Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (23 page)

W
hile she enjoyed her martinis
, today, the fine bubbles of champagne dissolved Micky comfortably into her business class seat. She rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers. The upgrade Nick had given her was already making her trip more enjoyable than any she'd ever had, and she hadn't even taken off yet. She'd have to make sure to thank him—extensively—when she got back from Paris.

It was too bad Taryn couldn't join her in business class. Micky almost felt guilty. Almost. She relaxed, examining the myriad of settings to adjust her seat for maximum comfort. Taken by all the buttons, she didn't notice when Taryn boarded until a smack on the shoulder made her look up.

"Seriously? Already with the champagne? You don't even like champagne. If we weren't such good friends, I would so hate you right now."

"I don't hate champagne. I just like vodka better. Would you like sip?"

Taryn looked up the aisle at the stagnating procession into coach.

"Give it to me, quick." Micky handed Taryn her glass and laughed as the petite woman grabbed it, downed it, and passed it back with a snap of her wrist.

"Hate me less?"

"A smidge, bitch," Taryn said and stuck her tongue out at her friend.

Micky's phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of the small sack purse she planned on keeping with her on the flight. It was Nick.

Micky's breath caught in her throat. She believed him. Then, she doubted herself for her own belief and chastised herself for her doubt. Any talk of the future from Nick threw her emotions into chaos. A Zen master would stay in the moment and enjoy the sensation of Nick's attentions. No looking back. No looking forward. Zen wasn't Micky's strong suit, but she reiterated her own promise that she would be in the now and enjoy him. No expectation. Keep it light.

Sounds like a plan.
Micky typed the text into her phone and stared. Is that what she wanted to say? The tone was off. So instead she typed:
Sounds perfect
. She then tapped
send
before she could overthink a text message anymore than she already had.

H
ours later
, as the plane descended at Charles de Gaulle Airport, the thrill of finally arriving made Micky's heart pound. Once on the ground, she gathered up her bags and followed the shuffle of people—some slow, others fast—into the terminal and to passport control.

As she queued up with the other non-citizens of the European Union, she surveyed the gaggle behind her for Taryn's blonde ponytail with no luck. It took fifteen minutes to navigate the maze of stanchions and get to the uniformed Frenchman who asked her if she was in France for business or leisure. Wishing she could say the latter—but thinking of the work still to do before her event—she told him business, and he rapidly punched his stamp in her passport. A black airplane and "Roissy-CDG" with the date in red ink emblazoned on the page.

"Merci," Micky said, practicing the college French she'd never had the chance to use.

Exiting into the baggage claim, she saw bags already flowing on the conveyor belt snaking the outskirts of the room. After a few minutes, Taryn caught up with her, and she at last had someone with whom to share the anticipation of arriving into the center of Paris proper.

"Can you believe we're finally here? How long have we been working on this project?" Taryn bubbled.

"God, it's been nearly seven months, and no, I can't believe we're finally here. I've been wanting to come to Europe since…I can't even say when."

"We have to promise right now that no matter what happens with work, no matter how things go with the conference, we are going to enjoy every minute. Every meal. Every metro ride. I want to soak it all in."

They exited passport control and customs and spotted the driver they'd arranged holding a sign that read "Llewellyn/Leiber." Micky made eye contact with the man and gave a quick wave of her hand to get his attention. He immediately came over and welcomed them with a bit of French and some heavily accented English.

"
Bonjour. Bienvenue.
Welcome to Paris. I am Arnaud. Madame Llewellyn or Madame Leiber?" he asked, looking at Micky.

"
Bonjour.
I am Micky, Micky Llewellyn. This is my friend Taryn Leiber." The two women shook Arnaud's hand before he began gathering their luggage, taking the heavier bags to wheel out himself.

"This way," he said, pointing to a set of glass doors several yards away. Arnaud's "this" sounded like "zeese."

Once outside and down the sidewalk a ways, he stopped in front of a slick, dark blue Mercedes and opened the trunk. He loaded their bags into the trunk as Micky and Taryn slid into the back seat.

"
Bon. Allons-y!
We go," he announced.

Arnaud fired up the car and jetted into the flow of traffic around the airport, honking at a cab driver who stopped well away from the curb with his passenger. Arnaud rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in disgust. Soon, however, they exited the airport and, behind the powerful engine of the Mercedes, merged at high speed onto the highway.

"Is this your first time in Paris?" Arnaud asked.

"It is," Taryn answered. "For both of us."

"It's actually my first time to Europe," Micky explained. "Taryn has been to London."

"You are lucky. You must get out into the city today. The weather today is…" he paused and let the flick of his hand up in the air finish his sentence. "Some sun. Just a little clouds. Very rare in November.
C'est beau. Très, très beau aujourd'hui.
Beautiful. Tomorrow, clouds and the rain. It returns."

"We should have time to do that," Micky said.

"You start working right away,
non
?"

"We have some things to do today," Taryn replied.

Arnaud laughed. "Be a little French. Work is always there,
non
? Everyone will be out this afternoon. Very rare, this weather."

"What would you recommend?" Micky asked.

"From Porte Maillot…The hotel is at Porte Maillot. You may take a walk from the hotel, to the left. Walk to the
rond
." Arnaud swirled his hands in a circle. "Find l'Avenue de la Grande Armee. Follow to the Arc de Triomphe. The hotel can give you a map."

"I have a map," Micky said, pulling out the vinyl-bound red book with maps of each
arrondissement
and a guide for the entire metro system.

