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Finally, she was out on the sidewalk, glancing up and down for a taxi. A hotel bellhop asked her a question in French. She tried to remember how to ask for a taxi, but it had slipped her mind.
In the sidewalk café next to her, propane heaters chugged out the only warmth in her world. People were eating breakfast, enjoying the sights of the busy street, their lives still intact.
The bellhop asked the question again.
She remembered. “Cabine de taxi?”
“Going somewhere?” came Hunter’s voice from behind her.
“The airport,” she answered without turning.
“I thought Mahoneys didn’t run away.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You mad at me?”
The question surprised a cold laugh from her.
“Because I’m pretty mad at you,” he said.
“No kidding.”
A taxi pulled up, but Hunter let someone else take it. “So, what’s your plan?”
She sighed. “Why’d you do that?”
“We’re not finished talking.”
“I thought you had problems to solve.”
He snorted. “And how. But I want to know your plans first.”
Sinclair looked pointedly down at her suitcase.
“You left the rest of your clothes in the closet,” he said.
“Those are your clothes.”
“So, you’re going to pout? That’s your plan?”
“I’m not pouting.” She was making a strategic exit from an untenable situation before he had a chance to ask her to go himself.
Another taxi came to a stop, and Hunter sent it away.
“Do you think we could sit down?” he asked with a frustrated sigh, gesturing to the café.
Sinclair shrugged. If he wanted to ream her out some more, she supposed she owed him that much.
He picked up her suitcase, and she moved to one of the rattan chairs. She folded her hands on the round glass table and looked him straight in the eyes.
“Go ahead,” she said, steeling herself.
“You think I’m here to yell at you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Good grief, you’re as bad as Jack.” Hunter signaled the waitress for coffee, and Sinclair decided it might be a very long lecture.
“It seems to me …” said Hunter, as the uniformed woman filled their cups. He shook out a packet of sugar, tore off the corner and dumped it into the mug.
Sinclair just stared at the rising steam.
“You have two choices,” Hunter continued. “You can slink back to New York with your makeover half done and take your chances with Roger. Or you can buck up and stay here a few more days to finish it.”
“It seems to me,” she offered, forcing him to get to the heart of the matter. “Those are your choices, not mine.”
“How so?”
“Why would you want me to stay? Why would you want to help me? I ruined your life.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Well, I might have.”
“Possibly. Did you do it on purpose?”
“Of course not.”
“So you weren’t dishonest, you simply lacked certain details and a little good judgment.”
She tightened her jaw. She normally had great judgment. “Right,” she said.
A small glimmer flickered in his eyes. “You want to fight me, don’t you?”
She wrapped her hands around the warm stoneware mug. “I’m in the wrong. I can take it.”
“Very magnanimous of you.”
“Are we done? Can I go now?”
“Do you want to go now?”
She didn’t answer.
“Seriously, Sinclair. Do you want to walk out on Paris, the makeover and me just because things went off the rails?”
Things had done a lot more than go off the rails. She forced herself to ask him, “What do you want?”
“I want to turn the clock back a couple of hours to when you were sleeping in my arms.”
“I want to turn it back nine.”
He nodded, and they sat in silence for a few moments while dishes clattered and voices rose and fell at nearby tables. A gust of cool wind blew through, while the propane heaters chugged gamely on.
Hunter took a sip of his coffee. “Let me tell you why Jack and Gramps were so upset.”
“Because you spent hundreds of millions of dollars without telling them?” As soon as the flip answer was out, she regretted it. “Sorry.”
But Hunter actually smiled. “Good guess. It’s because they wanted me to call them first. They wanted to jump in and assess the deal before I made a decision. They wanted to research and analyze and contemplate. Do you have any idea how long Jack and Cleveland’s brand of due diligence takes?”
Sinclair shook her head.
“The deal would have been lost before they even lined up the legal team.”
“Did you explain that to them?”
He shot her a look. “That was my plan. Until you stepped in.”
“Sorry,” she said again, knowing it would never be enough.
“I know you are.” But he didn’t sound angry. He sounded resigned.
Cars whizzed by on the narrow street, while a contingent of Japanese businessmen amassed on the sidewalk nearby.
“What will you do now?” Sinclair asked.
“That’s entirely up to you.”
“You’re seriously willing to keep this up?”
He nodded. “I am. There may be a lot of yelling from Jack and Gramps over the next few days, but I want to finish what we started.”
“I can handle yelling.”
“Good. You know anything about ballroom dancing?”
“Not much.”
“Then that’s next on our list.” His expression softened. “You are going to take their breath away.”
A knot let go in Sinclair’s stomach.
“Flower for the pretty lady?” came an old woman’s gravelly voice. She held a white rose toward Hunter, her bangles and hoop earrings sparkling against colorful clothing and a bright silk headscarf. “I will tell her fortune.”
Hunter accepted the flower and nodded.
The old woman clasped Sinclair’s hands, her jet-black eyes searching Sinclair’s face. Then she smiled. “Ahhh. Fertility.”
“I’m going to be a farmer?”
The woman revealed a snaggle-toothed smile, her gaze going to Sinclair’s stomach.
Sinclair sure didn’t like the implication of that.
“Trust your heart,” said the old woman.
“I’m not pregnant,” Sinclair pointed out.
The old woman released Sinclair’s hands and touched her chin. “I see wealth and beauty.”
“That’s a whole lot better than fertility,” Sinclair muttered.
Hunter laughed and reached for his wallet.
Sinclair caught the numbers on the bills he passed to the woman. Both hers and the old woman’s eyes went wide.
The woman quickly hustled away.
“Did you know her or something?” Sinclair asked.
“I once knew somebody like her.” Hunter tucked his wallet into his pocket and handed Sinclair the rose.
She held it to her nose and inhaled the sweet fragrance. Hunter wanted her to stay. The relief nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Somebody like her?” she asked Hunter, inhaling one more time. “I once burned down a gypsy’s tent.” Then he smiled gently at Sinclair.
He swiveled his coffee mug so the handle was facing him. “When I was a teenager, a gypsy at the local circus told my fortune. She said I’d fall for a redheaded girl and have twins.”
Sinclair reflexively touched her hair.
“The thought of twins freaked me out, too. I wanted to be a rock star.”
“So, you burned down her tent?”
“She also said Jack would marry a woman he didn’t trust, and we’d buy a golf course.”
“But, you burned down her tent?” Sinclair repeated.
“It was an accident.”
“You sure?”
He rocked back. “Hey, is there anything about me that strikes you as vindictive?”
“I guess not,” she admitted, a small smile forming on her lips. Heck, he wasn’t even kicking her out for ruining his life.
“It was an accident. And Gramps compensated her fairly. But, I guess I’ve always felt a little guilty.”
