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“Until I’m ready to move on. I was thinking about Italy next. How about you?” I ask.
“Until my work is done. Then I’ll be on to the next job.”
“You never know where you might go?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” he responds.
“It’s not scary not knowing where you might be going next?”
“It sounds to me like you're doing the same thing.”
“I suppose I am.”
“And a girl all alone.”
“I guess sometimes we have to walk some paths alone to find out who we are.” As much fun as I’ve had, it has been lonely at times.
The taxi pulls up to the hotel. A bellhop tries to help us with our things, but Finn isn’t having it.
“I’m sorry there has been some mix-up,” the receptionist tells us when we try to check in.
“I’m supposed to have a comped room.” That was the whole point of me being here.
“I see that in the note, but Mr. Finn’s is somehow connected to your booking. You're not together?” Her eyes bounce between us.
“No,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. Do I look like someone who could be with Finn? I peek up at him. He towers over me.
“It’s a suite. It’s all we have at the moment, but I’m sure when our general manager gets here in the morning, we can work this all out.”
“I can find another hotel,” Finn offers, being a gentleman.
“No.” I stop him. He’s been so kind. “She said it’s a suite.”
“It’s the penthouse.” She encourages us to take it.
“If you’re okay with it, then so am I,” Finn says.
I nod my head, small butterflies lighting up inside of me. I wanted an adventure, and it looks like I’m going to get one. I wish Grams was alive because she would’ve gotten such a kick out of this little turn of events. What if Paris really is the City of Love?
ChapterFive
FINN
“Wow this place is huge. I think it’s bigger than my apartment.” While Georgia inspects the suite, I pull her luggage into the bedroom. Most suites, even the presidential ones, only have one bed, and this is no different. I don’t know whether I should be cursing Mercy or thanking her for putting me in this predicament. I won’t have any problems keeping an eye on Georgia. No need to go to extraordinary lengths to place a bug in her hotel television. On the other hand, it’ll make it harder for me to take out my mark.
I rummage in the closet and find the luggage stool. I flip it open and heft Georgia’s case on top. She can’t carry any weapons through customs, but the case feels too heavy for just clothes. I’ll take a look later when she’s showering.
“There’s a door here, but it’s not opening,” she calls from the opposite side of the suite. I find her standing in front of a white paneled door.
“It’s for the connecting room.”
“Right. Isn’t that where I’m sleeping?”
“We only have this suite.”