"Ahh. Good, so you walk as I say. You may also take the
métro
, Line 1, from Porte Maillot in the direction of Vincennes, Vin-cennes," he stressed. "Stop at Charles de Gaulle Etoile for the Arc, or Concorde for the obelisk, and walk through the Tuileries," he made a swooshing noise and gestured forward with his hand, "straight to the Louvre. Of course, you may walk all the way. L'Avenue de la Grande Armée, the Champs Elysées to Concorde. Quite a walk, though,
non
? An hour maybe. One hour and a half to reach
le Louvre
. But good for the…
comment dit-on…
the jet lag. Today is nice for such a walk. Sit in a café.
Oui?
Have a
chocolat, un café
. You may return by the
métro
. Line 1, in the direction of La Défense. Porte Maillot."

"Thank you. That sounds like a nice plan for the afternoon," Micky said.

"We can knock out what we need in a couple of hours at the hotel, I think," Taryn added.

"Have fun," Arnaud admonished. "You are in Paris!"

So far, as Micky gazed out the window, she didn't quite see Paris—or at least, not the Paris she longed to see. The airport was well outside of town. Soon enough, the outskirts of Paris came into view. Industrial parks gave way to towering apartment buildings with laundry strewn on balconies and walls covered in graffiti.

These were the
banlieues—
the suburbs. Only in Paris, the suburbs were vastly different neighborhoods than in the U.S. The history and culture of Paris dominated the center of the city where the wealthiest had lived for centuries. The fringes of the coiling
arrondissements
housed immigrants and lower-class workers. The parts of Paris that were recognizable from postcards didn't rise up alongside the road until Arnaud drove them inside the ring of highways encompassing the city, and they exited the highway into Paris proper. He eased the car into a traffic round, circling past the Palais de Congrès, which would largely be their home for the next few days, and then pulled in front of the hotel directly across the street.

A wave of excitement put a bounce in Micky's step as climbed out of the sedan and breathed in her first rush of city air. Looking around, she took in the gleaming modernity of the hotel, which sat on the edge of central Paris, almost all the way to La Défense. While it was a short metro ride to the city center with the Louvre and the Notre Dame cathedral, she and Taryn had decided to move to another hotel once their event was over. For now, she gathered her bags, parked on the sidewalk by the car, and signed the receipt from Arnaud, thanking him.

"Remember to experience the city. You are only in Paris for the first time once," he said before jumping into his car and honking again while merging back into traffic.

Arnaud's words sank in Micky's heart. She imagined being here with Nick, experiencing the walks, the sights, the food, the air—all of it for the first time, but with Nick to show her around and to share the freshness of it. She longed to call him, but with the seven-hour time difference, it was 4:00 a.m. in Dallas. She'd have to wait a few hours.

While Micky bemoaned her lack of romantic companion, Taryn snapped pictures with her phone and uploaded them to Facebook.

"Let's go. I want to get cleaned up, go take a look at the conference space, and get done what we need. I'm taking that walk today. I need it after being on that plane for ten hours. I want to do each thing Arnaud said—the Arc, Concorde, the gardens at the Louvre. Alexa sent me some suggestions for dinner from the times she used to work here. We can try one of those for dinner later."

Taryn pulled her bags into the lobby as Micky followed. They checked into their rooms and headed for the bank of elevators.

"Should we meet in my room in an hour?" Micky asked.

"Perfect," her friend replied.

Micky dragged her bags into her bright room—a suite arranged for her since she was responsible for booking hundreds of rooms at the hotel. It wasn't huge by American standards, but it had a lounge area with a sofa and chairs just off of the bedroom, which contained a queen-sized bed and a large bathroom encased in marble and glass with polished wood accents.

The plush bedding beckoned, but Micky resisted the urge to take even a short nap. She vowed to push through the evening and not give in to sleep until the Parisian clock told her she could.

Instead, Micky gave in to her desire for a hot shower and fresh clothes. Then, she tackled her unpacking, pulling out her two business suits, silk blouses, and slacks. Once shaken out, her clothes still bore signs of being crunched in a suitcase. Micky looked throughout the wood-paneled closet. No iron—so she called the front desk to have one sent up. Her cell phone rang, and she grabbed it, not looking at the number.

"Good afternoon, beautiful." Nick's sleepy greeting warmed her face to a flush. Sexy first thing in the morning. She missed him.

"Good morning to you. Are you even out of bed yet? It's not even five o'clock there."

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought I'd call to see how you were enjoying Paris so far—if you've even had a chance."

"Not so far, but it's thrilling to be in the city. Taryn and I have some work to do and then we're heading out for a walk to the Louvre before it gets too dark."

"You're staying at La Defense, right? That's quite a hike."

"Not quite that far. We're at the hotel across from the Palais des Congrès."

"Okay, that's right. I checked the weather there, and I was surprised it's supposed to be nice."

"I guess. It's still a little cloudy and cool, but I gather that any sun at all is a godsend. Our driver shamed us into taking some time off today to get outside. Taryn is chomping at the bit. She should be here any minute so we can go through some things before we meet the local event company across the street."

"Call me tonight when you get back from your walk. I can't wait to hear your impressions of the city. This would be so much better if it were a vacation, and I could be there with you."

"I thought the same thing," Micky confessed. "But there's a little thing called work—mine and yours."

"Well, I've already started looking into a trip for the two of us," Nick told her.

"Really? Am I allowed to know when and where?"

"In due time, beautiful."

"I hate surprises," Micky informed him.