Page 11 of In the Net (Sin Bin Stories #5)

HARPER

M y flight to Paris hasn’t even boarded yet, but I might have already found my international fling.

Honestly, having a little romance in Paris wasn’t even on my mind. I was too wrapped up in dreaming of the city itself, strolling the streets and seeing all the sights, not to mention worrying about not making a fool of myself at the conference.

But one night while talking with my roommates about how excited I was for the trip, they latched onto the idea of me having a weeklong European tryst, and I have to admit, I didn’t hate the idea.

Now that I’m actually talking with a French guy who struck up a conversation with me here at the airport, who’s going back to Paris on the same flight I am, I really don’t hate the idea.

“On the left bank, where you are staying, there is this amazing café on a side street, miraculously tourists have not yet invaded it,” Clement is telling me, pointing at his phone as he shows me his recommendations for cool places I should visit.

His English is good, but it comes out in a heavy yet smooth French accent that has my chest feeling all fluttery.

He’s handsome, suave, confident, and a couple years older than me. While I was sitting at my gate, sipping a cup of coffee I waited fifteen minutes to get at the busy café in the terminal, he just sat near me, asked if this was my first time going to Paris, and then we started talking.

Clement works in marketing for a Paris bio-tech company, and he’s heading back home from a business trip.

Maybe a bio-tech marketer isn’t quite as exciting as some of the ideas for my Parisian fling that my roommates tossed around—French artist who lives in his atelier piled up with his brilliant canvases, or an old-money aristocrat, or a stylish heir to a winemaking fortune—but, hey, I gotta be somewhat realistic, right?

“Oh, and this is my favorite bar, in Le Marais,” he says excitedly, showing me pictures of a cool-looking place that has the vibe of both a classic Parisian café and a dive bar at the same time.

“Only, the bartenders can be snobby to people who don’t speak French.

Even people who speak it with an American accent.

But if you’re with a local, they’re cool,” he adds with a flirty glimmer in his eye.

I haven’t felt excitement talking to a guy in a long time. Who knew that really handsome, cultured, slightly older French men with a local’s knowledge of the city I’ve always dreamed of visiting were what I needed to rekindle my interest in the male species?

Is it that crazy to think that maybe, if we meet up in Paris and hang out for the week I’m there, our chemistry will be so good that Clement will be willing to fly to America to be my wedding date?

Yeah, probably.

While Clement tells me about how he went to school at the Sorbonne in Paris—where my conference is being held—my eyes glide to the side, something across from us drawing my attention.

My vision finds Sebastian sitting a couple rows away from us at the gate, glowering in our direction.

I suppress an eyeroll, not wanting Clement to think I’m reacting to something he’s saying.

I’m sure the aggravation radiating from Sebastian is because he just can’t get over the fact that he wasn’t the sole winner of the contest. With an ego his size, it’s not surprising that he’s having a hard time sharing the spotlight. Especially when he has to share that spotlight with me.

Now that I’m looking at him, the weird thing is that Sebastian’s glower isn’t pointed at me, but at Clement.

His arms are folded over his chest, his brows furrowed, his face taut with a look of distaste, and all his ire seems to be beaming through his eyes and pointing right at the Frenchman to my right.

“Harper?” The way Clement says my name in his sexy French accent makes it easy to pull my attention away from the mopey hockey player I hope to avoid for the next week.

“Sorry, yes?” I reply, turning to him and trying to seem engaged.

“I was asking, what in Paris are you most excited to see?”

“That’s so hard to answer,” I say with an excited groan.

“It’s impossible to just pick one specific thing.

Really, what I’m looking forward to the most is just walking around, getting lost in the streets I’ve spent so much time reading about and seeing in movies.

I’m so excited to see the Montmartre neighborhood.

And walking up the Champs-élysées. Even if it is super touristy, I don’t care,” I say with a laugh. “Just everywhere, you know?”

Clement and I keep talking. I’m mostly able to keep my eyes from straying in Sebastian’s direction. The couple times I fail, he still has that sour expression on his face, and strangely, it still seems to be directed more at Clement than at me.

When our flight boards, I end up sitting about a half dozen rows further back than Clement.

“Have a good flight,” he tells me as he shoves his small carry-on into the bin above his seat. “Maybe if you’re not too tired from the jetlag, I can take you out to that bar in Le Marais I was showing you the night after we get to Paris?”

Excitement dances through my chest. I can’t remember the last time a guy’s made my lips pull into a smile the way they are right now.

“That sounds great.” I’m reluctant to walk away, but I can feel the impatience of the people in line behind me, so I wish Clement a good flight as well and keep moving back.

When I take my seat, I look down the aisle to find Clement’s tuft of dirty blonde hair above his headrest. But when I see what’s beside it, my shoulders tighten.

Sebastian’s taking his seat right next to Clement.

An unsettled feeling swirls through my stomach, hardening and weighing it down. Having Sebastian of all people sitting next to the cute French guy I just hit it off with feels like having the plate of food I’m about to eat for dinner sitting next to an open pile of trash.

I try not to think about it, focusing on looking through what movies and shows are available on the in-flight entertainment system. But next time I peek in their direction, I see Sebastian’s and Clement’s heads turned toward each other, like they’re talking.

My jaw ticks. I just want Sebastian out of my business and me out of his for the duration of this trip, and he’s already screwing that up.

