Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I glanced down at my empty cup and set it on the coffee table. “I drank that rather quickly.”
“More tea?”
“No, that’s—” I protested. But Winnie was already gone, trailing a cloud of sweet-scented cologne in his wake. “…quite all right.”
I frowned, unsure what to think of my companion. Peanut butter and jelly? That sounded…disgusting. I reached into my pocket for my mobile, pondering Paris as one does. I’d been there dozens of times and knew the city fairly well. I could send Winnie on errands that doubled as sightseeing opportunities and—
Where was my phone?
I tried my other pocket.
Not there.
I stood abruptly and felt my khakis.
Nothing.
Oh, no.
I rummaged through the carry-on strapped on top of my luggage, unzipping the side compartments and the main section. I pulled my computer out, my charger, my adapter, my emergency packet of biscuits and a roll of fruit pastilles that had probably been there for a year.
Nothing.
This wasn’t the first time I’d lost my phone. It happened often enough that I had a standard protocol in place, starting with retracing my steps.
So I pushed my glasses to the bridge of my nose, scanning the carpet like a hound on a mission as I headed for the lift.
“Where’re you going, honey?” Winnie hollered from across the room, carrying a cup of tea in one hand and two bags of crisps in the other.
Heads swiveled in our direction. The quiet businessman huddled over a computer at a small table, the family of five spread out near the window, the couple holding hands near the beverage bar. I blinked at the sudden attention, anxiety welling in my chest…the way it did for anyone who’d misplaced their cellular device moments before boarding a train to another country. But my anxiety came with a side of panic.
Do not have a panic attack. Do not have a panic attack.
I licked my dry lips and strode toward Winnie, whispering, “I can’t find my phone. It’s gone missing.”
“You put it in your carry-on,” he said smoothly, handing me the to-go cup. “Left inside pocket, next to your passport.”
“I checked.”
“Check again.”
I hurried back to the mess I’d left, fumbled through my bag and…voilà, there it was. Thank Christ.
“I—that’s so strange. How did you know?”
Winnie winked. “I pay attention.”
The overhead speaker crackled just then, alerting passengers that the train bound for Paris was ready for boarding at Platform 4.
Winnie bent to help gather the items I’d strewn about, clucking over the state of my computer case: “Archaic, darling. You need an update.” My adapter: “I have the same one!” And of course, the sweets: “What’s a fruit pastille? Are they British Starbursts? Color me intrigued. Thankfully, I know you’ll share. It’s a travel rule.”
His commentary didn’t end there, but Winnie didn’t require my input. And though I was rattled from a near disaster, his whirlwind manner of speech was oddly calming.
I triple-checked that my glasses were on my head, slid my phone and passport into my coat pocket, and glanced up at a fellow traveler bestowing the same indulgent smile the boarding agent had given earlier.
My first thought was that it was flattering that random bystanders would think someone like Winnie would bother with someone like me. He was a peacock to my hedgehog—brilliant and beautiful.
My next thought was more closely rooted in reality.
Get serious, Alistair. No one in their right mind would have mistaken us for lovers. They’d undoubtedly guessed that Winnie was my keeper, my paid companion, my escort…minus the sexy bits. It was obvious. Just as it would have been whenever I’d traveled with other assistants and associates in the past.
I’d never noticed before, but I noticed now. And the truth of it was a tad mortifying.
3
WINNIE
The professor was a weird one. Hey, I embraced my weirdness, but I didn’t understand the academic variety.
Alistair had opened his laptop the moment we got settled on the train, ordered a cup of tea from the attendant, flexed his fingers, and started typing a mile a minute. He occasionally lifted his head to take a sip, and not that I was counting, but this newest cup had to be number six. Did Brits really drink that much tea?
Whatever. He seemed happy enough, and I wasn’t going to miss out on this whole first-class experience.
It was glorious. A flirty Frenchman introduced himself as our humble servant, offered wine or more champagne, and served it with a dish of fresh strawberries. And that was just a warm-up.
“Bon appetit. I am Guillaume. If you need anything, let me know,” he purred in a dreamy accent.
“Mare-see. Did I say that right?”
Guillaume chuckled. “Close enough. The R can be softer and more in your throat, yes?”
“Mah-see.”
“You’ll keep trying. By the time you arrive in Paris, you’ll speak like a native,” he promised.
I thanked him, nudging Alistair’s elbow. “Did you hear that? I’m getting a free French lesson. This is so…ooh-la-la, right? That’s real china, too. Not a plastic cup or paper napkin in sight. I could get used to the high life. We all judged our friend, Donovan, when he got himself a sugar daddy. I judge no more.”