my briefcase, open the file to find fact sheets on a couple members of the Descheauxs.
I read about Alain’s life first. His father is the one who opened the first Descheaux hotel, but he passed years ago, before I was born. Alain has been married to Sabine for almost forty years, and they have one remaining son, Louis. He’s the one who I’m most curious about.
Louis is a few years older than I am—thirty-four—and he’s married to a beautiful woman who was once the muse for Karl Lagerfeld and Chanel. Manon Descheaux is considered one of the most stylish women in all of Paris, and she’s a popular influencer on Instagram, with over a million followers.
Jesus, that’s intimidating. I’m supposed to let Caroline spend one on one time with this elegant, most sought after woman in France while I try my best to convince Alain and Louis that Wilder is the best company to go with? Manon has the capability to tear Caroline to shreds if she doesn’t watch out.
Not that I’m doubting Caroline’s ability to hold her own. I’m not. She dealt with Tiffany, for the love of God. And she deals with crazed bridezillas every day at Noteworthy. Surely she can handle a rich French woman for a few hours every night while we dine together.
Sighing, I close the file and stare out the small plane window, boggled yet again as to why the Descheauxs are wanting to get rid of the building that once housed one of the greatest hotels in all of Paris. It’s a valuable piece of property, but their focus is no longer hospitality, and hasn’t been for years. They sold the other two hotels in the city years ago, not long after the oldest son Hugo died, and made a fortune on both of those sales—that they had to pay off their debts with, since their CFO mismanaged their funds. Alain has long since retired, retreating to his small country estate somewhere in France and withdrawing from public life. Louis went on to marry the infamous Manon in what was called the wedding of the year in 2012, and they now have two children together.
The building we want is a prime piece of real estate. If they were smart, they’d hold onto it and lease it. Make more of a fortune that way.
Not that I would want them to do that. We would never lease. Father wants to own all of the Wilder hotels, and I feel the same way. Leasing is not an option. We own, or we pass.
Simple as that.
“Good morning.”
I glance up to find Caroline shuffling toward me, clad in a thick black robe, her hair mussed, her eyes sleepy. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good, considering I slept on a freaking plane.” She grins and rolls her eyes. “I still have zero chill about being on a private jet.”
“Wait until you see the hotel we’re staying at,” I warn her. “Your chill will disappear completely.”
Her eyes bug out a little at that promise. “I can’t even imagine, can I.”
I shake my head. “No, you can’t. I’
ve been in the hotel business for years, and I still can’t believe how amazing the Ritz is, and I’ve only seen photos and heard stories.” I gesture to the table. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I would, please.” She settles in across from me, the flap of her robe opening a bit, offering me a glimpse of her long, smooth legs. I wonder what she’s got on underneath that robe. Doesn’t appear to be much. “The strawberries are good,” she says after she popped one in her mouth and chewed. “I woke up so hungry.”
“Heather will serve us more food here in a bit. She was waiting for you to wake up first,” I tell her.
I pour her a cup of coffee and she adds some creamer until the dark liquid is practically white. She tears open a packet of sugar and sprinkles in a tiny bit before she grabs a spoon and stirs, the utensil tinkling every time it hits the interior of the cup. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“You haven’t. I’ve been doing some work.”
She brings the cup to her lips, blows on the coffee before taking a sip. “Always working, aren’t you,” she says, amusement lacing her still sleepy voice.
It’s a sexy voice. Actually Caroline first thing in the morning is a sexy package. One I wouldn’t mind opening on a daily basis…
I blink, banishing the idea from my mind. Where did that thought come from? Yes, I’m attracted to her, but I shouldn’t have thoughts of her in my life on a daily basis. I just ended my engagement. I do not need to leap into another relationship so quickly, no matter how much I’m drawn to Caroline.
“That’s the whole point of us going to Paris, isn’t it? For me to work,” I remind her, my voice sharp. Too sharp.
Now it’s her turn to blink, and I wonder if I was too harsh with my response. “You’re right,” she says coolly. “We’re here for business. Nothing more.”
“Caroline.” I reach across the table and grab hold of her hand, loosely joining our fingers together. “I’m sorry. I’m just—tense about this trip, and worried I’m going to let my father down if I don’t finalize this deal.”
“It’s okay,” she says softly, her slender fingers tightening around mine. “You’re under enormous pressure. I don’t need to add to it.”
“You’re not adding to it.” I squeeze her hand, not willing to let go of her yet. “I’m just—touchy.”
She smiles, and the sight of it makes my heart lighten. “No man ever likes to admit he’s touchy.”
“No,” I chuckle. “We don’t.”
Heather chooses that moment to appear with our breakfast and Caroline discreetly slips her hand from mine.
“Good morning, Ms. Abbott,” she greets Caroline, leaning over to shift the plate of fresh fruit aside before she sets the tray she’s holding onto the table. “I heard your voice and thought it best to serve breakfast now. We’re scheduled to land in Paris in little over an hour.”
The excitement on Caroline’s face is clear. “I can’t believe we’re almost there. What time will it be when we land?”
“Around two-thirty in the afternoon,” Heather tells her before she flashes her polite smile in my direction. “Is there anything else the two of you need?.” When we both shake our heads, she takes a step back, nodding once. “I’ll clear your plates in about thirty minutes or so. Enjoy your breakfast.”
I lift the silver dome from my plate to find scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon and country breakfast potatoes. Caroline is already reaching for a slice of sourdough toast from the bread basket we’re sharing, munching on it thoughtfully.
