26 Hours in Paris (2 page)

Kat hadn't had a choice. She couldn't have allowed Marko to change all his plans because of her. If he had, he would've resented her forever. It wasn't meant to be. “I'll take the cruise. Charlie can have Paris. She's more cultured and in tune with high society.”

“No. Charlie won't do well on an eight-hour flight. You've always wanted to see Paris. No more objections.”

Paul was right. Paris had been a dream of hers forever. And what were the chances of running into Marko at a tourist attraction? “Fine. Paris is perfect.”

“Good. Time for you ladies to bring out the claws and get down to work. You each have your assignment. Your expense accounts will be adjusted and ready to go by noon. See Justin for the details. Get me your stories by next Wednesday. I'll decide which one gets published in the Valentine's issue.”

“On what criteria will the winner be chosen?” Kathryn asked.

“Whatever I want,” he said with a smile and a shrug. “I'm the boss.” He stood, pretended to tip an invisible hat, and strolled out of the room muttering something about beautiful women pulling off their bikini tops and wiping mud from their faces.

A
two-thousand-dollar expense account barely covered an airline ticket from JFK to Charles De Gaulle. Kathryn's travel dates were too near for any special deals, so the prices were astronomical. She didn't care. She was getting her byline via Paris.

“Kathryn.” Charlie's head appeared from the other side of the cubicle's divider. “Paul is a total ass. A nice ass, but still an ass. He's doing this on purpose.”

“Tell me something I don't know.” Kathryn continued her Internet search. “And what's so new about what he's doing?”

“He's making us compete against each other, and he's enjoying it. Did you hear the crap about mud and bikinis he muttered as he walked out of the conference room?”

“I sure did,” Kathryn replied, reluctantly floating on the reality of seeing Paris. Her mind hesitated, but her body sang with joy. She was freaking going to Paris! “Though, I'd like to put a different twist on it. Like, he was fantasizing about a vacation of his own where mud-splattered women stepped out from the ring to seduce him. Either way, who cares? We can do it.”

Charlie's chair rolled close and her chin rested on Kathryn's shoulder. “We have less than a week and won't be able to bounce ideas off each other. He wants us to present, in person, a complete feature on Wednesday, like elementary students presenting a book report to the class.”

“It doesn't matter. This is our chance at a byline,” Kat said, scrolling down the options on her screen.

“He's asking too much. Look at the prices for those flights. How are you supposed to research Paris on the budget he allocated?” Charlie let out an exaggerated grunt and touched a finger to the screen. “That's not how a publisher should act. For him, it's divide-and-conquer Neanderthal stuff.”

“Sexy Neanderthal stuff.” Kathryn laughed, pushing her friend's finger away. If it were anyone but her childhood friend doing this to them, she'd be outraged and searching for legal counsel. “He likes to take things to extremes.”

“Tell me about it. That's part of his sex appeal,” Charlie whispered, an obvious longing in her voice. “Too bad he's gay. I'd let him take me anyway he wanted . . . any day. It's been forever since I've had Neanderthal sex. Actually, any sex.”

“I've told you he's not gay,” Kathryn said. She had absolute proof. Paul had been her first lover, and he'd been a real good first, at that. They'd simply decided to stay friends, friends with occasional benefits, until Justin had come into their lives. Justin had been the game changer and the reason for Paul to enter a committed relationship. Staying friends, with occasional benefits, wasn't an option after that change in status. They were friends . . . period.

“It really doesn't matter. This isn't a short on the opening of a new hotel or the latest drink trend at the hottest ski resort.. This is the chance we've been working our butts off all year for, Charlie. We want our own bylines.” Kathryn worried her lower lip as she considered how to word her thoughts without alienating her friend, but she knew what had to be said. “Get out there and write the best freaking feature you can. I know I will. Paul may have thrown us into a mud fight, but you can count on me for anything. I'm still here for you . . . or rather, I'll be in Paris and there for you.”

Kathryn clicked select on an outbound flight option, and opened a second window on her screen. “I'm using the train to get from the airport to the center of the city.” She'd make every last penny count. “Besides, public transportation will give me a true sense of the city and its residents. If I can make this work on a small budget, any woman can.”

