Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  “No, I’m good. Let’s go.” Giddy excitement bubbles inside of me and I tell myself to calm down as we make our way to the elevator. Everyone in this hotel is so nonchalant, like it’s perfectly normal to be here when all I want to do is scream, “We’re at the freaking Ritz people! We’re in Paris!”

  But I don’t scream like that, thank goodness. I do have some semblance of class and restraint.

  The elevator is absurdly tiny, and I crowd close to Alex, noting how good he smells. Better than this hotel, that’s for sure. My face is right at his shoulder level and I wish I could lean my head on his shoulder, sigh with happiness that we finally made it.

  I don’t do that either. I’m a fake fiancée. I only put on affectionate performances in public.

  The elevator doors slide open and then we’re heading down a long, narrow hall. So narrow, I follow behind Alex versus walking beside him. We pass by hotel employees, every one of them greeting us with, “Bonjour,” in sing song voices.

  I can’t help but return the bonjour greeting in my own sing song voice.

  “Do you speak French?” Alex glances over his shoulder at me.

  “No. I took Spanish in high school.” I shake my head and he smiles. Butterflies feel like they’re trapped in my stomach, flapping their wings furiously, and I wonder if I can withstand these next few days, pretending Alex is my fiancé.

  The love of my life.

  The man who will one day be my husband.

  The man I’m supposed to kiss and hug and claim as my own.

  The man I’m having sex with.

  Yeah. All this pretending could turn into a serious problem.

  Finally, we arrive at our door. Alex waves the keycard in front of this weird screen thing that’s on the wall beside the door and it activates the lock. With a turn of Alex’s wrist, we’re inside.

  My purse slips out of my fingers and lands on the floor with a thud at my first sight of the suite.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I am practically screeching with joy, I’m so blown away by what I’m looking at.

  The ceilings are high. Like, impossibly high. We’re currently standing in the sitting room, where there’s a cream brocade couch and pale blue velvet chairs. All the furniture is gilded with gold and there’s a marble fireplace. Majestic paintings hang on the white paneled walls that look straight out of a museum, and there are lamps everywhere.

  “It’s nice,” Alex says, like he spends his vacations in suites like this all the time and when I turn to gape at him, I see that he’s grinning. Like he’s about to crack up. “Fine, it’s more than nice.”

  I laugh, and so does he, and I dart around the room, examining everything, craning my head back to stare up at the tall ceiling, the equally tall windows and lush silk curtains. There’s a short hall that opens to a bedroom with one very giant, very beautifully made bed with a canopy and a stack of pillows with…wait a minute.

  There are pillows. On the bed. With our initials embroidered on them. A little CA on the left corner and AW on the right.

  “Look at that,” I say, pointing at the bed when Alex enters the room. I’m practically hopping up and down, I’m so excited. “Look at the pillows.”

  He goes to the bed, tilting his head as he examines them. “Our initials. That’s a nice touch. We should do something like that at Wilder.”

  I can’t even focus on what he’s saying. “Do you think they’ll let us keep the pillowcases?”

  “Probably.” He shrugs, glancing around the room, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You do realize there’s only one bed in this suite, Caroline.”

  “Huh?” I pause by the dresser, smoothing my hand across the sleek marble top. What did he say? Oh, there’s only one bed in the suite. Um, that’s not good. “I thought we would have our own beds.”

  “I thought so too, but I was wrong. This suite only has one bed, and they aren’t the type of hotel to have a pull out bed in the couch.”

  No, I suppose they’re not.

  “I can sleep on the couch if you want me to,” he suggests and I turn on him, scowling.

  “No, that’s silly. You’re too tall.” I wave a hand at his big body. “We’re adults. We can share a bed.”

  Ah, those three words, share a bed. So much meaning behind them. It’s like I made that statement and boom, now there’s all this tension simmering between us. The good kind of tension. Sexual tension.

  Chemistry.

  Doing what I do best, I avoid it, and make my way to the bathroom, which is the best room in the suite, if I had to vote. There’s a giant marble bathtub with a gold swan faucet. An equally giant marble shower with so many knobs and at least three shower heads—I don’t know what it’s all for. The faucets on the two sinks are also golden swans, and the hot and cold handles are made out of sparkling crystal, with a glittering red stone at the top for hot, and a glittering blue stone for cold.

  Oh, and the coolest part is there’s a freaking flat screen TV embedded in the mirror so it’s flush with the glass. The screen has a menu on it, too.

  I’m going to check out that menu as soon as I can.

  “The swans are original to the hotel,” Alex says.

  I turn away from the flat screen to find him standing there, leaning against the doorway. “They’re gorgeous,” I tell him, trailing my fingers across one.

  “The Ritz was recently renovated. The hotel was shut down for four years before it reopened in 2016.” He enters the bathroom, edging past where I stand at the counter. “I can’t imagine shutting down one of our hotels for four years.”

  “Well, the hotel is stunning, so I’m guessing the renovation was worth it,” I say as I lean against the counter. “Have you ever stayed here before?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I plan on doing a little covert filming while I’m here to show everyone back home. They’ll be blown away. I’m already inspired by this place, thinking of the hotel we want to buy.”

