Chapter 21
21
C arter had failed to mention that the duck challenge came with a very real prize in addition to the smug satisfaction of beating Nate. Though that was a sweet feeling, knowing how pissed he’d be to miss out. Apparently he’d been planning a romantic weekend in the City of Love with Paige, but now Carter and I were taking the trip instead.
“Nate was in my room this morning when I woke up,” I told Carter as we got settled on the private jet waiting for us. “He wanted to know about Paige…”
Carter raised a brow, mildly curious at best. “What’d you tell him?”
“The truth,” I replied, buckling my seat belt in preparation for takeoff. “That she’s fucking Royce right under his nose.”
Carter’s expression hardened. “You did?” He blinked a couple of times, staring at me. “How did he take that?”
I sighed. “He didn’t believe me.”
The tension seemed to rush out of him, and he relaxed back into his huge leather seat opposite me. “Ah. Well, that’s not unexpected. Do you want to know about our itinerary?”
The change of subject was obvious enough that I went with it and listened with barely concealed excitement as Carter ran through the details of our prize trip. I’d been to Paris before, with my dad, but it was definitely different to visit with Carter.
Soon after we reached cruising altitude, he pulled out his laptop and put on headphones, informing me that he had some assignments to submit before he could enjoy our trip.
It was a good reminder, so I decided to do the same since I’d brought my work along as well. For several hours we worked in comfortable silence—both listening to our music on headphones—until the flight attendant served us dinner.
After we ate, Carter continued with his work but since I was finished, I got comfy to watch a movie…then promptly fell asleep. In my defense, the whole duck gala evening hadn’t given me a lot of time for rest.
When I woke, we were landing and Carter was…different.
“Did you sleep at all on the flight?” I asked him after his fifth grunt—instead of an answer—while on route to our hotel. “You seem grouchy.”
His response was a flat-eyed glare and I raised my hands in surrender. Clearly something had happened while I was passed out snoring because the fun Carter from the duck gala was long gone and in his place was someone I could easily identify as one of Nathaniel Essex’s friends. Total dick.
Checking in for our hotel, he made a whole scene in demanding separate rooms rather than the suite that’d been booked. Enough so that I could feel my face heating with embarrassment at the people staring.
“Was that necessary?” I asked in a whisper as we stepped into the elevator.
Carter swiped his access card and stabbed the button for our floor. “Yes, it was,” he replied, his voice cold. “We aren’t dating, it would be inappropriate to share a room. What would your boyfriend think?”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “Cut the shit, Bassington. Even if Heath and I were dating—which we’re not—you wouldn’t give a shit what he thought.” Then I remembered something Nate had said when he broke into my bedroom back at the Nevaeh dorm. “Is this about your mom?”
Carter’s head swiveled so fast I worried he might have pulled a muscle. “Excuse you?”
I licked my lips, sweating under the sudden intensity of his gaze. “Nate warned me that your mom wouldn’t approve…I imagine because he’s still painting me as a prostitute.”
Anger flashed across Carter’s expression and his jaw tightened with a flex in his cheek. “Nate has a big fucking mouth.”
I rolled my eyes. Again. “So much for Mister I-don’t-believe-in-secrets .”
He didn’t dignify that with a response, just strode out of the elevator ahead of me when the doors opened. We were on the same floor, but separate rooms—per his diva request at reception.
I sighed and followed more slowly. His door was already swinging shut before I even found my room number and swiped the keycard.
“So much for a fun trip,” I murmured to myself, stepping into the hotel room. It was a downgrade on the suite we were meant to share, but it was still a huge upgrade on my last trip to Paris.
I moved further inside, my breath catching as I saw the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out directly onto the Eiffel Tower, and I stood there for a long time just…admiring. Surly travel companion or not, this was pretty incredible.
Hotel staff delivered my bag shortly thereafter and I made myself at home, taking a shower and relaxing with a coffee and croissant thanks to room service.
Carly had been blowing up my phone so I answered all her questions, then checked if Heath had replied. Disappointment settled on me like a wet cloak to see I’d been left on read, and I swallowed the confusing emotions welling up inside.
Carter had told me we had a private tour booked of the Louvre today, so I pushed Heath out of my mind and got ready for some culture and art. Stupidly, I assumed he would meet me in the lobby but the sharply suited tour-guide only had my name on his placard.
We waited for about ten minutes, then asked reception to call Carter’s room. When she apologized and told me there was no answer, I realized I’d be touring alone today.
My tour guide was lovely, very knowledgeable and polite, but I was a little sad that Carter hadn’t joined me. Even grumpy Carter was kind of fun, but it was an amazing day nonetheless. My guide dropped me back to the hotel in the evening and advised that my dinner reservation was in an hour at the hotel restaurant.
I thanked him and headed upstairs to change. Passing Carter’s door, I paused and debated knocking, but decided against it. If he wanted to join me, he knew where I’d be.
Even so, I startled when he slid into the seat opposite me at dinner later that evening.
