The night before, she’d taken herself out to dinner at a bistro within walking distance of her hotel, before coming back and curling up in bed. It had been like sleeping in a cloud, and she’d woken up excited to head down for breakfast so she could have her much longed-for genuine French croissant.
She collected her laptop and put it in her bag, along with her notebook, a pen and some cosmetics, and headed downstairs, not seeing the friendly concierge from the day before as she walked through the lobby and into the café. There was a vacant table outside, and she quickly took it, setting up her laptop on the little round table and then sitting down to people-watch and admire the fashion on display.
When the waiter came past her table, holding a little white pad and a pen, she ordered a coffee and a croissant, which even she could manage with her limited French, and then turned her attention to her screen. It was time to write.
Blake folded her arms as she reread the few lines that she’d typed the day before, pleased with how she’d described her arrival in Paris and the way she felt about coming closer to finding out more. It had seemed so daunting when she’d pitched the series, but now that she was actually writing the articles, the words were coming to her almost effortlessly.
She was just about to start typing again when her phone rang.
Blake read the name flashing on her screen.Henri.
Oh my gosh, it’s Henri Toussaint calling!
‘Hello?’ she said, as if she didn’t know who it was.
‘Blake, it’s Henri, from yesterday.’
‘Hi, Henri. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
She could hear muffled noises in the background, and Henri apologised and seemed to move somewhere quieter.
‘I was wondering if you might be free for dinner tonight?’ he asked. ‘I’ve made a copy of the design, and I’ve also made a few calls.’
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Yes! Dinner would be wonderful. Where should I meet you?’
‘How about I pick you up from your hotel at seven?’
She nodded, before realising that he couldn’t see her. ‘Seven it is. I look forward to seeing you.’
Henri said goodbye and then the line went dead, but Blake didn’t put down the phone, still surprised by the fact that he’d called her, especially after how uninterested he’d seemed when she’d first knocked on his door the day before.
Blake’s coffee and croissant arrived and she thanked the waiter, pushing her laptop slightly out of the way so she could enjoy her breakfast and study the outfits of the women walking past. If she was having dinner with Henri, she was going to need something to wear.
Hours later, Blake was positively buzzing when she stood in front of the mirror and checked her appearance. She’d had the most fabulous day shopping and exploring, and she’d arrived back at the hotel with little more than an hour to shower and get herself ready to meet Henri. She’d been overthinking dinner the entire day—confirmed by Abby when she’d called her in a panic—as she tried to decide whether it was a business-type dinner or a date. Which meant that she’d found it even harder to buy the perfect outfit, and had ended up spending far too much.
She glanced at her phone and saw that it was almost seven, so she quickly checked her teeth for lipstick and picked up her bag and a jacket, and headed for the door. The lift down was quick, and before she knew it the doors were opening and she was stepping out into the lobby. And there was Henri, standing near the door, his eyes meeting hers as a smile creased his face.
‘Mademoiselle!’ came the voice of the concierge. ‘I’m finishing my shift if you would like?—’
‘Thank you, but I have dinner plans,’ she said, tucking her bag under her arm as she walked towards Henri. As far as dinner dates went, they didn’t get more handsome—he looked even better than she remembered.
‘Blake,’ he said, stepping forward and kissing her on each cheek.
She returned his kisses and suddenly felt terribly self-conscious about her choice of outfit. Henri was dressed in a very smart, slim-fitting suit with a black t-shirt beneath his jacket, and she was wearing a champagne-coloured silk dress that the assistant at the store she’d been to had insisted was made for her. The neckline was lower than she’d usually wear, and the heels were higher, but she’d dressed much more for a date than for a meeting.
‘You’ve been shopping today?’ he asked, as he gestured for her to follow him.
‘I have. Is it so obvious?’ Heat flushed her cheeks.
‘You look as if you’ve been styled by a Parisian, that’s all,’ he said, smiling at her.
His car was a sleek Mercedes-Benz, which perfectly suited his personality. When she slid into the seat, she was tempted to tell him she’d never sat in a car quite so luxurious, but then thought better of it.
‘I have a table at L’Avenue for us,’ he said, as he started up the car and slowly pulled away from the kerb. ‘Since this is your first time in Paris, I wanted to make it an unforgettable evening for you.’
She swallowed. It was already feeling like an unforgettable evening to her, and the night had only just begun.
‘When you called, I thought perhaps you’d discovered something about the design.’
