He cocked a brow. “Are you, now?”
“Yep. And the Eiffel Tower after that.”
“You don’t speak French,” he pointed out.
“Yes, however will I survive in this city full of tourists?” she sarcastically replied.
She turned to leave, but Smith stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me get my coat.”
She must have looked pretty surprised, because he laughed.
“What, I can’t take my assistant sightseeing?” he said.
She was quiet for a second, so he pushed past her and disappeared in his room. When he came back, he was wearing his leather jacket.
Now he really looked like he had when they met. A bunch of images rushed into her head, images of what he looked like beneath the clothes. Most men didn’t look better with their clothes off, but Smith was an exception.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, blushing a little at her thoughts. “Lead the way.”
He led her out of the hotel. She noticed that none of the toadying bellhops even looked their way, and the valets didn’t offer to pull around the limo.
She looked at Smith. She supposed he was different looking enough in his current garb to warrant different treatment. It was funny what taking him out of the Brioni suit did for his outward appearance. He looked handsome, but otherwise he was totally average.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head as they walked away from the hotel.
“What?” he said to her as he pulled out his phone and hailed an Uber.
“I was just thinking… no one noticed you leaving, back at the hotel. It’s almost like you’re in your punk rock disguise.”
He winked at her and grinned. “Don’t tell anyone my secret.”
She laughed and shook her head again.
“You are so bad,” she said.
“I try,” he said casually as their Uber arrived.
She rolled her eyes and allowed him to put her in the car. He climbed in the other side and told the driver where to go.
“You’re just lucky that you speak French,” she said.
“I wouldn’t say lucky,” he said, looking out the window. “I was stationed in Senegal for six months, then in Rwanda.”
“Stationed?”
“Yeah. Special Air Service Lieutenant, at your service, ma’am.”
She was stunned. She’d taken Smith at face value, as a rich kid who went to punk clubs to defy his parents. Of course, now that she knew, it made sense. He was tidy, and seemed so worldly. He had gotten both of those things in the Special Air Service.
“How long were you in the service?” she asked.
“Almost four years,” he said, pulling a face. “I would’ve gladly stayed in, but…”
“But?”
“Duty called,” he said with a sardonic little smirk. “My father pretended he was about to retire. Somebody had to run Calloway Corp.”
He smiled, but it was humorless this time. She digested that information. For the first time, she considered who he was as a person, apart from the business.
Did he know that money was being misappropriated from his company? Worse, was he complicit in it?
She didn’t think so, but he was proving that she knew next to nothing about him as a person. She looked at him through her eyelashes, wondering if she was working toward putting him in jail.
“Ah, here we are,” he said. He said something to the driver in French, and the driver pulled over.
They both got out, Cam marveling at the sheer size of the Arc de Triomphe. It was a gray cement arch, at least 150 feet tall and almost as wide. It was covered in elaborate figures of the soldiers it celebrated from the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, or so her guidebook told her.
“God, it’s huge,” she said, as they approached it.
“It is,” he said, looking up. “It makes one feel small, doesn’t it?”
She smiled at the fact that his British accent meant he could get away with saying such a dramatic thing. “It does.”
They walked right under the monument, marveling. There were plenty of other tourists there, but not so many as to make it seem crowded.
“We should go to a museum tonight, instead of the Eiffel Tower,” he said.
“Really?” she said.
“Yeah, don’t you think?” he asked. “We can see the Eiffel Tower by driving by it. We can’t see the Louvre from the outside.”
“I’m down for whatever you suggest,” she said with a grin.
Cam oohed and aahed for another half an hour. Smith was perfectly patient with her, getting a cab when she was ready to go. He gave the driver a long string of instructions, then nodded to her.
“He’s going to drive us by the Eiffel Tower.”
They sat for a couple of minutes, silently absorbing the city around them.
“Ahhh, look,” she pointed at a stately-looking old building. “Everything in this city has so much history.”
“That’s very true,” he said. “A lot more than any place in the US, anyway.”
“Oh, I can see the Eiffel Tower!” she said.
“It’s just lighting up, now that it’s getting dark,” he observed.
She sat back, dazzled by the whole thing. The tower was so much taller than she’d imagined, every steel beam decorated with lights. It was gorgeous really, everything she’d ever hoped it would be.
They moved past it, and Cam realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly and watched as the city slid by the cab’s window.
“I’m hungry,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Me too,” said Smith. “There are a few restaurants near the Louvre. Why don’t we grab something to eat before we see the art?”
“Sounds good,” she said.
He smiled, and their eyes met. For a second, she thought that he was going to lean in and kiss her, but after a moment he turned away. Her heart skipped a few beats, regardless.
Smith said something in French to the cab driver. The cab driver let them out in front of a restaurant called Le Rose, a quaint little café with seating out front.
“It’s pretty nice outside. Should we eat out here?” Smith asked Cam.
“Sure,” she said.
“This looks like an order up front kind of place. How about I go inside and get us some snacks? You can stay out here and settle in.”
“Okay,” she said, pointing to a wrought iron table. “I’ll be right at this table.”
He headed inside, and she made herself comfortable at the table. He returned a few minutes later with a tray of food. He set it down.
“Hold on,” he said. He went back inside, then came out with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Ta-da!!”
“Nice!” she said, leaning forward to inspect the tray of food while he worked to open the bottle. “What is all this?”
“Let’s see,” he said, popping the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses. “We have a baguette, and a couple kinds of cheese. I think that’s brie and that’s sheep’s milk cheese. Then there’s ham, and butter. I also got a few pieces of chocolate.”
“Holy crap,” she said, her eyes wide. “All this and champagne, too?”