Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,71

Suddenly, Knightley being here, wagging the proverbial finger at me, made sense.

“Oh, I see how it is,” I said.

He had his eyes shut but opened one to look at me. “And how is that?”

“You engineered this whole thing, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to go twenty-four hours without sleep?”

“Admit it. You talked Severin into dinner in Paris, knowing I’d lost my phone and this was your chance to swoop in and save the day, showing me up.”

He folded his arms behind his head and looked at me as if he thought I was a few slices shy of a ham sandwich. “Do you hear yourself? That’s crazy talk. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re threatened by me,” I said. “You think I’m going to steal your glory, Knightley.”

“Oh man, I do not need this shit.” He grunted and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he could grind the sleep out of his eyes. “Listen, Martin, since the Severin ask isn’t a done deal, there’s really no glory to be had.”

“Which just proves my point,” I said. “If I nailed down a commitment from Severin in Italy next week, how bad would that make you look?”

“Are you kidding me?” He spread his hands wide and then clasped his fingers together as if to keep himself from strangling me. “You disappear without a trace when you’re traveling alone in Europe, and you don’t think people are going to worry? And now you’re twisting it around to make it seem like a work thing where I’m the one at fault for being too ambitious?”

“I didn’t disappear. I lost my phone,” I said. My phone! I hurried to my suitcase and unzipped the side pocket. I reached in and felt around, relieved when I felt the familiar rectangle. My phone! Praise the cellular gods—I was back. “I accidentally put my phone in my suitcase, and then when I landed in Paris, my bag took the scenic route.” I checked the tags. “To Greece, apparently. I did not go off the grid on purpose, and I explained all of this in an email to Julia.”

“Right. She’s been out of the office with the flu for three days. In fact, half the department has been out, and Aidan hasn’t been able to come in, because he can’t risk the contagion,” he said. “I had to get in touch with your dad, who thankfully had gotten a text from you before you left Ireland, telling him where you were planning to stay in Paris.”

“My dad?” I asked. “You called my dad? Did he tell you I sent him an email from here? Because I did.”

“No, when I talked to him right before jumping on a red-eye, he hadn’t heard from you as yet,” he said.

“You didn’t make him worry, did you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I told him I’d lost the name of the place where you were staying. What do you take me for?”

“A man who’s made himself at home on my couch,” I said. “You can’t sleep here.” I whisked the pillow out from under his head and made to grab the blanket, but he was too quick and grabbed a corner and wouldn’t let go.

“Oh yes I can,” he said. “Trust me—flying all night, wedged in an upright seat between a snorer and a squalling baby, I can absolutely sleep here. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could sleep on the pointy end of a thumbtack if need be.”

“No, I mean you’re not sleeping in my apartment,” I said.

“Oh my god, Martin, re-freaking-lax,” he said. He snatched the pillow out of my hand. “Even if I wanted to jump your sudden hotness, I simply don’t have the energy. Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“But I . . . You . . . This.” I flapped my hands to encompass the entire situation. I was so vexed, I was surprised I didn’t achieve liftoff.

A deep breath interrupted my protest. Just like that, Jason Knightley was dead asleep on my couch. I wanted to kick him. I wanted to grab him by the ear and haul him out the door. This was my chance to reconnect with Jean Claude. I simply could not have Knightley messing it up for me. I grabbed my phone charger and stomped up the ladder to the loft.

Jason said we’d talk in the morning. Fine. But it was going to be me doing the talking and him doing the packing and leaving. Honestly,