Page 13 of King of Justice

“Where were you all gonna go?”

“Just me. They all live in Paris.”

“Plot twist!” I smiled. She didn’t see it. “Is that why you speak French?”

“My mom is from Dijon. She moved to Paris in college and that was where she met my dad.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re French?”

“Dad’s from Jersey. He was only there on a student exchange program. A year later, they moved here together.”

I softly chuckled. “Sounds romantic.”

“I hate that word.”

“Wow. You’d get along with my mom just fine.”

“Does she also think it’s a term that’s been abused to alter the minds of women and drive on a dozen industries run by men?”

“Oh, no.” I quickly shook my head. “She voluntarily makes those jerks richer every day. She just thinks that sentimentalities are a waste of time.”

“And your dad?”

“Loves that about her.”

“What about you?”

“I’m just a rich asshole in a nice suit trying to redeem himself by helping an obscure musician.”

When I least expected it, she slapped my chest with the palm of her hand under the coats before quickly pulling it back. Then I watched her pull away and straighten up, “I think the water’s still warm. Wanna drink something? Might as well make use of it now.”

Every time we started talking like friends, she would withdraw. I completely understood it and even respected it, since it mirrored my guarded approach with most people. Nodding, I gave her her coat. “Let’s do it.” I stood up and asked, “What do you have?”

As she walked ahead of me, she lifted up her arms to put on her coat. “We have Moroccan mint tea, chamomile, ginger turmeric…” I lost the trail of what she was saying as my eyes lingered on the sway of her hips.

In the kitchenette, she looked at me as I stood in the doorway. When I didn’t say anything, she picked up a box. “So? Which is it?”

“Do you have any black tea?”

Raising an eyebrow, she grabbed another box. “Yes? I literally said we do ten seconds ago.”

Right. But I was staring at your ass. “Jeez, I’m so high. Yeah, I’ll have that. Thank you.”

“Good choice.” For a minute, my eyes followed her as she put in the sugar, stirred, dunked the teabags in, and steeped hers. “Leave it in?”

“Yes, please.” My voice came out softer and hoarser than I thought it would, so I swiftly cleared my throat. “Shit, I must be catching a cold.”

“Oh, no. Please don’t give me that. I still have hope that I’ll find another flight out.”

I nodded. “I’m sure you will.”

“Try this.” She cleared her throat before singing, “I’m leaving on a jet plane?”

Chuckling, I hung down my head and shook it repeatedly. “Not gonna happen, Jones.”

“I thought we were on a first-name-basis now.”

I looked up from under my eyebrows, still smiling. “Not a chance, Sophie,” I pronounced her name in French.

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