Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,47

millions of dollars from corporations to help fund the fight against cancer.”

“I know, but—”

“I’m not finished,” he said. “You’ve also, through your efforts, raised the level of awareness about preventing cancer. Who knows how many women got screened for breast cancer just because you had the genius idea to have the mobile mammogram bus park outside various corporations and offer free screenings? How many people now put on a hat or sunscreen just because you showed up with your graphs and charts and free gifts as incentives to take better care of themselves? I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit here, Martin.”

“Perhaps,” I said. I felt a burst of warmth at his use of the word genius, but I ignored it. “It’s all anecdotal. There’s no way to quantify how many lives we’ve impacted, and I just wonder if I’m not missing the bigger picture in my life.”

He narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “Forgive me, but is your biological clock ticking or something?”

“No.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Why do men always think that?”

He shrugged. “Women of a certain age . . .”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“The impending big three-oh sends a lot of people into a tailspin.”

“Not me,” I insisted. “But maybe I want my weekends to be more than Color Runs, silent auctions, walkathons, cocktail parties, fashion shows, raffles, and wine tastings.”

“BattleBots, I’m just sayin’,” he said.

I laughed and he did, too.

“I get it,” he said. “I do. It’s an all-consuming thing that we do, and it’s important to make time in your life for more.”

“Says the guy who’s at the office at eight o’clock at night,” I said.

“It’s almost nine,” he corrected me. “Which means it’s close to two o’clock your time. You should cash out, Martin.”

I nodded. “You should, too. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can talk more about your conference call with Eleanor if you want, and I can break down my spreadsheets for you. I know you’re more of an idea guy than a numbers guy.”

“That would be helpful,” he said. “See? We make a great team, Martin.”

“Whatever,” I said. I rolled my eyes, but when I looked at him, he was giving me a lopsided smile that I couldn’t interpret. “What? Do I have food in my teeth?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m just . . . This was a pleasant conversation.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” I asked. I blinked. “You know something, Knightley? You’re not so bad when I’m an ocean away from you.”

“Sadly, you’re not the first woman to say that,” he said.

I laughed. “G’night, Goose.”

He grinned. “G’night, Maverick.”

I ended the call and went to plug in my phone to charge it. The thought of the supersoft mattress awaiting me made me hurriedly brush my teeth and pull on my cow pajamas. Thankfully, I hadn’t put those on before I called Jason.

Although I wondered. It was a different Jason who had answered the phone tonight. Or maybe I was a different Chelsea. I was Chelsea who’d consumed several shots and beers, so there was no question I was a much mellower version of myself. I considered the amount of alcohol I’d had, and decided an enormous glass of water and two ibuprofen would not be out of order.

Once I was properly medicated and hydrated, I climbed into bed. I didn’t expect to sleep, knowing that I had so many mixed emotions about seeing Colin again to sift through. But a weariness I wasn’t prepared for hit me hard and fast as I lay down, and before the breath left my lungs in a big old sigh, I was dead asleep face first in the down-filled pillow. Bless their hearts, the hangover gods had decided to be kind. I woke up with a mild case of cottonmouth, but that was it. No headache, no queasiness—in fact, I was starving. I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to toss on some clothes and get up to the main house for Darby’s Irish breakfast.

I rolled out of bed and hit the ground running, throwing on yoga pants and a sweatshirt. For the first time since I’d arrived, there was not a cloud in the sky, and I paused to marvel at the brilliant jewel-green hills all around me.

The trees were still mostly bare, but their branches were thick with buds. A magpie flitted by in a flash of black and white with a swish of green tail feathers, no doubt looking for something to eat or pilfer. I remembered during my summer