  “Is that building close by?”

  “Just down the street, across from the Westin.” He stops right next to me, and leans against the counter as well, and I can practically feel his weariness. I know he didn’t sleep well on the plane last night, and I have to admit I’m sort of tired myself. The nine hour time difference is brutal. “I’ll have to take you there. Show you the place,” he says.

  “I would like that,” I say, my voice soft. “But I’m thinking right now, you should probably go to bed.”

  I hope he doesn’t think I’m being bossy. I’m saying it out of concern for him. I know he has a busy schedule these next few days, so he most likely needs to catch up on his sleep.

  “You’re right. I’m beat.” He stands up straight and stretches, groaning with the movement and I wonder if that’s what he sounds like when he’s having sex.

  Sometimes, it’s really difficult to have a mind that has a tendency to drift into the gutter. This is one of those times.

  “I think I’m going to take a shower first,” Alex says. “Then I’ll try and sleep for a few hours.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave you alone then.” I scoot out of that bathroom, my thoughts still in the gutter and filled with images of Alex in the shower. Naked. Steaming hot water pouring over his smooth skin, soapy hands rubbing all over his body. My soapy hands…

  Um, yikes. I need to calm down. Fan myself a little. And get my thoughts under control because I’m going to share a bed with this guy for the next few days. Fantasizing about Alex is dangerous.

  So dangerous.

  To distract myself, I wander around the sitting area, running my hand along the chairs, the couch, sinking my fingers into the sumptuous fabric. I go to the double doors that lead out onto the balcony and open them. Cool air rushes in, along with the sounds of the city streets of Paris, though they’re a little more subdued here in the Place Vendome. I see the giant column in the middle of the square, the statue of a man that sits atop it, and I’m pretty sure it’s Napoleon.

  I grab my
phone from my pants’ pocket and start taking photos, wishing I could send them to my friends, but I think they’re still asleep, so I decide to wait. It’s cool outside, there are clouds in the sky but the sun is still shining and I can’t help but be reminded of home.

  Yet I’m not at home. I’m in freaking Paris, bitches.

  And I’m going to have the time of my life.

  Chapter 25

  By the time I’m ready for breakfast the next morning, Alex has been awake for hours, doing what he does best—work. Once I was awake, he went on a seven mile run around the city and is now taking a shower, fueling my imagination as usual.

  Having him in the bathroom allows me the chance to fully fret over my clothing choices. I unpacked my suitcase last night—I had to, you should see this closet. It’s as big as my entire bedroom. Now that I have everything on hangers, readily displayed, I’m questioning why I brought certain pieces.

  Scratch that. I’m questioning why I brought any of it.

  Clearly, my wardrobe doesn’t measure up. I saw what women were wearing yesterday while we were downstairs in the lobby, and most of them were impeccably dressed. Oh, some of them appeared as if they were dressed down, but I know a designer T-shirt when I see it. Like the one the woman was wearing with the word GUCCI in bold across her chest. That cost hundreds of dollars.

  I don’t even know what the plan is this morning, so I don’t know what direction I need to go in clothing-wise. Something casual? Something a little more formal? Who freaking knows? At least my hair is done—simple and straight, tucked behind my ears. I already applied makeup—going for the subtle look, with just enough color to emphasize the positive without appearing garish.

  But clothes? What to wear, what to wear. Alex is taking his sweet ass time in the shower so I can’t ask him. Finally, I give in and throw on my favorite dark rinse jeans, along with a simple black sweater. You can’t go wrong with black.

  Alex finally emerges from the bathroom forty five looooong minutes later, and seeing him nearly steals my breath. He’s in a black suit, white shirt, solid black tie. Similar to what he wore when he took me to dinner at the Flying Fish. The five o’clock shadow is gone—bummer—his hair is still damp and curls a little at the edges, which is the cutest thing ever. His cologne is freshly sprayed so he smells good enough to lick, and oh my God, how am I not going to jump him over the next few days, I’m not sure.

  “You ready?” He stops short when he sees me, his gaze sweeping over me leisurely. “You look nice.”

  My guard is immediately up. “You say someone looks nice when you don’t know what else to say. Or you think they actually look terrible. So be honest with me. Am I not dressed appropriately? Do I need to wear something else? I don’t even know what our plans are for today.”

  Alex completely ignores my question. “I’m meeting the Descheauxs at eleven.” He checks his fancy watch. “It’s nine now. We still have enough time for breakfast downstairs, unless you want to call in for room service instead.”

  “No, I’d like to go downstairs.” I feel silly for just having that mini tirade, but I have to be honest. “You still didn’t give me an answer though. Is what I’m wearing okay?”

  “If you want to join me when I meet with the Descheauxs, you’re dressed appropriately,” he says gently. Am I giving him Tiffany flashbacks? God, I hope not. “I’m seeing them first at the building site.”

  “Oh. You really want me to go with you?” I blink at him in surprise.

  “I do, if you’d like to see the building.”