“I could get used to this,” she says, her voice teasing, and I’m tempted to tell her that she should.
But that would be me rushing things. I don’t plan on doing that. I should learn from my experience with Tiffany.
Hurrying a relationship along is dangerous.
We’re in the backseat of the Mercedes I hired to take us to the hotel when I remember.
“I need to give you something,” I tell Caroline, who’s face is practically plastered to the window as she watches the city streets go rushing by.
She turns to look at me, her beautiful brown eyes wide with wonder. “What is it?”
I slipped it inside my briefcase before we left yesterday, and I reach for it now, pulling the cream colored silk pouch out, holding it flat on my palm. Her gaze zeroes in on the pouch, lingering there before she looks up at me. “For me?” she asks when I don’t say anything.
Tugging at the drawstrings, I open the pouch. “Hold out your hand,” I say.
She does as I ask, and I shake the bag, the ring falling onto her palm. “Oh,” she murmurs, her fingers curving around the band and holding it up so she can examine the ring in its full glory. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mother’s original engagement ring.” She switched it out for the larger ring my father gave her on their twenty-fifth anniversary, storing this ring in her safe at the house for one of us children to use it someday. Meredith didn’t want it, her husband having chosen her engagement ring on his own. James doesn’t plan on getting married anytime soon. I’ve known for a while it was going to be mine.
This is the ring I considered giving to Tiffany, but she would’ve hated it. It’s a simple round solitaire diamond sitting high on a gold band, worn thin from years of wear. The stone is flawless, two carats, and while plenty of women would’ve loved having a two carat diamond on their finger, I knew without hesitation that Tiffany would’ve deemed it too small.
Too old.
But Caroline is studying the ring with reverence, turning it this way and that as she clasps the thin band between her fingers. “She wore it for a long time, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did.” For some reason I almost feel…emotional? Sentimental? While giving Caroline this ring. “I thought you should wear it while we’re here. My fake fiancée needs an engagement ring.”
“Yes, you’re. right. She does.” Is that disappointment flitting across her face? It almost looks like it.
I can’t help but experience a flicker of hope at the possibility of something more with this woman. I’m interested. Is she too?
“Here.” I pluck the ring from her grasp and grab hold of her left hand, slipping the ring onto her finger. It looks good on her hand. As if it belongs there. “It’s a perfect fit.” I’m surprised.
I think she is too.
“It is,” she agrees as she shifts her hand, the sparkly diamond catching the light just so. “I love it. I’ll make sure and protect while we’re here this week. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to the ring you’re going to give to your future wife.”
Her words leave my chest feeling hollow for the rest of the ride to the hotel.
Chapter 24
Caroline
I’ve lived in the Monterey area my entire life. There are wealthy people everywhere, especially in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Gorgeous homes sit atop hills that overlook the Pacific Ocean, the type of places that cost millions of dollars. The people who own these homes work at prestigious jobs, drive expensive cars, wear beautiful clothes and fine jewelry and the women carry designer bags to die for.
When you are around this sort of lifestyle every day, yet it’s not your lifestyle, you tend to not see it after a while. Just like the wealthy get used to their obvious wealth, I got used to it too.
But I’ve never walked into the Hotel Ritz Paris before. This is a whole other level of wealth and opulence. The hotel is straight out of my biggest fantasy. If I thought I was a baller in the private plane? I’m an even bigger baller struttin’ my stuff in the freaking Ritz.
Alas, I’m not struttin’ my stuff. More like I’m skulking behind Alex as we enter the hotel. Wait, I need to mention the entry to the Ritz. It’s so subtle that if you didn’t know, you’d drive right past it. Four white, curved awnings with the word Ritz written across them in its trademark font. There is no large marquee or giant sign on the street announcing its location, as there would be back home in the states.
Anyway, we enter
the hotel and I notice right away that it smells so good. Like, I can’t even describe what I’m smelling. Is it perfume? Cologne? Flowers? Is the scent pumped into the air, like I read that they do at Disneyland? You’re not smelling real cotton candy, they’re misting the air with a sugary scent to make you crave cotton candy while you’re walking down Main Street.
I’m getting distracted, but you know what I’m talking about.
The floors are gleaming white marble, covered with plush rugs. Glittering chandeliers hang from the ceilings, fresh flower arrangements are on almost every available surface and I’m just walking through this place with my mouth hanging open like some sort of loser. I’m definitely not dressed properly, since I’m wearing black joggers I got at Target and a sweater from the Gap Factory outlet. At least there are Nikes on my feet so I’m wearing one recognizable brand.
I hang back while Alex checks in for our reservation, playing with the new ring on my finger. It’s stunning in its simplicity. I can’t believe he gave it to me. This ring means so much to his family, yet here I am, the silly fake fiancée, wearing the Wilder family diamond like it belongs to me.
It’s beautiful though. I I hold my hand up, the diamond catching the light perfectly, making it sparkle.
A family of three dressed all in white walk past me, and I ogle them openly. Both the man and the woman hold their heads up high as they glide down the hall toward the entrance, their teenage son glancing around nervously. I wonder who they are. I wonder why they’re wearing all white.
It’s a mystery I’ll never know the answer to.
“Our suite is ready,” Alex says when he turns to face me. I can tell he’s tired. His eyes are droopy and he’s got serious five o’clock shadow, which is a super sexy look for him. “They’ll bring our luggage to our suite in a few minutes. You need anything else before we head up?”
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