Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (18 page)

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey yelled. She shoved him against the wall again, feeling her nails gouge the leather of his jacket. “Are you stalking me? Do you think it’s funny to follow random girls around Paris?”

“Zoey,” Mitch said. His hand landed on her arm, silently urging her to let go. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

Zoey glared at Alan, her grip tightening on the fabric. She imagined slamming her fist into his face, wiping that smirk right off.

He was going to ruin everything. He was a selfish, sleazy, no good son-of-a—

But if she caused a scene, it would make a bad situation even worse.

Zoey gave Alan another shove, then released him and stepped back. Her fingers ached from how tightly she’d held onto him, and her body trembled as rage ripped through her. “Leave. Me. Alone. Why won’t you crawl back into whatever hole you were hiding in before deciding to use me?”

The smirk was back. “I have a job to do, just like you, Zoey. You convince random couples they’re in love with each other, and I sell the photographs to the highest bidder when those couples break up, if they’re famous enough.”

“You are despicable.” She spit out each word. Mitch’s hand landed on her arm, and she knew he was worried she’d fly at Alan again.

She still hadn’t ruled it out as a possibility.

“How did you find us?” Mitch asked. Unlike her high-pitched shrill, his voice was carefully controlled.

“A reporter never reveals his sources,” Alan said.

“Why aren’t you hiding like most of the paps?” Mitch said. “Why confront us?”

“Sticking to the shadows is so boring, and I couldn’t do it any longer. I like to play with my food before I devour it.”

Zoey slammed her hand against the brick wall with a yell. “Leave. Us. Alone!”

“Not a chance. I know the wedding is going to be here, and soon.”

“You’re wrong.” Panic bubbled up in Zoey’s throat, and she fought it down. “They still haven’t picked a date.”

“Then why are you traipsing around Paris with a wedding planner?” Alan smirked. “I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together. Photos of that wedding will make my entire career.”

“I will obliterate
your career if you don’t leave me alone,” Zoey yelled, shoving a finger in his face. “We lost you once, and we can lose you again.”

“You can lose me all you want, but I’ll find you again easily enough, just like I found you now. Like I’ve found you every day since you’ve been here.”

Zoey’s heart thudded in her chest, and her hands turned clammy. “Who’s your source?”

“Nice try.”

“I can destroy your entire career,” Mitch said.

Zoey whipped her head around, eyebrows skyrocketing at his low and dangerous tone.

“I will make sure you are blacklisted from every media publication in the country,” Mitch said. “You won’t even be able to get a job writing feature pieces for a small-town newspaper.”

“When I get those photos of Brooke and Luke’s wedding, I’ll make a half million overnight, easy.” Alan ran a finger over his camera strap, almost caressing it. “There will be nothing you or anyone else can do—or say—that can touch me.”

“I told you, they haven’t yet set a date,” Zoey said.

“Right.” Alan raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re in Paris, planning a wedding, just for the heck of it.”

“It’s our wedding.” The words were out of Zoey’s mouth before she could think. Blood roared in her ears, and she didn’t dare look at Mitch. This was do or die, and she wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

Alan snorted. “So you agreed to go out with me for what reason?”

Think, Zoey!
There had to be a plausible explanation.

Mitch’s arm settled around her shoulders. “That’s my fault,” he said. “Zoey and I had a fight, but seeing you at Disneyland convinced me if I didn’t snatch her up soon, someone else would. So I proposed.”

Alan glanced back and forth between them. Zoey saw the doubt in his expression, but also a flicker of unease. He wasn’t buying the story—not entirely—but it had planted the seed. “No way. You guys are covering for your friends.”

“Of course we are. I always tell reporters I’m getting married when someone’s accosting my friends.” Mitch infused the words with so much acid that even Zoey believed them. “We didn’t want to steal the limelight from Brooke and Luke, so we’re eloping.”

“You’re lying.”

Mitch folded his arms. “My fiancée and I have a lot to do today. Go back to California and bother someone else. If you aren’t gone by the time we come back outside, I’ll make sure the owner of this fine establishment charges you with loitering.” Mitch opened the door, placed a firm hand on Zoey’s back, and led her inside.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Zoey said. “I didn’t know you were such an actor.”

Mitch’s breathing was slow and labored, a sure sign he was struggling to find his Zen. “He’s gone too far and made this personal. No one is ruining my best friend’s wedding.”

“I don’t think he bought it,” Zoey said. “At least, not entirely. But we planted a seed of doubt. Hopefully that will be enough.”

“And if it’s not, I guess we’ll just have to put on a show.”

I guess we’ll have to put on a show.
Had Mitch seriously said that? To Zoey, of all people? Even days later, he had a hard time believing what had happened. Because he had no doubt that she could deliver a memorable performance. One that had a high likelihood of messing with his brain. He’d been waiting with baited breath for the start of her little show.

No. He didn’t have to obsess over the fact that they were constantly looking over their shoulders, or the way just seeing Zoey made his stomach swarm with butterflies, like some cheesy cliché. All he had to worry about right now was getting to the caterer’s and approving the menu selection for the reception.

Zoey coughed, the sound a shotgun in the silent foyer of the office building. Mitch glanced over at her, then away again quickly.