  “I would like that,” I tell him, wondering if he forgot I already told him that yesterday afternoon. But everything after we got off the plane is a bit of a blur to me now, and he’s probably feeling the same way. I do know that yesterday I took a quick shower after Alex did, and eventually wandered into the bedroom and carefully climbed into bed, not wanting to disturb him. I was so exhausted, I immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  At three in the morning my eyes popped open and I lay there, afraid to move, completely awake for at least an hour. Maybe two, my mind awhirl with all the things I want to do while we’re here.

  One thing I did not do is jump Alex while he slept in the bed next to me. I do have restraint, after all.

  “Then let’s go to breakfast,” he says. “We’ll walk over to the building after we’re finished.”

  We eat a quick breakfast at the mostly empty hotel restaurant and then we go outside, the brisk air making me shiver as we head for the Descheaux building. The traffic isn’t very busy, though there are plenty of people walking along the sidewalks, and once we leave the square, I see we’re approaching other hotels.

  “Down that street is high end shopping. The Rue Saint Honore and Rue Cambon.” Alex points to our right as we cross the street. I like how he pronounces the French words, with a little bit of an accent. “Dior. Chanel. Louboutin.”

  “You know your brands,” I tell him, impressed.

  He shrugs. “Doing what I do, I have to know them. Most of those stores are near our higher end locations. Plus, my mother and sister shop at all those places.”

  “Have you shopped there?” Designers have men stuff too, of course.

  “Sometimes.” He waves a hand at another Vuitton store that’s to our left, and I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about his fashion choices. “There are Vuittons on every corner in this city, it feels like. Or macaron shops.” He gestures at another store on our left. “Laduree is the most famous, but I prefer Pierre Hermes. I’ll have to take you to their shop if we have time. It’s not too far from here.”

  “You’ve been to Paris a few times then.”

  “I have.” He smiles down at me. “A European family trip when I was young. A school sponsored trip when I was seventeen. Many more trips once I was an adult.”

  “That’s so exciting. I never go anywhere,” I say wistfully. “Well, beyond Mexico with a few girlfriends.”

  “Mexico is fun,” he says.

  “Sure.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I’m boring. I wish I could travel more.”

  “You’re definitely not boring,” he tells me, and from the sincere tone of his voice, I actually believe him. “And besides, we live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. When I go somewhere new, I’m fully prepared to fall in love with it, ready to knock the Monterey Bay off my personal pedestal, but it never happens. My favorite place to be is where we grew up, where we’re lucky enough to still live.”

  I find that hard to believe, but I decide not to contradict him.

  “I want to try all the macaron places,” I tell him, my voice very, very serious.

  He laughs. “After you check out the building, you can go to Laduree and try all the flavors. My personal favorites are the Marie Antoinette and pistachio.”

  “Noted.” I wish he would go with me to Laduree, but I knew what I was getting myself into with this trip. Plenty of alone time in Paris. “When I go, I’ll buy you some.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he says, stopping at a crosswalk and waiting for the cars to pass.

  “I want to.” And I do. If I can’t bring him with me to the store, then the least I can do is buy his favorite macarons so he can snack on them later.

  Without warning, he grabs my hand, looking both ways before he starts walking. “We need to cross the street,” he tells me. “The building is on the other side.”

  I follow after him, a sleek black car speeding toward us, picking up speed once we’re out of the road to fly by us. “That was close.”

  “Traffic is insane here. Be careful when you cross.” He lets go of my hand, and I feel the loss immediately. Did he only take my hand for safety reasons? Or for something more?

  Stop reading into his small gestures. They mean nothing.

  “Here’s the building.” He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and I do as well, tilting my head back to take it all in. I can definitely tell it’s been neglected. The exterior is faded and chipped in
places. The windows are dirty, some of them are even cracked, and the glass double doors that I assume are the entrance are filthy, with yellowed newspaper taped up so no one can see inside.

  “It’s…large.” I don’t know what else to say. From the outside, it’s nothing special.

  At all.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” His wry tone causes me to look over at him.

  “You do?”

  He nods, slipping his hands into his pants pockets as he gazes up at the building. “It hasn’t been in use for years, so she’s lost her luster, and she’s not that impressive. But once upon a time, she shined. Brighter than any of these other hotels she’s competing with.”

  “Brighter than the Ritz?” I find that hard to believe.

  “Brighter than the Ritz,” he reaffirms. “For some reason, the Descheauxs focused their attention on another one of their hotels in Paris. Maybe they thought the Vendome location didn’t need to be watched. It was doing so well. But that’s the tricky thing with the hotel business. Just because it’s your top location, your best earner, doesn’t mean you can forget about it. Your best location needs constant attention.”

  “How do you manage with so many hotels to oversee?” I ask.

  “Lots of travel. I’m rarely home.” His smile is weary, and I feel a pang of sympathy. He’s constantly on the go. How does he do it? “Maybe that’s why I think Monterey and Carmel are the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I’m always so glad to be back.”

  “Monsieur Wilder, it is so good to see you!”

  We both turn to find an elegantly turned out, gray haired gentleman headed our way, his younger version following directly behind him.

  “The Descheauxs,” Alex murmurs close to my ear, making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He clutches my hand once more, his finger shifting across the diamond ring. “You wore the ring. I’m glad you didn’t forget.”