LITMIR.BIZ

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couldn’t believe he’d kept a photo of her, let alone this one. She couldn’t help but wonder why he had kept it.

      A bold pigeon pecked around her feet as her croissant shed a flurry of crumbs with her last bite. She felt rather proud of herself that she’d ventured out and ordered a coffee and a croissant in a local bakery, which was exactly what she’d told her mum she would do when she finished their call. Tipping back her cup, she downed the rest of her coffee and stood up from one of green park benches that lined the path leading up to the Eiffel Tower. The sunshine warming her skin had tempted her out. It really was far too nice to be inside and talking to her mother had reminded her why she was here, pickpockets or no pickpockets. And today she was taking the day off. She was done with cleaning and organising, although she was rather pleased with all her neatly labelled shelves and the smooth sliding drawers where, as far as she was concerned, everything was now in the right place.

      With a definite bounce in her step, tightening her hold on the strap of her messenger bag, she set off to walk towards the huge iconic tower, stopping to take and send pictures to the family Whatsapp group, Hadley Massive. Honestly, so much for escaping. She shook her head. Mum’s phone call this morning was the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the family were equally voracious for news, demanding regular updates. If it wasn’t Nick texting her to ask how she was getting on, then it was Dan emailing or Toby direct messaging her on Twitter. She was seriously considering losing her phone.

      Playing it safe and wanting to get a sense of the geography of the city, she spent the morning walking at a slow amble, crossing the bridge from the Eiffel Tower to the Trocadero, mindful of the rather daunting traffic. As far as drivers were concerned, pedestrians were an annoying irritant and, if they put so much as one foot in the road, fair game. No one seemed to pay any attention to the designated crossings or red traffic lights as motorists and moped riders constantly nudged forward and nipped into free space like lions pouncing on prey.

      Following the map she’d borrowed from Sebastian’s apartment, she walked along the Left Bank, or rather, Rive Gauche, which was still a perfume in her head, and followed the wide open span of the Seine before she bore left towards the Champs-Élysées to take a look at the Arc de Triomphe which was so much bigger than she’d expected and the traffic surrounding it even more terrifying. It hadn’t gained its reputation for being the craziest roundabout in Europe for nothing.

      Enjoying the sense of freedom and not having to consult anyone else, she decided to stop for lunch at one of the restaurants off the Champs Elysees because she could. Her brother Nick would have balked and immediately suggested they avoid the main tourist drag as it would be too expensive, Dan and Gail would have looked up the TripAdvisor recommendations for the area and her Mum would have spent ages perusing the menu outside before allowing any of her chicks to set foot over the threshold.

      Feeling spontaneous and independent, she chose a restaurant she liked the look of and went in.

      The moules she’d selected were delicious and she relished every drop of the rather decadent glass of wine she’d decided to treat herself to when she’d seen that most of the French diners ordered wine with their lunch. Although she was thoroughly enjoying her meal, she did feel a little self-conscious about eating on her own in the busy restaurant. She’d been stuck on a table in the corner by the loos. To stop her feeling completely Billy no mates, she kept scrolling through her phone and almost dropped it when it suddenly began to ring.

      ‘Sebastian, hi.’

      ‘Nina, we have a problem. I needed my suppliers to do me a rush job for the other restaurant. The new chef wanted to do some recipe testing. It means they can’t deliver the fresh ingredients to the patisserie today. You’ll have to go and do the shopping.’

      ‘Today?’ she looked at her watch. ‘Can’t they deliver tomorrow?’

      ‘Today would be better. I don’t like leaving things until the last minute. Unless, of course, it’s too much trouble for you.’

      Nina gritted her teeth. Oh, the man did withering sarcasm so bloody well.

      ‘I realise that, but …’ She had absolutely no idea where to go shopping. Paris wasn’t exactly teeming with Tescos. Was there anywhere near the patisserie? There was no way she was going to ask him.

      ‘Is there a problem?’

      ‘No,’ said Nina. ‘Absolutely not.’

      ‘Excellent, I shall see you tomorrow. You do remember that you’re coming to the hotel to pick me up. I’ve asked the concierge to book a cab for eight-thirty. Paris traffic is horrendous, so make sure you get there on time.’

       Chapter 7

      Nina asked for a key card for Sebastian’s room and the same receptionist as last time gave her a look as if to say, ‘What, you again?’

      She knocked so that she didn’t give Sebastian a nasty surprise but before she could swipe the key card in and out of the slot, the door opened, making her jump.

      ‘You’re not Sebastian,’ she said, stepping back and looking into dark brown eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ It was the rather handsome French-actor lookalike she’d seen down in the foyer when she’d been on her knees.

      ‘Ah, the lady with the misbehaving suitcase and the …’

      ‘They weren’t mine,’ she said, ‘That was Sebastian’s stuff. I was bringing it over for him.’

      A rather cute dimple appeared in his cheek as he tried to suppress his amusement. ‘I’m sure they’ll come in useful in his current incapacitated state.’ His unexpected Scottish burr with rolling ‘r’s thankfully diverted her.

      ‘Oh, you’re Scottish,’ she said. He looked thoroughly French to her.

      ‘And I left the kilt at home today,’ he teased, a warm friendly smile breaking through, making him look a lot more approachable and less film-starry.

      It was impossible not to smile back at him. ‘Sorry, I assumed you were French. You must be Sebastian’s friend, the manager.’ Despite his formal three-piece suit, now that he was smiling at her, Alex didn’t look particularly managerial. With that impish smile and readiness to laugh, he looked more like an overgrown naughty schoolboy.

      ‘That would be me. Yes. And don’t tell my mother you thought I’d be French. She’d be outraged. It’s bad enough I’m working over here, rather than in a good, fine city like Edinburgh, which is only five minutes down the road from her.’

      ‘Ah, she’s on the same page as my mother. I’m Nina. Sebastian’s new … right-hand-woman.’

      ‘Ah, the little sister,’ he said, his eyes dancing with sudden amusement. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

      ‘None of it good, I’m sure,’ said Nina, her mouth twisting with a rueful smile.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said Alex with a quick reassuring grin and she was warmed by the flash of concern in his eyes. ‘I take everything he says with a pinch of salt.’

      ‘That hasn’t made me feel any better.’

      Alex’s smile slipped. ‘Hey, he’s grumpy with everyone at the moment. I’ve known him for a while, I count myself as one of his best friends and he’s being a complete pain in the arse. But it’s always stressful getting a new venture up and running. Although—’ his eyes lit up with mischief ‘—if the awkward bugger isn’t careful he’ll find himself down into the wine cellar with the rats.’ Nina bit back a laugh. She liked Alex’s cheery down to earth delivery, he reminded her of her brothers.

      ‘It would be stupid to ask if the awkward bugger is in.’

      Alex laughed. ‘He’s in and exceptionally grumpy. You might want danger money to enter. He got it into his head that he had to wash his hair this morning and insisted that I help

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