Lost in Paris Elizabeth Thompson (romantic story to read .TXT) 📖

After he disconnects the call, he smiles first at Marla, then at me. His gaze lingers on my face—my eyes, my lips, then back to my eyes—and I refuse to let myself squirm.

“A cleaning crew will arrive shortly. Gratuitement.” He smiles. “It is the pleasure of my law firm to give you this… how do you say in American… er… this home-warming gift?”

“Oh, a housewarming present?” Marla’s Southern drawl has mysteriously disappeared. Clearly delighted, she slants me a glance that seems to say, See what I did? Watch and learn.

Just as Marla has her helpless damsel-in-distress act, Gabriel must use that smolder he’s turning on me right now to open doors—and a few legs—for himself.

The little voice inside me that’s ever the skeptic rears up and says, Nothing is free. There’s always a catch.

Even still, if a crew comes in armed with the right tools, they might have the place fit for human habitation in a day or two, which could save us the cost of staying a week in a hotel. Cost-wise, it might be a wash, and I’d be able to stay in the apartment a few nights before I have to return to London.

“Consider it a welcome-to-Paris gift from the law firm Levesque, Racine, and Cerny.”

Of course, he says the word Paris so that it sounds like par-ee, which is so darned charming I hear myself thanking him and telling him he didn’t have to do it. To which he shrugs and says, “Why not? I am a partner in the firm. I make the rules.”

Ah. Wow. “So, you are the Cerny in Levesque, Racine, and Cerny?” I know he is, but I’m trying to make conversation.

“But of course.”

His brow goes up.

“Hannah, he’s trying to impress you,” Marla says.

I force a smile and make a mental note to call Marla out for this verbal elbowing later. If she got out of raising me, she forfeits the right to embarrass me now.

“When will the cleaning company be here?” Marla asks. “Are we supposed to wait here for them to show? I mean, if they’re coming to do the dirty work, there’s no sense in us hanging around. Is there a way we could give them Hannah’s cell phone number and go get some breakfast? All we had was a croissant, and it is not sticking with me.”

“That is a magnificent idea.” Again, Gabriel directs the words to me.

“Breakfast is on us,” Marla says. “It’s our way of thanking you. It’s the least we can do.”

Fifty bucks says she’ll do the fake purse reach and Gabriel will end up picking up the check.

He arranges for the cleaning service to phone him before they arrive, then calls for his car and takes us to his favorite café in the area.

After we’re seated, Gabriel says he’s already eaten breakfast. Since I don’t have much of an appetite in the morning, I’m still full from the coffee and croissant I had before we went to the hardware store. He and I order café au lait. Marla orders a traditional American breakfast with fried eggs, sausage and bacon, hash browns, and wheat toast (because it’s healthier than white).

“You don’t have to wait with us, if this is keeping you from something,” I say to Gabriel.

Marla kicks me under the table.

I try to suppress a grunt.

“Is something wrong?” Gabriel shifts toward me. He’s a little too close, and I catch a whiff of his tobacco-and-coffee-laced breath. I sit back in my seat and make a mental note to chew a piece of gum after I finish my café au lait.

“Nope. Not a thing.” I glare at Marla. She’s munching on her toast as innocently as a child. “We don’t want to tie you up if you need to be somewhere.”

He takes a long sip of his coffee, watching me over the top of his cup. He sets it down on the saucer. “That is very gracious of you. But please know that my assistant blocked off my morning for you.”

I can see a virtual meter ticking over his head.

“This hidden apartment is somewhat of a novelty, no?” he asks. “I must admit I am quite curious to see it once it is cleaned up.”

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, looks at the message. “As a matter of fact, I hope you don’t mind, but I have taken the liberty of hiring a photographer to record the before and after.” He points to his phone. “She is ready to meet us at the apartment when we are finished.”

“The before and after?” Marla asks.

Gabriel nods. “It is not every day that one opens the door to a place such as this that has been lost to time. It is a city treasure.”

Now it makes more sense why a named partner of a law firm would clear his schedule to help us “get settled in” and clean up this grimy apartment. There’s something in it for him and his firm. Of course, the history buff in me is thrilled at the prospect of having a record of the way it looks before we scrub away the past. Despite my skepticism, it seems like a win-win.

Marla frowns. “Let me be very up-front. We don’t have money to blow on a professional photographer. The one I hired for my last wedding cost an arm and a leg. So, if Levesque, Racine, and Cerny wants to spring for pictures, knock yourself out, but I—er, we—can’t chip in.”

Marla punctuates the statement by slurping her coffee.

Gabriel answers with that pursed-lip shrug. “My firm is happy to cover the cost of the photographer.”

“Do you have other plans for those pictures beyond saving them for posterity?” I ask.

“If you are willing, we could offer them to the press,” he says. “If you want to sell the place, it will go a long way toward driving up the price you could demand. Everyone wants to own a piece of history. Some are willing to pay extra