Page 9 of That Weekend in Paris
“Oh,” he says. “Is he coming later or?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has something happened?” he asks then, a cautious note in his voice.
“Yes. Sort of. Well, yes, it has.” I’m rushing my words now. “Josh and I are no longer together. And I’m no longer with Top Dog Publishing.”
“Ah.” Surprise underlines the response.
I forge on. “So, I was wondering if we could meet today and have a short talk. I promise not to take up much of your time. I know you have the show tonight, and you’ll have rehearsals.”
“Well, sure,” he says. “What did you have in mind?”
“You’re staying at the Ritz Paris as well, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“I was getting ready to head out and do a little sightseeing. Maybe find a caféwhere we could sit for a bit. Would that be all right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “What time would you like to meet?”
“The lobby in half an hour?”
“Ah, sure. Okay. I’ll see you there.”
“Thank you, Klein.”
I put down my phone, exhaling a sigh as if I’ve been holding my breath for the last few minutes. I guess I’d expected Klein to turn me down. I’m grateful that he didn’t, and now I need to make the most of his agreeing to see me.
I glance in the mirror across from the bed at my outfit, trying to decide if the black pants and light blue fitted sweater are a good choice, or if I should find something else from the depths of my suitcase.
I decide on a crisp white cotton shirt, opting to leave my hair loose instead of in a ponytail.I go light on the makeup, but opt to add eyeliner and some mascara, trying not to look too closely at my motivation. Not that it would take a genius to nail it. What woman wouldn’t want to look her best in a face to face with Klein? There probably aren’t any in actual existence, and I am certainly no exception.
Even so, I also know that vanity aside, my desire to make a good impression on Klein is about business and nothing more. My decision to start my own publishing company with me as my sole client is admittedly a gutsy one. I have a decent cushion for start-up, but that will last only so long, and I feel sure at some point soon I will start to feel the stress of the need to become profitable.
For a moment, I feel a stab of panic for the fact that I have put myself in competition with my cheating ex-husband. Failure is not an option if I intend to have a shred of dignity left.
Was I crazy to set this mountain in front of myself?
Most likely.
Too late now for second thoughts.I take a step back, study myself in the mirror, decide that I look appropriately professional. I reach for my phone and room key, toss them in a small backpack I had planned to use for walking around the city, and leave the room.
Dillon
“I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.”
?W. Somerset Maugham
HE’S WAITING NEAR the front desk when I arrive.
His back is to me, but I have no difficulty recognizing his broad shoulders. “Klein.”
He turns at the sound of his name, and for just a millisecond, I have the feeling he is glad to see me. The way you’re happy to see someone when you’re away from home and spot a person you know.
I remember the first time I saw him, how stunning I’d found him then.
Turns out, that hasn’t changed. He has the kind of magnetic good looks that immediately draw the eye. He’s six-three or a little better, muscled but lean in the way of a man who knows his way around a gym. Country music fans are as crazy about him as they are Luke Bryan and Holden Ashford.
