Smith looked at Cameron.
“That was what I was talking about, when I said we’d be sharing close quarters,” he said, straightening his shirt.
She frowned, making her way back to her seat. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged, picking up his laptop. She put her headphones back in and closed her eyes, but he could tell she was fuming. Her red hair was disheveled just a bit.
Damn, but she was sexy when she was angry.
He spent the rest of the flight trying not to think about the way she’d felt. The weight of her on top of his body, the way she’d sunk into him and kissed him.
She just sat there, not looking at him. Smith found it beyond frustrating. It seemed like the whole cabin was filled with their tension, and there was no escaping it.
When the flight finally landed in Paris, he sighed with relief. He was down the plane’s stairs before he realized that he had to spend the limo ride with her.
“This is us?” she asked, pointing to the limo as she walked down the plane’s stairs.
“Yes,” he said, walking over to the limo and opening the door.
He climbed inside with his laptop case and briefcase, impatient. She slid in the other side while the chauffeur loaded their luggage. Smith looked away from Cameron, unsure how he was supposed to feel.
The chauffeur rolled down the partition.
“Où est-ce que je vous emmène?” the driver asked.
“Les Quatre Saisons, s'il vous plaît,” Smith answered.
He noticed that Cameron did a double take when she heard him speaking French fluently. He smirked as the limo pulled off. There were a lot of things that she didn’t know about him.
Soon they began to see The City of Lights, as it was often called. It was early evening here, so the restaurants and shops were just beginning to turn on their lights. They drove past a couple of the big sights in Paris, like the Sacre-Coeur, the Moulin Rouge, and the Arc de Triomphe.
It was pretty phenomenal, seeing the city light up like that.
Cameron looked out the window, her eyes wide. He knew it was her first time in Paris, but anyone could guess from her reaction that it was all new. It was almost endearing to watch, he had to admit.
When they got to the hotel, Smith swept out of the limo and into the gray brick building. The grand marble lobby awaited, with its lavish chandelier and many flower arrangements. Behind an elaborately decorated marble desk stood two beautiful Parisian women, ready to assist them with their rooms.
“How can I help you?” a beautiful brunette asked in heavily accented English.
“Two rooms, under the name Calloway,” he said.
“Just a moment, please.” She started typing in the computer in front of her. “Ah, we have the reservation. Mr. Calloway, you and your guest are in the Royale Suite.”
She looked up at him, expectant. He frowned.
“No, we have two guest rooms,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “They’ll be on my company card, here.”
He rifled through his cards and handed her a Black American Express.
“I will be happy to check again,” she said. She typed another string of information, and looked up at him. “I’m sorry, but it looks like your reservation was changed yesterday. Paid for in advance by a Spencer Calloway.”
He repressed a grimace. Of course his father had to meddle in his affairs. It made total sense.
“Alright. There are two bedrooms, at least?”
“Yes, sir. It’s just down the first floor corridor. I’ll have one of the bellhops take you.”
“Thank you. Are these the keys?”
“Oui, monsieur.”
He turned around and spotted Cameron taking a cell phone photo of a sculpture of ballerinas dancing. He had no doubt that it was famous, but he had no time for art right now.
“Cameron, come on,” he chastised her. “We’re down the hall.”
He turned on his heel and followed the bellhop down a series of corridors, until they arrived at the Royale Suite.
He opened the door, tipping the bellhop as he looked around. They walked into a living room of cream furniture, all perfectly immaculate.
“Whoa,” he heard Cameron say. “Holy shit.”
The living room led into a white marble covered dining room, and an elegant marble balcony with black patio furniture. Two bedrooms and bathrooms were set up just off the living room as well, both with kingsize beds and done in beige tones.
Smith turned to Cameron, possibly to make a joke of the ridiculous accommodations. Then he saw her putting her baggage in one of the bedrooms. She shot him a look, and shut the bedroom door with a definitive click.
6
Cam kicked off her heels in her room. They’d been in Paris for three days now, and she’d seen precisely none of the sights. Not that she’d expected to slack off and sightsee the whole time, but she had been so busy the last few days that a break was welcome.
During the meetings at Calloway Corp, she’d mostly been left in the dark due to the fact that apparently everyone spoke French. They were in France, so it was to be expected, but it left her in the dust. She was often still looking up a word she’d managed to catch in her French-to-English dictionary when everyone stood to leave the boardroom.
She sighed and rubbed her neck, sitting on the luxurious bed she’d been assigned. Her phone buzzed, no doubt to notify her that Erika was calling again.
Erika had been elated to hear that Cam was being sent overseas, to what she called the most romantic city of all time. Her editor had urged her to spend her time seducing Smith, because she said the best informants were unsuspecting ones.
Cam suspected that Spencer Calloway had sent them here for the same reason, so a little part of her was glad that she and Smith had been too busy to spend time together.
She picked up the necklace from her bedside table, holding the locket carefully. The chain had been replaced three times, so the locket was the only original piece left.
She pressed the locket’s smooth gold sides, releasing the catch and opening it carefully. She hardly ever opened the locket anymore, because the two little pictures stuffed inside were starting to fade.
On one side, a picture of herself, a grinning redheaded girl of about eight. On the other side was a young woman, also a redhead. Dressed in overalls and a purple shirt, her mother looked at her with a vaguely happy expression.
It pained Cam to think it, but the young woman in the photo might be younger than Cam herself by now.
She closed the locket and put it away. She checked her watch. It was only four in the afternoon, and the meetings were concluded for the day. If she was going to do any sightseeing, it would have to be now.
She got up and went to her closet. She changed into jeans, a band t-shirt, and a blazer. Simple but sophisticated, much like Paris itself.
She grabbed her purse and her guidebook, planning on visiting the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. At least if she saw those two things, she could say her trip was not a waste.
She went into the living room, pausing when she saw Smith on the balcony. She walked over and stuck her head out. She felt the low rumble of attraction as soon as she saw him in his jeans and t-shirt, just as he’d been the first night she met him.
She swallowed her feelings down as he turned around.
“I’m going to the Arc de Triomphe,” she said. “So I’ll be gone the rest of the evening.”