“Just ask him to increase your expense account,” Charlie said. “He'd do anything for you, and you know it.”

“No way. That's what Sir Paul wants. More control for the control freak.” She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of pointing out that readers of all income levels needed to relate to the feature. He'd already hinted that finding love in Paris was a stretch for most working people. Expensive or not, it didn't change the facts. Paris was the perfect place for love.

She shrugged off the needling voice of reason in her head. Men didn't get the fairy-tale aspect of seeking love, and Paul wouldn't hesitate to push her buttons and let Charlie's idea win. More importantly, she wasn't about to give another inch of control. She needed to name the terms in her life in order to remain semi-sane.

“I'm not asking him for an extra dime.”

“Suit yourself.” Charlie chuckled, then rolled back into her cubicle. “I'm under budget with this last-minute special on Lovers Sail Tours. Reserved my cabin on the sixth deck. I'll be eating lobster and drinking margaritas all weekend.”

“At least some guy won't make you pay for dinner on the first date. Food is all-inclusive on a cruise. But—if you're going to put out, make sure he buys the drinks.”

They both laughed. However, they both knew such disappointment with dates was what had kept them single and living as roommates in Charlie's grandmother's closet.

“Screw woman's lib. We want knights in shining armor and wicked pirates to star in our fantasies,” she insisted. Kathryn rarely made it past the awkward first date, but maybe some sexy French man would make her want to. She'd let him cook for her in his artist's studio. They would dance on a balcony, overlooking the city, and make love until the sun rose.

Fine. She'd settle for a stroll in the museum and a glass of wine at some bistro.

She had never been to Paris, so she needed to do a bit of sightseeing in order to write about the most romantic place to fall in love. She logged into her bank account, did a quick calculation of the following month's fiscal essentials such as rent, electric, and subway card. The tension in her shoulders released once she figured there was a bit over five hundred dollars left. Rather than a standard room in one of the arrondissements the magazine's budget allowed for, she had enough cash for a hotel room on the Left Bank.

Flying out on Thursday would get her to Paris on Friday morning. She had the option of returning either Saturday or Sunday afternoon. They'd both give her enough time to write her article and present it on Wednesday. Time wasn't the issue. Funding was.

“I'm going to take a Seine river cruise and a second tour via bus to see the remainder of city,” she informed her friend behind the divider. “Well, that's assuming I can get it all jammed into one day of sightseeing. Hotels in Paris are as expensive as they are in Manhattan.” She really liked the one that was catty-corner from the Notre Dame, but moving the dates around by a day altered the bottom line drastically. The airfare was way cheaper when she stayed for a single night.

She shrugged. The shorter trip allowed her more time to polish her work and make the “presentation” deadline.

“If anyone can get it done, it's you,” Charlie replied.

Damn, Kathryn was blessed with good friends. She loved them all. Even Paul, the control freak.

Back to Paris.

As far as meals went . . . well, food was overrated anyway.

She called the number on the back of her credit card, and while she entered the account information, she pulled a box of protein bars from her desk drawer and stuffed it in her borrowed designer tote. Having a trust-fund roomie had great benefits—even if Charlie didn't access the money to live off of, she had gorgeous goodies to borrow. Once again, relief danced on her spirits when the bank recording announced she had enough room on her line of credit to eat
and
buy a new outfit.

Tapping her feet beneath her desk, she navigated between the open windows on her laptop and clicked BUY on each screen.

“I'm going to Paris,” she breathed in a singsong manner, reserving her airfare and the room, and purchasing both tours. She sent the details to the printer, gathered her stuff, and then peeked over the divider at Charlie and announced she was off to Bloomies for a drop-dead sexy new look.

“I'm also here for you, my friend. Just don't call me collect.” Charlie winked and blew her an exaggerated kiss before looking over her shoulder. With the coast clear, she snagged her e-cig from her hair. “By the way, choose the right dress and F-me boots for your trip. You never know who you may meet in Paris. Let loose. Enjoy the ride.”

Kat waved away the puffs of scented vapor. “Don't get caught with that again. It's company policy. We won't be able to afford Grammy's apartment on my salary alone.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mom. Please don't tell Dad. I wouldn't want him to spank me.”

