Page 139 of Angel Eyes

“Yes,” she said, ushering me in the direction of the bathroom. “And we don’t have a lot of time either. So put that on and meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, I stood outside on the sidewalk in a strapless, red satin cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline and an asymmetrical skirt, accented with a pair of drop pearl earrings and champagne-gold kitten heels. A driver stepped out of a black Mercedes and rounded the car to open the door.

He dipped his head in a nod, a scar stretching across his right cheek. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”

“Bonsoir.” I paused to study him. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. Giving him a nod, I slid into the back seat next to Simone as she applied bronzer to her cheeks. “Where did you say we were going again?” No way we were going to a bar or a nightclub dressed like this. Maybe the Opéra Garnier?

“I didn’t.” She closed her compact powder with a click. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

Okay, the opera it is, then.

I turned to stare out the window, bouncing a knee nervously as the car maneuvered through a maze of streets. After about a minute, I gave up on trying to figure out the direction in which we were headed. With its medieval lanes and angled boulevards, the roads in Paris were a complete nightmare for someone used to New York’s grid system. Three turns and a roundabout later, we were pulling up in front of a building I would have recognized in my sleep.

Marcel’s.

I shifted uneasily as the driver opened my door again, helping me out of the car.

“Simone,” I said, darting a confused look around at the mass of people congregated on the sidewalk. “What are we doing here?”

Without responding, she waved at a figure headed in our direction.

“Carter?” I said, surprise coloring my tone as he pulled me in for a side hug.

“Juliet.” He bobbed his head toward me. “You sure do clean up nice.” Simone cleared her throat, throwing him a wide-eyed look, and he chuckled before dropping a kiss on her cheek. “As do you, baby doll.” She clicked her tongue in feigned annoyance, but I didn’t miss the affectionate look in her eyes when he draped an arm around her. He peered around at the crowd, all dressed in sleek evening attire. “So, should we head inside?”

“Not yet.” Simone pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed out a message. “We’re just waiting for—”

“I’m here,” called a familiar voice, and I turned in time to see Benoit sans glasses striding toward us. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. La circulation était horrible.” His eyes dropped to mine as he straightened his navy suit jacket before smoothing a hand over his elegantly styled hair. A slow smile spread across his lips. “Ms. Chandler.”

“Julien?” I said, forgetting that Simone and Carter were within earshot. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the tweed.” I eyed him carefully, taking in his polished leather loafers and his white linen pocket square. “Are you sure you’re our professor?”

He arched an amused eyebrow. “I can produce my engraved Victorian pocket watch if you wish to verify my identity.”

Carter snorted under his breath. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely our professor.”

Benoit glanced at him sidelong. “That will do, Mr. Andrews.” He extended an arm to me and I took it, clamping my lips together to smother a laugh.

A warm breeze ruffled my dress as Benoit steered us toward the entrance, and some of the unease I’d felt earlier returned as we approached its wrought iron doors.

“Um, is this some sort of university event?” But even as I said it, I doubted the plausibility of my statement. I didn’t recognize a single person here apart from our small party.

“Not quite.” Benoit held the door open, allowing Simone, Carter and me to pass through it before following. Inside, I slowed to a halt, and a rush of emotion filled my chest as my eyes swept over the familiar wood-paneled walls. As if I could come here and not think of Gabriel.

It had only been a week ago that the two of us had been in this very room together, happy and carefree. And all it took was five seconds of being here again for the memory to rush back in vivid color. I pressed my eyelids shut, my heart squeezing.

Despite everything, I was still in love with him. Hopelessly and madly.

It had taken all my resolve to turn Gabriel away after he showed up at my apartment, full of regret, heart in his hands. I believed him when he said he was sorry and that he would work on his trust issues. Still, I knew I had made the right decision. I had needed space to decide my future on my own terms, and no matter what happened next, I would always be proud of myself for that. After a lifetime of letting others dictate my life, I’d finally taken a stand.

For me.

The press of Benoit’s hand on my arm brought me back to the present as we neared the elevators, and I grinned when I spotted two more familiar faces.

“You’re delusional,” Caleb said, scowling. “If it came down to a fight to the death between John Wick and Jason Bourne, John Wick would win hands down. The man is a walking massacre.”

Amélie tossed her rose-gold hair over one shoulder. “Of course, you would say that. Only a Neanderthal would value blunt force over the tactical sophistication of a true assassin.”

“Tactical sophisti—woman, John Wick killed a man with a pencil. His creative genius is unparalleled.”

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