In the past four days, they’d alluded Allen no less than four times. Mitch was beginning to wonder if his heartbeat would ever achieve a normal rhythm again. So far, they hadn’t had to play up the bride and groom angle for Alan. Mitch was equal parts elated and disappointed.

Zoey had slipped back into her calm, subdued persona, something Mitch was growing to hate. He kept replaying the moment they’d confronted Alan. Watching her slam him against the wall and defend her best friends had been . . . well . . .

Sexy.

Mitch shook his head, pushing the
up
button for the elevator. The doors pinged open, and they stepped inside. Zoey’s breathing was loud and rushed in the confined space, probably from the white-knuckled ride they’d just taken through Paris to lose Alan. Again.

Mitch should say something. Tell her everything would be okay. But he should keep how attractive he found the fiery part of her personality to himself.

The elevator jerked to a stop before he worked up the courage to open his mouth.

Juliette waited for them in the small lobby of the caterer’s. “
Bonjour
,” she said, smiling. “I hope you are both hungry.”

“Starving,” Zoey said.

Funny. Mitch didn’t have much of an appetite at all. It was hard to think about things like food when Zoey had monopolized every thought.

“They’re ready for us,” Juliette said. She led them to a room with a round table and three chairs, and they sat down. A waiter immediately appeared and sat a small salad in front of each of them.

“We’ll taste twenty dishes today, so don’t eat the entire portion or you will be too full to try everything,” Juliette said. “This arugula salad is a house specialty.”

Zoey nodded and picked up her fork, dragging the tines through the dressing. Mitch frowned. When was Spunky Zoey going to return?

“How has your afternoon been?” Juliette asked.

“Fine,” Zoey said.

“And how was your final dress fitting?”

“Perfect.”

Mitch took a small bite of his salad, barely tasting the bitter herb. For an hour, Zoey was pleasant and amenable while they tasted dishes. But she didn’t give the waiters her usual warm smile, didn’t tease, didn’t make witty comments about the food. She hadn’t been herself for days.

This wasn’t his Zoey. Where was the girl who’d slammed Alan against a wall?

“Brooke and Luke chose these pasta dishes for their variety,” Juliette said. “The white wine is classic and should appeal to guests with a sophisticated taste, whereas the creamy fettuccine with lemon zest is an elegant twist on comfort food. The stuffed tortellini with pesto is my personal favorite.”

“They’re all delicious,” Mitch said. He looked at Zoey. “Which is your favorite?”

She shrugged. “They’re all great. I’m sure the guests will be happy, no matter what they order.”

Mitch pressed his lips together. Why was she acting like this? She’d seemed off all week.

“Yeah, but which one is
your
favorite?” Mitch pressed.

“I guess I like the cavatappi noodles with the white wine sauce,” Zoey said.

“I think that’s my favorite, too.”

A smile flickered across her face. “Well, look at that, Mr. Harris—we finally found something we agree on.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t like this complacent, agreeable version of Zoey. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

Fighting with her made him feel alive. Why had he never realized that before?

Zoey’s behavior didn’t improve as they finalized the selections. Had the confrontation with Alan a few days ago really shaken her so badly?

“I’m pleased you enjoyed the dishes,” Juliette said as the waiters cleared the dessert plates away. “I’ll get the final food totals to the caterers tonight. Don’t forget we’re approving the table linens tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock.”

“We’ll be there,” Mitch said. He and Zoey rose from their chairs.

“Thanks, Juliette,” Zoey said.

Maybe exploring Paris would help her shed this strange persona she’d adopted. Mitch sent a quick text to Phillipe, an idea percolating at the back of his mind.

Outside, the sun was just beginning its decent toward the horizon. Zoey looked up and down the curb, frowning. “I don’t see Phillipe.”

“I gave him the night off,” Mitch said. “I thought we could go to Notre Dame, since we have a free evening. It’s not far from here. We can take the metro to the Eiffel Tower afterward. You said you wanted to see it at night.”

He expected her to squeal—maybe even to hug him—but she just nodded and said, “Okay.”

Something was definitely up. And he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Mitch turned toward Notre Dame, and Zoey fell into step beside him without a word. Car horns honked and mopeds zoomed past on the narrow road. A mime performed on a street corner, garnering applause from the small audience that had gathered.

Mitch looked over at Zoey, expecting her to pull him to a stop so they could watch the mime. But her arms were folded, her eyes focused on the street, and she kept walking.

He couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Alan must’ve given up for the night,” Mitch said. “I haven’t seen him since right before the caterer’s.”

“I guess.”

He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Maybe you’ve scared him into hiding. He’s kept his distance the last few days.”

He’d expected the comment to make her laugh. Instead, her face fell. “I probably just made him more angry and he’s been plotting his revenge. I should’ve held my tongue.”

Finally—a response that consisted of more than one word. “I think it’s pretty clear at this point that Alan isn’t going away, no matter what we do. What I can’t figure out is how he’s tracking us.”

“Me either. Our phones came back clean. It’s not your computer. They didn’t find any bugs in Brooke’s office or at our apartment.”

“I know.” Mitch rubbed a hand over his face, the stress returning. “The only thing that makes sense is someone at Toujour is the leak.”