I thought about calling him but eventually nixed the idea. After all, what would I say? Still, it felt strange to be all by myself in an unfamiliar city, sitting alone in a hotel room at 9 p.m. when Gabe was just a few floors away. All I could think about was how much I wanted to kiss him again.
But evidently, he wasn’t feeling the same way. If he was, he would have called me, right? Perhaps, said the little self-conscious voice in my head, he was just using you to get access to Guillaume. That couldn’t be true, could it?
Just then, the hotel phone in my room began jangling. It startled me, and I whipped my head toward it immediately. It couldn’t be, could it? Could Gabe be calling me? It had to be him, right? No one else who would want to call me knew I was here. Heart pounding, I picked up the receiver.
“Emma?” The worried voice on the other end wasn’t Gabe’s. It was Poppy’s.
“Hi,” I said, startled. “What’s wrong? Are you in your room?”
“Er, not exactly. I’m actually out.”
“You’re out? I thought you said you were tired.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said. “I’m kind of on a date.”
“A date?” I was shocked. I hadn’t realized that Poppy’s dating schemes extended across the Channel.
“Well, yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“But I thought you only dated Frenchmen,” I said, confused. “Your whole French-kissing philosophy and all.”
“Er, right, well, I guess I might have forgotten to tell you that Darren still lives in London.” Poppy’s voice sounded muffled.
My jaw dropped. “Darren?” I asked. “As in ex-boyfriend, voodoo-doll Darren?”
“Er, yes,” Poppy admitted, her voice sounding strained. “We’ve sort of been, er, talking lately.”
“Ah,” I said, somewhat confused. “Like, talking talking? Romantically?”
Silence on the other end. “Maybe,” Poppy said, her voice small.
“What do your books say about getting back with an ex who broke your heart?” I asked accusingly.
Poppy paused. “I suppose they would advise against it,” she said. “But you can’t always believe everything you read.”
I pulled the receiver away from my ear for a moment and stared at it in disbelief. Poppy was still talking when I tuned back in. “Anyhow, I feel really badly about this, Emma,” she was saying. “But I just received a call from hotel security. About Guillaume.”
I groaned. “What did he do this time?”
“It seems there is some sort of party going on in his room with loud music and such.” Poppy sighed. “I’m on my way back to help you out. I know it’s just dreadful of me to ask you, but would you please go up and try to put a stop to things before they get out of hand? It’ll be another thirty minutes till I’m there, at least.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Yes, of course,” I said finally. “I’ll go right now. Don’t worry.”
“Emma, you’re a gem,” Poppy said. “I really owe you. I’m getting back there just as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. I forced a smile that I hoped she could hear through the phone. “Good luck with Darren, okay?”
Grumbling to myself, I threw the covers off the bed, disentangled myself from the sheets, and found a pair of jeans, an old Beatles T-shirt, and a pair of black ballet flats that were so worn I generally used them as slippers around the house. In front of the mirror, I swiped on some blush as well as a bit of mascara and lipstick so that I would look vaguely presentable. Then, grabbing my room key and sticking it into my back pocket, I reluctantly left and headed for the elevators.
Two minutes later, when the elevator doors opened on the penthouse floor, I could indeed hear loud music blasting from the direction of Guillaume’s suite.
“Can’t he control himself for one night?” I said aloud, throwing in a few expletives for good measure.
I had to pound on the door three times—the third time with all my strength—before the door swung open to reveal Guillaume standing there, in just a pair of jeans, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. His dark hair had gone haywire, shooting off in all directions, and he evidently hadn’t shaved since earlier in the day, as he was sporting the beginning of a five o’clock shadow. I tried to tear my eyes away from his body and focus on his face, but that took considerable effort given the obvious solidity of his pecs and the impressive definition of his chest.
I took a deep breath and locked eyes with him.
“Hi, Emma!” Guillaume said with a broad grin. “You have come to join me?”
“No, Guillaume, I haven’t come to join you.” I fixed him with a reprimanding look. “Honestly, Guillaume, can’t you keep the partying to a minimum when you’re in a hotel filled with media?”
Guillaume looked confused. “Partying?” he asked, swirling around the remainder of the champagne in his glass and downing it in a big swig. “Chérie, it’s just me in here.”