Page 8 of Last Minute

I look back to the road. “No.”

As a rule, I don’t share much personal information with my clients. The priority is protecting them, so while I need all the information I can about them, they don’t need the same amount of detail from me.

Ellie nods and watches the slowly changing scenery out the window. The sprawl of the city is nothing I find excessively beautiful. The harsh lines and drab colors scream monotonous and lifeless, even though millions of people live there. I watch as Ellie takes in the expansive metropolis.

Everything about her is a stark contrast to the city beyond her. Her copper hair, falling out of her bun, is more vibrant than the changing leaves outside. Her full lips, pulled into an ever-present smile, draw the eye more than the reflections off of the thousands of windows. She is, in a word, beautiful.

I snap my eyes back to the road. I don’t know what box in my brain those thoughts came from, but they need to go back. It doesn’t matter that she’s stunning—I could protect her just as well if she were ugly. Thoughts like that only lead to distractions, and distractions lead to mistakes, which I can’t afford right now. Not while being the only EPA assigned to a foreign princess.

“Where did you grow up, then?” Ellie’s question pulls me out of my own head.

I clear my throat, and the image of the green, rolling hills of upstate New York immediately comes to mind. But instead of elaborating on that mental image, I redirect her to more pertinent topics of conversation. “Tell me about your home.”

Ellie shoots me a smirk, like she’s onto me, before relaxing into her seat and reciting, like she’s reading from a Wikipedia article.

“Brysard is a small country located in the heart of Europe. Like its neighbor Chastain, Brysard has four official languages—English, French, German, and Italian. Due to its small size, Brysard relies heavily on imported goods and trade with its main exports being machinery and technology.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I take it you’ve never been there?”

I keep my eyes on the road and shake my head.

“Maybe you should go someday.”

“We have another branch based in London that primarily takes on our European clients.” Except for that Berlin assignment I was looking forward to for months. I wonder how long it will take before I’ll stop feeling salty when I think of that assignment falling through.

At least you have another assignment that will keep you busy during your mother’s wedding, I tell myself.

But one that doesn’t take me out of the country, I remind that patient, optimistic part of my brain. I’m still at risk of getting lured into my mom’s plans.

When I don’t offer up any more information, Ellie turns back to the window. It’s nearly two hours to the small chain hotel outside of Baltimore. The lack of conversation wouldn’t be a problem if she were in the back seat, like a regular client. Having her up front is making it harder to ignore the desire to engage in small talk to rid the space of awkward silence.

I keep an eye on Ellie as we drive. The longer we’re in the car, the more she leans against the window and door. Doing quick math in my head, she’s been up for nearly twelve hours already, and it’s almost one o’clock.

“Did you eat lunch on the plane?” I ask, breaking us out of the silence we’ve fallen into.

Ellie breathes in deeply, like she’s just waking up, and sits up straight. She rubs her eyes with one hand and glances at her watch. “Yes. Somewhere over the Atlantic.”

More mental calculations, and then I amend my question. “Have you had lunch in this time zone?”

“Nope,” she says with a tired smile, popping the p. I force my eyes to the road as she reaches her arms above her head and stretches back, revealing a small line of pale skin at her waist.

“We’re about ten minutes away from your hotel. Do you want to grab something on the way, or order room service when you get there?”

Ellie rolls her head from side to side. “Is there a McDonald’s on the way?”

I glance over. Her megawatt smile is back. “You want McDonald’s?”

Ellie positions her elbow on her knee and cups her chin in her hand. Her smile remains in place when she says. “Yes. I want McDonald’s.”

I want to ask are you sure? because surely there’s something…better…to eat than McDonald’s. She’s a princess; isn’t ordering room service the best option? But when I turn to ask the question, Ellie’s face has lost the smile and she’s looking at me seriously.

“Brysard has nearly one hundred McDonald’s locations. Do you know how many I’ve been to?”

I shake my head.

Ellie molds her hand into a zero and holds it over her eye, looking at me through the space between her fingers. “Zero. I have never eaten at a McDonald’s in my life.”

“You’re not missing much,” I mumble under my breath. But Ellie’s sharp ears pick it up.

“The whole point of my vacation is to do things I’ve never done before. I’ve never traveled alone to another country. Checked off that box. And I’ve never eaten at McDonald’s. So.” Ellie’s serious face falls, and the smile is back.

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