‘I can’t. I’ve got to work on my questions for tonight.’
‘Don’t get all serious on me, beauty girl. You’ve got plenty of time.’
The panic was rising higher in my throat. ‘Someone has to be serious here, Nick. If I don’t get this story, I’m gonna lose my job.’
‘So let me help you,’ Nick said. ‘It’s not like you to turn down food. I’m sure between us we can come up with a plan.’
Once again I was surprised. After all the dramas of the last few days, now he was asking me out to dinner. In the city of romance, no less!
But now wasn’t the time to analyse my feelings for Nick. I wasn’t just responsible for writing a story—now I was responsible for someone’s life too, and I couldn’t delay any longer. And it looked like the only way to get rid of Nick would be to hurt him.
‘No offence, but I don’t need your help. I’m the journo here, remember? When I need a photographer, I’ll let you know. Why don’t you go out and meet some more French girls?’
I slipped past him and held the door open. He stared at me for a second in disbelief, then walked out. ‘I was just trying to help.’ His voice was bitter.
‘Sorry,’ I said to his retreating back, but he headed straight for the lift without looking back.
I wanted to run after him and tell him the truth, but I forced myself to wait until the lift doors had closed. Far better that he went out by himself thinking I was a bitch than following me into the lair of a murderer.
As soon as he’d gone, I shut my door and snatched up my bag from the floor beside the bed. Even while Nick had been here, I’d been trying to formulate a plan in my head for how I was going to get into this underground bar without looking like a thirty-year-old inexperienced journalist from Australia. I could disguise myself as a hooker, but when I tipped the contents of my bag onto the bed, I remembered I had no hot clothes, no make-up and nothing but sneakers. I didn’t even have my suitcase, which would’ve provided me with a few more options.
But I did have that sexy push-up bra I’d worn on the night I met Chris (I refused to analyse why I’d fished that out of the bottom of my suitcase before we’d left Rome that morning). And there was that turquoise tank top I could never bring myself to throw out because it looked awesome against my olive skin, even though it always slipped down at the front so I hardly ever wore it. I undressed and put them on, pulling down the top so it exposed my entire cleavage and a glimpse of the lacy top of the bra.
Now for my lower half. I’d left my skinny jeans in my suitcase too, so the soft, comfortable pair I had on would have to do. Although… my gaze fell on the one pair of control underwear I’d brought with me. They were black and extended a few centimetres down my thighs, with lace at the bottom similar to that on my bra. I cringed as I pulled them on and surveyed my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’d been hoping for a high-class escort look, but turned out looking more like a trashy teenager. Still, the control underwear did make my bum look pretty fantastic.
I scraped my heavy hair up into a high ponytail using two hair ties in the hope it would stay put, stuffed everything but the pile of clothes back into my bag, then marched out of the room before I could chicken out.
It wasn’t until I left the hotel that I remembered that I still hadn’t charged my phone. I almost turned back. I was going into a dangerous situation and it’d be foolish to go without an operational phone, especially considering the role I was attempting to play. But the need to warn Chris outweighed common sense and I continued up the road.
The streets were busy with people on their way home from work or out to restaurants, picking up pastries and bread from the boulangeries, cheese from fromageries and bottles of wine from supermarkets and bottle shops. They peered at me curiously as I passed. I felt like shrinking inside myself with embarrassment, but I forced a smile on my face and met their gazes as if it were perfectly normal to be walking the streets of Paris in your underwear and sneakers, boobs bursting proudly out of your top. There was a mood of cheer tingling in the air, an emotion that felt foreign in my present situation.
There was a convenience store up ahead and I ducked inside where I found a small section of make-up. I purchased eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara and red lipstick, then locked myself in the bathroom at the back of the store. My outfit may look trashy, but I was going to fix myself some professional-grade smoky eyes. It’d been a long time since I’d worn so much makeup, and I barely recognised my reflection when I left the store and continued up Boulevard de Magenta towards the bar.
It was only seven o’clock and I didn’t know if Chris would even be there. But I couldn’t just sit in the hotel room, waiting for nine o’clock to come around, knowing that at any moment Grady might be following through on his threat.
The sun was still up, but a dull yellow light illuminated the dusty window of Le Chat Masqué as I approached. The shadowy figures of several old men gathered around the bar, surrounded by clouds of cigarette smoke. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but amid all the noise, it might be possible to slip past them and up the hallway without being noticed.
But as I
