Page 34 of In the Frame

“I didn’t mean to kiss you like that,” I blurt. “So publicly.”

“You would have kissed me like that privately?” Florian peers at me, lifting his eyebrows. And honestly, it’s so fucking hot, but I keep my chill.

Maybe.

I would like to think I’m capable of keeping calm in moments like this. But my face evidently has other plans and betrays me. Like it would be so impressive right now to be coy and witty and cool. Instead, I suck back air. I flush. “It’s… I was happy for the suit.”

“Yes, the suit.” Florian nods decisively. “It’s an important thing to have. Especially for a wedding. Or a business meeting.”

He’s clearly having the same problem with inane thoughts, a spreading problem. He’s curt and literal but not so much given to stating the obvious. Although his scenarios are very helpful when oxygen has left my brain.

“Yes.” I burn my tongue slightly on my coffee as I attempt to gulp it down.

We’re quiet. Conversation isn’t our strong suit this morning, even with Florian’s knack for efficiency. He looks a little bleary. The red-eye must be catching up with him.

“Some fake breakfast, huh,” I say to him into the silence. Which is becoming permanent.

“The fakest,” Florian assures me. “We aren’t even eating. It’s not a convincing effort. I think I left my stomach behind in New York last night. I feel a little ill.”

“Yeah. That’s a problem. I’m just too…” I wave a hand because my stomach’s been doing some sort of dance since Florian appeared at my hotel. It’s impossible to eat under these conditions. Oxygen must help digestion too. Which means: no oxygen, no breakfast. “Right. Where do we go from here?”

“Well…” Florian considers me, unreadable. “After this fake breakfast, I can leave you in peace. And let you enjoy your friends and the wedding.”

I nod slowly, holding the coffee between my hands. “You did say that earlier. Though… wanna know something?”

“What’s that?”

“Weddings aren’t so much fun when you’re single and everyone else around you is a couple. All my good friends except Johan are dating people. And I’m… not. Johan and I were meant to go together, but he’s still working. Some kind of work thing came up.”

Florian nods, looking sympathetic. “Yes, weddings are difficult,” he agrees. “Especially on your own.”

“Yeah. And, well. Where do we go from here?” I dare ask, looking at him, then my coffee, then back again. “I mean, I don’t know if we are even friends.”

“We’re fake partners,” Florian says simply.

I smooth a napkin. Fold it. Refold it. “Any chance you might feel like fake partnering today? For a couple hours, even? Like a token fake partner event? Though I totally get it if you’ve got places to be.”

“I’ve done the things I had to do today. In either time zone.”

Which reminds me that he’s come from New York because he promised to deliver my suit.

“I thought you had other people to deliver suits, by the way. Like Richard.”

“Well.” Florian’s expression changes slightly, his brow lightly furrowed. “There was evidently a small incident with Richard and a car, and he wasn’t able to leave London. And it was too late to send someone else. I said I would come and see that Richard was alright and I could take the suit.”

“Wait. What happened?”

“A minor car accident,” Florian tells me. At my wide-eyed look, he continues quickly. “Richard’s well, he assured me. But he wasn’t up for driving after the accident last night. Took a toll on his nerves. He’s a little high-strung, swore off venturing beyond the M25 for a full twenty-four hours. If not the week.”

“Shit. Yeah. I get that.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know how the logistics worked out with all of your travel from New York to here and getting the suit.”

Florian gives me a wry smile. “In the end, Richard met me at Heathrow with my car and the suit early this morning. Technically still within the M25. And I drove to Brighton, and he took the train back to London.”

It’s my turn for my eyebrows to climb. “Right. Richard must really hate me.”

“On the contrary. He’s an excellent assistant and very well compensated for his efforts. And he assured me he wasn’t injured, just that his car had some damage. Therefore, he borrowed mine to meet me.”

“Right, okay.” I look at him. He’s still hot, but he’s obviously tired, shadows under his eyes. “I would’ve thought flying to Gatwick would have saved you time.”