Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (10 page)

Zoey nodded, and Eliza walked back to the front of the plane. In a few hours Zoey would probably regret not sleeping, but right now, all she wanted was to savor every moment of this experience.

Too bad she had to almost ruined Brooke’s wedding to get it.

The movie credits rolled, and Zoey turned off the iPad. In the chair next to hers, Mitch woke up. He didn’t stir awake like most people, shifting positions as his breathing changed rhythm. One moment he appeared asleep, and the next he was fully awake, mask off and his clothes perfectly unmussed. He pushed the footrest down and sat up.

“How close are we to landing?” he asked.

“About forty-five minutes.”

“Excellent.” He grabbed his iPad from the table and checked something off on a list. “It’s nearly nine o’clock Paris time. Juliette will meet us at Versailles at eleven. It’s a little over an hour long drive, so even if we run into traffic, we should get there on time.”

Heaven forbid they were five minutes late anywhere. Zoey yanked a makeup bag out of her backpack and pulled out the small mirror. She unrolled her collection of brushes and picked one of the thicker ones, then grabbed her favorite nude eyeshadow to use as a base. She tapped the brush in the powder, then blew on it gently before applying it to her eyelids in wide, sweeping strokes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mitch watched her. She lowered the mirror and brush. “What?”

“You just, uh, really seem to know what you’re doing with that brush.”

“I like makeup.” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant.

“You’re really good at it.” Mitch cleared his throat and stood. “I’m going to freshen up before we land.”

By the time the plane came to a stop on the tarmac, Zoey had applied her makeup, curled her hair, and slipped into a skirt and blouse. Mitch looked wide awake and ready to tackle the day. Zoey asked Eliza for another Dr. Pepper. Right now she was too excited to even think of sleep, but her adrenaline wouldn’t last all day.

The door of the plane opened. A shiny black town car was parked on the tarmac, and a man in a suit stood beside it. Mitch grabbed his briefcase and descended the stairs. Zoey followed at a slower pace, inhaling deeply. The air was cooler here than in Los Angeles and not quite as humid. The sky was an overcast gray, the fluffy clouds hinting at a rainstorm.

Zoey expertly stepped onto the tarmac in her six-inch heels.

“
Bonjour
,” the man in a suit said, nodding in her direction. He had a thick French accent and was perhaps fifty, short and lanky with a bald head. “My name is Phillipe. I’ll be your driver.”

“Phillipe’s a good man.” Mitch patted him on the back. “He’ll get us where we need to go during our stay and act as a translator when necessary.”

Zoey held out her hand, and Phillipe took it, giving her a limp handshake. “Nice to meet you, Phillipe. I’m Zoey.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,
mademoiselle
.” Phillipe leaned forward, brushing an air kiss along each of Zoey’s cheeks. “Morning traffic can be thick in Paris, especially on a Monday, so we should make quick if we want to get there on time.”

Mitch nodded and motioned for Zoey to slide into the back seat.

“What about our luggage?” she asked.

“It’ll be waiting for us at Luke’s,” Mitch said.

Satisfied, Zoey slipped into the car. Phillipe shut the door behind her, and a few moments later they were flying across the tarmac at a speed much too fast for an airport.

Zoey gripped the seat, glancing at Mitch. “Are we in that big a hurry?” she whispered, not wanting Phillipe to think her rude.

“Phillipe likes to drive fast and aggressive,” Mitch said. “I think it’s one of the reasons he and Luke get along so well.”

Phillipe flew onto the congested freeway, where he wove in and out of traffic, muttering obscenities and cutting off drivers. He slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding crashing into the car in front of them. The seatbelt cut into Zoey, keeping her from flying through the windshield.

“So, what do you think of Paris so far?” Mitch asked.

“I think the only way I’m leaving this country is in a body bag.”

Mitch laughed, the sound rich and completely unexpected. “If you think this is nuts, wait until you see the traffic circle around the Arc de Triomphe.”

“You mean we’ll get to see it?”

“Yes. You were right—you can’t come to Paris for the first time and not see the famous landmarks. We’ll make time to play tourist. Brooke won’t mind, as long as we get everything else done.”

“I knew you’d come around.” Zoey pressed her face against the window. Giant billboards with French words she didn’t understand and scantily clad models lined the freeway. Everything felt different here, from the road signs to the long, skinny license plates on the vehicles. “Where’s the Eiffel Tower? I was hoping to see it today.”

“We’re driving away from the city, so you’ll have to wait until tonight for that. We have an excellent view from Luke’s apartment.”

The traffic thinned out, and the trees gave way to rolling hills. Zoey let out a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m in France
.
This is unbelievable.”

“You want to travel?”

“Absolutely. My dad was always too busy working for family vacations, so I’ve basically been to Colorado and California and a few spring breaks in Florida. But I want to see the world. Don’t you?”

“Traveling is expensive, and not how I choose to spend my money.”

“Yeah, but you travel tons for work, and that doesn’t cost a penny.”

“It costs time, and that’s something I can rarely afford when traveling.”

Zoey leaned back and folded her arms. “You’ve never been to the Eiffel Tower, have you?”

“I’ve walked under it, but there wasn’t time for a tour.”

“And Notre Dame? Have you been inside?”

“I peeked through the doors.”

Zoey shook her head. “Unbelievable! Have you seen the Mona Lisa, climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe, visited Sacre Couer?”

