Poppy grinned. “Fair point. Either way, they have some serious relationship stuff to work out.”
Marielle seized on this topic to divert Poppy’s attention from the question of Hanna’s whereabouts.
“Speaking of relationships, where’s Brad?”
“Brad?” Poppy waved her hand. “That’s more of a situationship. We have a good time when we’re together, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Oh, I thought you were?—”
“No. I mean”—Poppy twirled her hair—“I’m always busy, even when I’m not on tour. And his Secret Service detail is a real drag. I can’t imagine getting serious with him, at least not while his dad’s in office.”
Over Poppy’s shoulder, Marielle spotted Olivia standing in front of the lobby doors making a “wrap it up” gesture.
“It was great to run into you,” Omar said. “I wish we had time to grab a drink and talk, but we’re leaving. Our friends are waiting for us to go to the airport.”
He motioned toward Olivia, Trent, and Jake milling around at the front of the lobby.
She turned to look at them. Jake waved.
Poppy waved back, and then she gestured through the window to an enormous stretch limo hogging at least six standard-issue Parisian parking spots.
“My driver can give you all a ride to Charles de Gaulle. We can have that drink in the back of my limo.”
Marielle locked eyes with Olivia, who gave an imperceptible nod. There was no graceful way out.
“That would be amazing, but we’re actually going to the private airport,” Marielle said, hoping her feigned enthusiasm was convincing.
“Even better!” Poppy giggled and shimmied her bare shoulders in an exaggerated gesture.
Then she looped her elbow around Marielle’s and pulled her away from Omar.
The limo had just merged onto the A1 highway when Poppy placed her pale pink French blonde cocktail down on the table and turned to Marielle.
“You have to stay for my concert.”
Marielle sipped her drink and wondered how many French blondes Poppy had consumed before they ran into her.
“I wish I could, but we’re leaving the country. Remember?”
“No, you have to stay.”
Marielle caught Olivia’s eye across the backseat. Why is this superstar acting so needy?
Beats me, Olivia’s expression answered.
“Make it a girls’ weekend. Your friend can stay, too. I booked the royal suite at the Plaza Athénée. There’s plenty of room.” Poppy beamed at Olivia.
“I’m afraid they won’t be able to get off work for a girls’ weekend,” Jake said, stepping in to play the heavy and put an end to the conversation.
“Oh, you’re their boss?” Poppy asked.
“That’s right.”
“Then you must be the person the CIA contacted to hire Potomac to infiltrate the boat.”
The air crackled with tension.
“Come again?” Jake said, looking genuinely baffled.
