I'm in. Same suite as him. I can keep an eye now. He's definitely hiding something.

I text Neil as soon as I close my bedroom door behind me. I'd purposely taken the smaller of the two bedrooms in the suite, flashing Carter a smile that showed my dimple. "Less to mess up," I had said, laughing breathily, waving a well manicured hand around my face to draw attention to it. Look at me. Aren't I gorgeous? I had paid for and sat through an hour of boredom to get them done. Besides, it's how I imagine Avery Honey would talk, all flashy arms and eye-batting smiles. Even though I, Anna Harlow, would rather growl at the man, tie his sexy ass to a chair, torment the swine, and squeeze out the confession: I killed Nina. 'Cause I'm pretty sure that's what he did.

Wrestling that tempting image, I toss my bag on the bed and start hanging those expensive clothes Neil's friend lent me as delicately as possible. No sense damaging the wrong things. This is between Carter Thebes and me, and in the next two weeks, I intend to fulfill my desire to bring him down to his knees. For Nina. For mum, who mourns a child she'll never bury. For me, whose last words to her sister were nothing more than 'Have fun' as I came home from my daily jog and saw her getting into a cab, all grin and glittering eyes. She's been excited to travel. To see a new place.

I grab my less than expensive toiletries bag and throw open the door, partly regretting I didn't take the room with the en-suite when I walk into a wall of taut muscles and sinew. My cheek plants on Carter Thebes' chiseled pec. He smells of shampoo and freshly sprayed cologne. I try not to breathe him in as I peel myself of his crisp white shirt in a panic, with less grace than Honey would possess, and know fissures are beginning to form in my act. Sustaining this cumbersome lie for a long time non-stop is gonna suck ass. No respite for two whole weeks. Except for when I sleep. I almost moan out loud at the terrifying thought, bone wary exhaustion lacing my jet lagged body. The sooner I get him to confess, the better.

He's changed out of old clothes. Hair sleek and wet. Face bright as if we hadn't just spend a whole day in between planes and airport. He sounds surprised to see me at my door when he says, "Sorry," lowering a hand he's raised to knock. Who would have thunk it, Carter Thebes isn't just a spoilt brute who thinks he can waltz into spaces like he owns them because he's made of money.

"Sorry," I repeat his word, eyeing the globulous patch of foundation my cheek has left on his pristinely ironed shirt, partly wondering how swift the laundry service at this hotel must be to get him a shirt pressed in no time. "Not the kind of impression I want to leave on people. Give me the shirt and I'll get it cleaned," I say, pointing at his shirt. After all, I am your assistant. For now.

"If you want me to strip all you got to do is ask." A grin tugs at the corner of his lips before his eyes drops to my hands.

Trying not to roll my eyes at that cheesy line, I hide the small bag faux leather bag, with its fake black leather peeling at the edges, behind my back. Maybe I should have just caved in and bought a nicer one for the ruse. What a pity it'll be if this old thing is what gets me found out. "Did you need something?" I say sweetly instead of snapping, 'What do you want?'

He shakes his head, eyes gliding back to my face, his brows still slightly furrowed. "Just—I'm head out for a bit."

"Shit, already? I'm not ready. I haven't even finished unpacking." I turn to my room to grab my handbag, though I'd have liked nothing more than to take a shower and sleep. Maybe take a walk. See some streets. Eat a croissant, a real French croissant, 'cause I'm in France. But, work, work, work. Stupid Carter Thebes.

"Avery." He gently grabs my wrist, to stop me I suppose. It sends my heart hammering.
The man is quick. I'll have to be quicker if it comes down to a physical altercation. I school my face and turn back. "I'm heading out," he adds then. "You're my assistant, not a body guard."

Meaning you don't need to come. I play innocent and ask, "You're going out?" as if I didn't hear him clearly the first time. "For—"

"Air," he says snapping straight, like this conversation is done.

"Like that?" I can't help it. He looks like he's either walking into a boardroom to command attention or meeting a high-end client for a fancy brunch, or heck, walking a damn runway. He certainly doesn't look like he's going for "air" in a business shirt and black business pants, hair sleeked back, and freshly showered. Except for the unfortunate patch of foundation.

That smile carves up his face again. "I'm meeting a friend," his voice hitches up slightly at the word 'friend' but he covers it up with a practiced flick of his wrist, glancing at his expensive looking watch as if he's running late and I'm the one keeping him.

I distinctly get a sense he's about to say, 'Don't wait up' like I'm his old woman or something.

"Will you be back for dinner?" I ask, eyes flicking to his watch too. "In case you want me to make a reservation for you at the hotel restaurant."

He studies me a moment, his eyes intense in the way they rake over my face. "No." He turns sharply, heading to grab his coat from the back of the chair where he'd left it. To cover the foundation I suppose. "Don't make plans for me."

With that, he heads for the door and slips out with a wavering smile. Like he doesn't wholly want to leave but must.

"Fuck!" I scramble back into my room, hurl my toiletries bag on the bed like a grenade and snatch my coat and handbag off the nightstand where I'd thrown them. I'd have loved to wash away the stale air of the plane and hours of travel, but Carter Thebes is already marching out of the hotel as I breathe and I can't have that. When I agreed to this trip, I vowed to stick with him throughout, to glean his secrets. I cannot do that if he's galavanting around Paris already and I'm still in my travel clothes fantasizing about shower and sleep. I should have tied him to a chair, dammit!

I grab my room key, slip my shoes on, step into the corridor, and tiptoe my way towards the lifts at the end. I catch a glimpse of Carter slipping into a lift, eyeing his watch with a grave impatient I've never seen on him before, and an uneasy dread seeps into me then. Something is wrong.

Whoever Carter is meeting, it's no damsel in a dress, that much I'm certain. And he's not happy about it. So who's this 'friend' of his he really doesn't want to meet?

Maybe it has to do with Nina? Or... my heart jitters with hope. What if it's Nina? If it is, I swear I'm gonna kill her before I drag her ass back home.

I call for the lift, feet impatient to move. Hopefully I'm not too late to tail him.

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