I put on a movie after we take off. I’m trying not to worry about Sebastian sitting next to Clement, but I can’t keep myself from looking in their direction down the aisle.

When I do, I notice their heads quickly turn toward me from over their seats. I make brief eye contact with Clement before they both turn around. Judging by the tops of their heads, they’re talking to each other again.

Glancing back at me, then talking to each other.

My chest tenses. Are they talking about me? What the hell is Sebastian saying to him?

Ugh! Now I’m going to be wound up and anxious all flight, wondering what they’re talking about. As if a seven-hour plane ride in economy class wasn’t bad enough, now I’m not even going to be able to relax.

The seven hours pass torturously slow. I don’t get any sleep even though it’s an overnight flight, and I can’t pay attention to any of the movies I try to watch.

I wish I could say I at least manage to stop anxiously looking toward Sebastian and Clement.

I mean, I guess I could say that, but I’d be lying.

They were talking for a while, but then they seemed to settle into watching whatever was playing on the screens in front of them. Which gave me some relief. But when the plane lands, they once again start chatting and glancing back at me, and I notice an odd look in Clement’s eyes.

Being a couple rows in front of me, they deplane before I do. When I step out into the terminal, I look around to see if Clement is waiting for me. Which you’d think he would be, considering the last time we spoke he essentially asked me on a date tonight.

I scowl as I spot Sebastian several paces in front of me, walking toward customs. He must have said something about me to Clement. And considering this is Sebastian we’re talking about, there’s no way it was flattering.

After passing customs, I find Clement standing by the luggage carousel. As I approach him, his head turns in my direction, but he immediately pulls it away when we make eye contact.

My lips purse. My self-respect should probably tell me to give Clement up as a lost cause—clearly his attitude toward me has done a one-eighty since we said goodbye when he took his seat on the flight—but I decide to press forward just in case I’m misinterpreting things.

“Have a good flight?” I ask him, trying to act the same as I was before we crossed the Atlantic Ocean.

But when he looks at me, every movement of his body and every line on his face broadcasts the fact that he’s not acting the same at all. “Not bad,” he answers curtly.

He immediately pulls his eyes away from me, using looking for his baggage as an excuse. I glance over my shoulder and find Sebastian. My face screws up in annoyance at him, because I know, somehow, he’s behind this.

Clement steps forward to grab his suitcase from the carousel.

It’s possible for people from different cultures to misread nonverbal cues, right? Maybe all this is in my head. I mean, it’s almost two in the morning back home, and I woke up early, so I’m kind of sleep-deprived. Maybe Clement’s apparent lack of interest is all in my head.

I guess I have nothing to lose by making sure.

“So, how about showing me that bar tonight like you were talking about?” I ask.

His lips flatten, his expression hesitant.

“I, um, may have a lot to do today. To catch up with work after my trip.” He pauses for an awkward beat. “I’ll text you and let you know.”

With that, he turns around and walks quickly to the exit. As he does so, I’m sure he realizes just as much as I do that we never exchanged numbers.

I turn to Sebastian, who’s grabbing his own suitcase and yanking it off the moving belt.

My brow lowers and my lips go thin as I march over, gaze boring into him.

“What did you do?” I demand as he turns around, coming to a halt when he sees me in front of him.

A glimmer of guilt flashes in his eye. “What are you talking about?”

He’s usually good at bullshitting, but this time, his body language gives him away. He knows he’s been caught out.

“What did you say to Clement?” I ask, folding my arms.

His eyelids narrow. “It was a seven-hour flight. We said a lot of things.”

My own narrow to meet his. “What did you say about me ?”

Some of his usual obnoxiousness peeks through as one side of his mouth hitches. “What makes you think I bring you up in any conversation I have? You’re the one with the obsession, not me.”

Back in Cedar Shade, I might try to summon something witty to say in response. But here in Paris, tired after a long flight and having just been ruthlessly swerved by a guy I was excited to spend more time with, I don’t find anything amusing about the boy responsible for it.

Through my peripheral vision, I notice my bag gliding by on the conveyor belt. With a huff, I turn away from Sebastian and pull it off.

“I don’t know why you’re already trying to ruin my trip,” I say to Sebastian without even looking at him, frustration boiling over. “But I’d really appreciate it if, for the rest of it, you just stay out of my business and not try to screw up anything else for me.”

I give him one more glance before I turn and head to the train that will take me into the city. I’m surprised to find a look of guilt—maybe even remorse—crack through on Sebastian’s face.

Normally I’m able to keep my composure when we spar with each other, but this time, I could feel my words coming out sharp and hot.

His lips part, but I don’t give him the chance to get any words through them. I turn my back to him and stride to the train, buying a ticket and taking my seat in one of the cars. When I’m seated, a heavy sigh of frustration whooshes out of me.

I’m officially in Europe for the first time, and thanks to Sebastian, I haven’t even been able to appreciate it.

I’m trying to relax and shake off the negative feelings so that the trip I’ve been dreaming of for weeks doesn’t start off on the wrong foot, when I notice a tall figure take a seat on the opposite side of the train a couple seats to my left.

My eyes tick in that direction, and lock with Sebastian’s.

My brow cinches. I push up from my seat. I turn to my right and walk through the door connecting train compartments.

I may be forced to share a city with Sebastian, but right now, I sure as hell don’t want to share a train car with him.