“Oh, I’m sorry I think you have the wrong table,” I said sweetly, recovering quickly. “I’m actually dining alone. My travel companion seems to have a terrible case of gonorrhea and is bedridden. Poor dear.”
A touch of amusement tilted his lips. “Is that the story you’re going with? How terribly unglamorous.” He shook out his linen napkin and placed it over his lap. “Have you ordered already?”
I sipped my glass of wine before replying. “The menu is all in French,” I admitted quietly, “and I don’t speak French, so I asked the waiter what he recommended.”
Carter gave me a sharp look. “What did he recommend?”
I shrugged. “Beats me, I don’t speak French.”
A genuine smile flashed across his lips. “You’re…” he sighed, shaking his head, then gestured for the waiter to attend our table.
For some moments, Carter spoke with the man in fluent French, gesturing to me, to the menu, and generally talking with his hands. It was mesmerizing, and I crossed my legs under the table in an attempt to refocus.
When the waiter left, Carter turned his deep blue eyes back to me and I squirmed. Damn bad boy crush was back in force.
“How was your day?” he asked politely, linking his fingers on the table in front of himself. “Did you enjoy the Louvre?”
I pursed my lips, reminded of his no-show. “It was lovely, thanks. It was such a pleasant surprise to have a day in Paris all to myself with no high-maintenance diva boys around to ruin the atmosphere.”
His brows lifted. “High-maintenance diva boy?”
I shrugged. “If the Louboutin fits…” Because I hadn’t failed to notice the red sole of his shiny black loafers when he sat down.
Carter’s eyes narrowed and I suspected I’d hit a nerve, but I also didn’t much care. He’d been in a pissy mood since we landed for no good reason and it was rude.
“Do people not call you on your bad manners very often, Carter? Is it a rich thing? Because I’m thinking you’re a little out of touch with human decency.” I sipped my wine again, needing the liquid courage to keep my defenses up. It was too easy to let bygones be bygones with him sitting right there across the table looking like a delicious snack.
He blinked slowly. “I’m sorry, did you say human decency ?”
I licked my lips, doubling down. “Yes.”
“Wow…” he drawled, shaking his head. “Here was me thinking you might have appreciated me not taking advantage and pretending there was only one bed available. I guess I misjudged you, Ashley, maybe you were hoping to suck my dick and slap me with the bill later? What’s the going rate, again? Six grand, right?”
Shock saw me nearly choke on my inhale, because the venom behind his words was undeniable.
Rather than a snappy, cutting comeback, all I could think of was how hurtful he was being. And what the fuck had I done to deserve this from him, when I’d helped him win the stupid duck challenge that he cared so much about?
Silence stretched between us and my eyes burned with mounting tears. Fucking hell, why was I reacting like a smacked puppy all of a sudden?
Carter stared back at me, waiting for me to say something. Then his cold expression softened and he sighed. “Shit, Spark, I didn’t mean?—”
“You did, though,” I choked out. “It was my mistake for thinking Nate was the only asshole in your circle, but apparently you’re more similar than I realized.” Not wanting to suffer any more of his insults, I pushed my chair out and tossed my napkin on the table.
“Where are you going, Ashley?” he protested as I grabbed my coat and purse. “You haven’t eaten anything and?—”
“None of your concern, Carter,” I snapped back. “I’m sure I can exchange a quick blow job for a meal out on the streets of Paris somewhere.”
Not waiting around to continue our argument—since we’d drawn a lot of attention already—I stormed out of the restaurant and left him to deal with the bill. It was the least he could do.
Behind me, I heard the shatter of glass but I didn’t stop or turn to look. Carter Bassington Junior clearly did not appreciate having his poor behavior pointed out, and was reacting like a child.
Rather than return to my room, I slipped my coat on and headed out into the night. Thank god I’d grabbed a coat for dinner, despite not having left the hotel. Force of habit, more than anything but I was glad for the warmth as I stepped outside.
I was hungry, and in a city like Paris there were plenty of amazing places to eat where I didn’t feel like such a fish out of water. I’d passed several places earlier with my tour guide that I’d made a mental note of, so started down the street toward the one I’d liked the most.
Bistro Papillion was a tiny little restaurant advertising raclette fondue, tucked between two much larger buildings and from memory it was just three blocks or so away.
Barely one block into my walk and I heard the quick, heavy footsteps of a man behind me.
I sighed. “Carter, I don’t want to talk to you. I’m going—” I whirled around to tell him to fuck off then cut off abruptly when I realized it wasn’t Carter following me at all.
The man approaching was a similar size and build but wore a hood pulled low over his face, disguising his features. No way in hell would Carter be out in public wearing beat up old sneakers like this guy, though.
I sucked a sharp breath, second guessing myself for a moment. Maybe he was just walking in the same direction and?—
Nope. I stood frozen as he rushed at me, grabbing the front of my dress and shouting something in French.
Fuck . I’d stormed out into the street alone, at night, in a foreign city and my own safety never even crossed my stupid pea-sized mind. Now apparently I was paying the price of that foolishness.