Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,96

asked you to defend me,” I said. “You had no right.”

“That asshole, Jean Claude”—he said his name in a mocking French accent—“got exactly what he deserved. In fact, he got less than he deserved. I wish I’d pounded on him twice as hard.”

“If anyone was going to punch him in the face, it should have been me. You behaved like a thug. I won’t tolerate that,” I said. I finished tending the cuts on his face and put the ice back on his eye. “I can handle my own life, thank you very much. Now I’m going to my place. You might want to take something for that eye.”

I dropped the hand towel in the bathroom sink, washed my hands, and headed for the door. Jason was leaning against it with his arms over his chest.

“Martin, you are full of shit,” he said.

I raised one eyebrow and put my hands on my hips. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t care that I punched Jean Claude in the face. You’re just using that fight to put some distance between us.” He pointed to me and then himself. “Because you are freaking out about what’s happening here.”

“Pff,” I scoffed. “As if. And for the record, there is nothing happening here.”

“Bullshit,” he said.

My mouth dropped open in outrage.

“Yes, this is me officially calling you on your bullshit,” he said. “I mean, damn, was I alone during our double make-out fest? Nope. I clearly remember you being there, too.”

“That doesn’t signify.” I tossed my head in a dismissive gesture. “It was the Eiffel Tower—everything is romantic on the tower, especially with champagne. And as for the second kiss, we’re in Paris in April. These things happen.”

Jason looked at me as if I were nuts. I lost my cool. I gestured with my hands, holding them out toward the window as if I were showing a prize on a game show. “April in Paris, surely you’ve heard of that ridiculously romantic setting? Everyone goes a little crazy in Paris in April, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“What?! Of course it means something,” he argued. “In fact, it probably means ten times more because magic on the Eiffel Tower doesn’t happen for no reason, and how about Paris in April anyway? Pretty freaking great, right?”

Magic? I didn’t know what to say. If I said the kisses we’d shared hadn’t been all that, he’d know I was lying, but if I admitted it, then he’d win the argument, which could not happen for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that we were colleagues who never should have been kissing in the first place.

I mean, this was Knightley. We were rivals. Sure, we’d been getting along here, but what happened if we took this further? What happened when we returned to Boston? We were in charge of a ten-million-dollar ask. We weren’t supposed to get involved. In fact, I could see Michelle’s head exploding at the mere idea that two employees had hooked up on the company dime in Paris. Ack!

Jason ran a hand over his face and winced when he accidentally touched his eye. “Listen, I get that this was unexpected.”

“What ‘this’?” I balked. Yup, still panicking. “There is no ‘this.’”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “And I know it wasn’t on your agenda, and I know how much you hate that, but it’s here and it’s real, and you can’t pretend it isn’t.”

“Yes, I can,” I said. When he lifted his good eyebrow at me, I knew I’d stepped in it. “Not that I’m pretending anything. What happened between us wasn’t real. It was conjured up out of champagne and excess emotional baggage, that’s all.”

“Bullshit.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Fine,” he said. “Horseshit. How’s that? Better?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re kidding yourself,” he said. “Do you really think that what happened between us tonight was so hot because of geography?”

“Yes.” I tipped my chin up defiantly.

Jason took a step forward so that he was looming over me. It was a power play, and I resented it. I also refused to back up.

“You’re lying to yourself. You’re so busy trying to find a girl who doesn’t exist anymore, you’re missing what’s right in front of you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped.

“The girl who went on a gap year seven years ago doesn’t exist anymore, and looking for her is futile,” he said. His voice was kind, as if he felt bad about delivering such unwelcome news. It made me clench my teeth. “You’re not going to find love with one