“Those were never priorities on my previous visits.”

Mitch needed to reevaluate what was important. “Buckle up, Mitchell Harris. I’m making them priorities for this visit. Because maybe you’re okay with coming to Paris and seeing nothing but the inside of a board room, but I’m certainly not.” Forcing Mitch to kick back and relax would be her goal on this trip. Well, that and keeping away the paparazzi.

Guilt slammed into Zoey, dampening her enthusiasm. The only reason she was experiencing this was because she’d flirted with the wrong guy, and now Brooke couldn’t be here. So should Zoey really get to enjoy it?

Phillipe jerked the car to a stop, then gassed it around a corner. Zoey slammed into Mitch, her body nestling up against his. He threw out a hand to steady her, his grip on her bicep warm, solidly firm, and yet still gentle.

“Are you okay?” Mitch asked

Zoey looked up into his eyes, so black his pupils practically disappeared. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sorry,” Phillipe said, his voice cheerful. “We are almost there.”

Zoey jerked away, smoothing down her hair. She couldn’t keep having these . . . these . . . these
moments
with Mitch. If matchmaking had taught her one thing, it was that no amount of heat and chemistry could make up for a lack of compatibility. And she and Mitch were simply not compatible, however much her pulse insisted otherwise.

They exited the freeway and turned onto a one-lane country road. Tiny farmhouses with thatched roofs and adorable shutters dotted the lush, green countryside.

They crested a hill, and Zoey let out a squeal. “There it is!”

Morning sunlight glistened off the palace, making it even more picturesque. Ornate gold gates stood open, framing the front. Tourists spilled out of them in a line.

Phillipe pulled the car to a stop, and Mitch held the door open for Zoey. She took a deep breath, her neck swiveling back and forth so she could take in the grand majesty of the building.

Versailles. She couldn’t believe she was actually here.

The palace was larger than any museum Zoey had ever visited, easily covering multiple city blocks. She sucked in a breath as she took in the details—the intricately carved stone busts between each window, the gold leafing on the roof, the brilliantly blue clock in the center of the building. She felt like she’d been transported back in time to the days of Marie Antoinette.

“This is amazing,” she breathed. Her entire body tingled with awe. Tourists touting fanny packs stood in line to purchase tickets, clicking away on their cell phones and digital cameras.

This definitely called for a selfie. Zoey pulled out her own phone and turned around so the palace would be in the background. She looked at the photo and frowned. You could barely even tell where she was.

“You can’t post that on social media,” Mitch said. “I went to a lot of effort to keep those flight plans secret.”

Zoey lowered her phone. “What do you think I am, an idiot? I can still have photos for my personal collection. I won’t share them until we’re back home in California.”

Mitch opened his mouth to protest, but a middle-aged woman a few paces away smiled at Zoey. She stepped closer and motioned to Zoey’s phone. “Would y’all like me to take a picture of ya?” she asked, her Southern accent thick.

Zoey grinned, handing the phone to the woman. “That’s so thoughtful. Thank you, we’d love one.”

“We been here coming on a week now, and it’s so good to hear another American accent.” The woman motioned to Mitch. “You two get closer and act like y’all like each other.”

Mitch paled, his chocolate skin turning caramel. Zoey knew he’d seen the wicked glint in her eye.

“Come here, sweetie pie,” she said, her voice extra syrupy. She wrapped an arm around Mitch, pulling him close and leaning her head against his. Zoey breathed in deeply, savoring the spicy scent of his aftershave. Why did Mitch have to smell so good, on top of everything else?

The woman snapped a few pictures, the click of the camera shutter lost in the dull roar of the crowd. Zoey reluctantly let go of Mitch, her chest tight with a confusing mesh of emotions, and took the phone back.

“There ya go, sweetie. You two enjoy your day.”

“Thanks,” Zoey said. “You too.”

The woman waved and walked back to her husband, who wore shorts and knee-high socks. Zoey flipped through the pictures, pleased to see that only one of them had turned out blurry, and the two others were actually pretty good. She and Mitch leaned into each other, foreheads touching. Mitch had a half smile on his full lips, like he was pretending annoyance but secretly enjoying himself. Zoey’s own lips curled up in a smile she couldn’t quite hold back.

“There,” she said. “Now you have proof you did something touristy while in Paris.”

“We’re not in Paris. We’re in Versailles.”

“You mean it’s an actual city?”

He motioned to the palace, his eyes lighting up and a dimple winking in one cheek. “It’s big enough to be one, and that’s how it functioned during its glory days. As many as ten thousand courtiers would live here at once.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you knew so much about history.”

“I watch documentaries when I can’t fall asleep at night.”

Somehow, that fit Mitch. It was nice to know he had an interest other than work.

“Juliette said she’d meet us at the ticket station.” Mitch made his way purposefully past the crowd of people waiting in line.

Zoey pointed to a woman in heels and a high-waisted A-line skirt with pleats. She stood a few feet away from the ticket booth, a tablet held loosely in one hand. “I think that’s her.”

The woman waved—maybe she’d heard Zoey’s American accent—and walked toward them. She was unexpectedly young, perhaps close to Zoey’s own age, with olive skin and inky black hair. Her eyes were almond-shaped and exotic looking, her cheekbones high and defined. The woman certainly knew how to wield a makeup brush to her advantage.

“Mr. Harris?” the woman asked. Her words were crisp and clear, her English more British than American.