Page 11 of Filthy Rich

“Not much. We need to get to the ship and get settled?—”

“Ship?”

“The Queen Alexandra,” I say. “Mrs. Hooper is meeting a bunch of her friends there for her eightieth birthday girls’ trip. We sail at four.”

He makes an indistinct sound that’s impossible to decipher. “Well, you’d better finish everything and keep your strength up,” he says grimly. “I saw her luggage. You’ll be unpacking her for the next two days.”

A weak laugh is all I can manage. This reminder of my regularly scheduled life hits me like a wet towel across the face. I don’t want it, but I certainly need it. When the flight is over, he’ll go back to corporate titan-ing and I’ll go back to wrangling Mrs. Hooper and scooping her bratty dog’s poop.

The thought does not fill me with glee.

Mutual silence takes over. He focuses on his meal to the exclusion of everything else and doesn’t say another word to me. Further proof that our paths are now uncrossing, I suppose. And that while I’ll remember this time forever, he’ll probably forget my face by the end of the day.

This sad truth turns the food in my mouth to sour rubber. But I force down every bite anyway, too proud to reveal how sad I am at the thought of never seeing him again.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCIEN

“What the fuck are you doing?” demands my brother’s voice in my ear.

I stifle a curse, immediately regretting my hasty decision to answer the phone.

I’ve been making more hasty decisions in the last twenty-four hours than I care to admit.

He’s caught me midway through my mad dash down Passeig De Gràcia, Barcelona’s shopping mecca. Luckily for me, this one street has nearly everything I need. So far, I’ve grabbed several pairs of shorts, pants and some blazers, all in linen. Also, underwear, shoes and toiletries. Now I’m in some men’s suit boutique—Tom Ford, I think, but the boutiques are all running together at this point, so who the hell knows—looking for a few dark suits for dinners. I’ll also need some dress shirts and several more ties. Probably a tuxedo while I’m at it. I’ve got a driver in an SUV trailing me down the street and helping with my bags as I emerge from each store. We still need to find a place to buy a suitcase or two. And all this needs to happen before the ship sails at four p.m. Thank God, I’m a straight forty-two long in suits. There’s no time for tailoring. Oh, and I’ll need a pair of swimming trunks or two, so I add that to my mental list.

What the fuck am I doing?

No idea. I wish someone would explain it to me.

Not that I plan to admit any of this to my brother.

“I got sidetracked,” I say. “Any other questions?”

“Sidetracked?” Roman’s voice booms through the phone, forcing me to hold it away from my ear. “You left us in the lurch. You were supposed to be on your way to Boston for the investor meeting. Next thing I know, you’ve bailed, and we’ve got a mad scramble. You’re nowhere to be found. You don’t answer your phone. Where the fuck are you? Do I need to be getting some ransom money together?”

“I’m in, ah, Barcelona.”

“Barcelona? I repeat: what the fuck are you doing?”

I turn away from the salesperson who’s been shadowing me around the store and resume sifting through the rack of suits, looking for a few nice options. Generally, my taste in suits runs the gamut from solid navy all the way to solid black, but I find a nice powder-blue linen one that I like. Not the exact shade of her Chuck Taylors, but close enough.

I pick it up and hand it to the salesperson, who scurries back to the front counter to add it to my growing pile.

“Nothing that dramatic,” I tell my brother. “I just, ah, decided to take a vacation.”

“You? A vacation? Since when? And why Barcelona?”

“This is the starting point. I’m leaving on a cruise this afternoon. The Queen Alexandra.”

I decide not to add that my cruise plans are pending my assistant’s ability to get me a cabin on said cruise at this late date. Luckily, she’s been with me long enough to have the skills of a CIA operative. I have no doubt that she’ll come through for me and all this ridiculous shopping won’t be for nothing.

I hate shopping, by the way. Normally, I go online when I need something, click a few buttons and wait for packages to arrive at my front door. If I find myself in a store of any kind, something has gone badly wrong with my day. But the ship is sailing soon. I can’t take a chance on any delivery snafus, even from local stores, so here I am.

“A cruise?” His incredulity comes through loud and clear, but it’s nothing compared to mine, I assure you. “Now I’m worried about your mental health.”

He’s not the only one.

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