Paris Holiday
I STARED AT my phone as the voicemail icon lit up with a number beside it, and then hit delete.
That made forty calls in less than thirteen hours. Of course they weren’t all from Tyler Holiday. His friends were calling me as well.
Shoving the black rectangle into my purse, I opened the heavy door and walked out of the funeral parlor just as the sun was going down. The arrangements had been made according to my father’s written wishes. He was to be buried in the plot he’d purchased many years ago, sandwiched right in-between my sister and my mother.
Much to my surprise, there was a plot for me as well. On the other side of London.
Mother. Father. Daughter. Replacement daughter.
No thank you.
“Paris.” Henri stood from the bench he’d sat on to wait for me. “How’d it go?”
“About as good as selecting a coffin can go,” I responded flatly.
He made a face. “Okay then, at least it’s done. So, where to next?”
I’d called Henri only after I’d driven around Tyler’s block ten times, trying to decide if I should go back in and tell him just what I thought of him or drive away and never return.
Henri had convinced me to do neither. So, instead, I went to Senior Living and waited for Fabian to drive him up there from L.A. While I waited, I sat with the remains of my father and attempted to make sense of my life. I found no sense in it at all. Once Fabian dropped Henri off, he went on to St. Helena so Henri could spend the day alone with me.
Henri really was a good friend and probably would have made the better husband. All sex aside.
If only I could rewind life’s events.
I was dead tired. I looked across the street and pointed. “The Saint sounds like a good place.”
Henri smiled. “Drinks and dinner it is, my darling.”
We walked across the road, and when I heard my phone ringing, I chose to ignore it altogether.
Taking a table in the back, we sat down, and as soon as we did, my phone pinged with a text. I didn’t bother to look.
“Paris, darling, answer his calls,” Henri pleaded.
“I will do no such thing.”
“Then tell him to fuck off and be done with him. It will make your life so much easier.”
He didn’t know Tyler.
“Hi, I’m Veronica,” the waitress said as she stood at the end of our table. “Can I get you something to drink while you look at the menu?”
Henri nodded. “Sparkling water for me and a glass of Chardonnay for the lady. Highway 128 if you have it.”
She started to walk away but I waved my hand. “Can you make that a bottle?” I asked her.
Over her shoulder she asked, “One glass or two?”
“One,” I answered.
Henri cocked his head to the side in question and I pointed to him. “He’s riding shotgun back to L.A. tonight, so he needs to keep his wits.”
With a knowing grin, she nodded. “I get that.”
“I don’t have to leave. I could stay,” Henri offered as the waitress continued on the path she’d been on before my interruption.
I shook my head. “No, I’m good.”
He was staring at me.
“What?”
He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. “I’m really sorry about your father.”
I shrugged. “I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I nodded. “He never cared about me. Why should I care about him?”
Henri tilted his head to the side. “Because you loved him despite his ill-treatment of you and now he’s gone.”
To my surprise, everything rushed up within me and I couldn’t stop the tears that slid down my face.
He squeezed my hand. “I’m worried about you,” he said, his French accent thicker than normal. “What are you going to do now?”
I covered his hand with mine. “I don’t know yet, but I can promise you I’m not letting my company go down without a fight.”
The smile he gave me was encouraging. “That’s my girl. If I can help in any way, let me know.”
It was a nice offer but way too late for that. With the merger in full force, Tyler would never go for it, even if it was an option.
Tyler.
I sighed.
Veronica brought my bottle of wine and it sat mostly untouched until our salads arrived and remained that way even as I ate.
Drowning my sorrows didn’t feel right.
“So, what are you going to do about Tyler?” Henri asked taking the last bite of his food.
I shook my head. “Isn’t that the million dollar question.”
One half of his mouth turned up. “So, do you think he fucked that girl?”
I sighed and put my elbows on the table to rest my chin. “I doubt it. He was green and passed out on the bathroom floor in the entry when I got there.”
“Then what was she doing there?” he asked.
“Another million dollar question.”
“You know, you don’t have to decide anything right now.”
“Yes, you’re right, I don’t,” I said.
The waitress returned to take our plates when Henri’s phone rang.
He answered it without even glancing to see who it was. Then again, he wasn’t trying to escape a lynch mob. “Yes, this is he,” he said.
“Thank you,” I told Veronica as she took my untouched salad away. My stomach was in knots and there was no way I could eat, but I couldn’t divulge that to Henri.
“Paris Holiday?” Henri asked.
I shook my head. Crap. Had I been tracked down to Henri’s phone? No freaking way. I leaned over the table and whispered, “Tell whoever it is, you don’t know where I am.”
His face turned white and he swallowed in fear. “Yes, I understand. Hold on, she’s right here.”
What the hell?
He covered the speaker and whispered, “It’s for you.”
“Tell whoever it is I’m not here,” I snapped.
He shook his head. “It’s Tabitha Dane and she threatened to cut my balls into a million tiny pieces and feed them to me spoonful by spoonful if I lied.”
Seriously, how could I not laugh?
To save his manhood, I took the phone. “Hi, Tabitha.”
“Don’t you hi Tabitha me! Where are you? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick. And I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”
My stomach dropped with the heavy guilt that lined it. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sorry but I’m fine. I’m in St. Helena.”
“Then why aren’t you answering your phone?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Because I know everyone is calling me to get me to forgive Tyler, and I can’t. Not this time.”
Her voice lowered. “Listen to me. You have it all wrong.”
“Please, Tabitha, don’t. This is why I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
Henri took the check when the waitress set it on the table. “I’ll go pay this and meet you outside,” he whispered.
I nodded and mouthed. “Thank you.”
Tabitha sighed over the line. “I get what you’re saying but please, let me meet you somewhere and explain.”
I bit down my resentment and huffed, “Fine. I’ll be hiding away in my office at Highway 128. You can meet me there.”
“Give me an hour to get Emerson fed and Grayson settled with her,” she said, and hung up.
Setting my undrunk glass of wine down, I thought about tucking the almost-full bottle in my purse because I might need it.
Meeting her was so not a good idea on any level. First, I was going to a place I wasn’t supposed to be seen at, and second, I was meeting with someone I knew would be going to bat for Tyler Holiday.
That was two strikes.
And I had a feeling the third wasn’t far away.