“I'll see you at home,” Kathryn replied, laughing as she walked to the printer to collect her documents. And as for letting loose, there was only one man she'd want to let loose with. It just so happened she'd let him loose. Their goals didn't mesh. Time had expired on that option.

* * *

“You calling him?” Justin stepped out of his office and sidled up behind her. A woman couldn't have a moment with her own thoughts in her own office when she worked with three of her best friends. Paul's Justin, her Justin, with all his mathematical genius, was
City Wing's
accounting department.

“No.” Kathryn refused to meet his gaze, crossing her arms beneath her chest and waiting for the printer to finish. Justin had shared one too many martinis with Kathryn, and he knew her too well to believe that she wouldn't melt at the sight of Marko Renard. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she replied, pretending she was too absorbed in the printouts about the Eiffel Tower to give the question more merit, “this is about work. I need to prove that people find love in Paris, not recapture a lost possibility. I've worked my ass off to get to where I am. I'm not screwing it up by spinning my wheels over something, someone, that's never going to happen.”

“Right,” Justin replied, leaning over her shoulder and bringing his mouth next to Kathryn's ear, at least pretending to keep their exchange on a professional level for the others in the room. “If that's how you really feel, you need to get laid by a real man and let the overseas god go. Your man from the past is the reason nobody else is enough for you. You know you're measuring these poor guys against a dream guy. Let him go, or invite him back.”

“Past,” Kathryn said, regret swelling in her chest. “It didn't work then. It's not going to work now.”

“He emailed you—”

“Stop, Justin. This isn't about me and Marko. It really isn't. Plus, we're just friends.” It didn't matter how she felt, because she knew she loved him, had always loved him, and would probably always love him. What mattered was that there was an ocean between them. “We've always been friends and will always
be friends
.”

“Always?”

Damn, that was too many always in one thought.

Full disclosure was not part of her relationship contract with Justin. She wasn't going there. No need to share everything. After all, in the two years she'd been that close with Marko, there had only been a few weeks of complete surrender. Glorious and earth-shattering weeks. Then, her world had gone black.

They had crossed their best friend line, but she'd never acknowledged what it had meant aloud and she hadn't let him speak of it after the worst Christmas of her life. Her fairy tale had crashed the night her father had passed, and what she wanted had no longer mattered. Kathryn had needed to be there for her mom. Nothing else.

Marko had stayed at her side, but at her insistence, they'd reverted to best friends in those dark days. She'd needed him as her friend. Her rock. He'd been there. She hadn't permitted a romantic future together. The only thing she'd allowed was a predetermined date for a reunion—if they were both still single.

She had been shocked when she'd received his email on their should-have/could-have-been reunion date. While still in school, they'd set a time to reconnect seven years in the future, but she'd never dreamed he would remember their pact. She'd actually gone to the Empire State Building that Wednesday before Thanksgiving with every intention of meeting with him if he showed, but she hadn't stayed. Feeling stupid, she'd turned and run. She hadn't been able to take the risk. Apparently, according to Paul and Justin, Marko had remembered. He'd been waiting.

“A romantic relationship with Marko is out of the question. I just need to put myself out in the dating world. I'm ready for a man that will be
here
for me and rock my world.”

“Who said it has to be a relationship? Why not a tryst? Give the man a chance.”

She gave Justin her best out-of-bounds look and shook her head.

“Fine.” He raised his hands, palms forward, in a sign of surrender. “But you know what they say about those French men?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her balance. “Best lovers?”

“
Oui.
French men have mastered the art of flirtation, and they try much harder than most, especially when you're playing hard to get. Don't think you'll get away with a simple ‘No, thank you' with a real Frenchman. To a French guy, a response like that just means you're considering his proposition.” Justin cupped her chin and raised her face. He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Not to mention those hot Italians. They're known to be irresistible and very determined.”

“Got that covered.” She raised her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. The cubic solitaire she kept in the top drawer of her desk for unwanted happy hour advances reflected the light and shadows bouncing off the walls in the small space. “It may work against my research, but I'll pack it just in case I need it.”