One Christmas in Paris: The perfect feel good Christmas romance by Mandy Baggot

Author:Mandy Baggot [Baggot, Mandy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781786810809
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2016-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

Her plan was to say absolutely nothing unless she had to. She had considered borrowing a helmet from the back of a line of mopeds parked just outside and refusing to remove it while she carried the highly confidential, not-to-be-opened-by-anyone-else package up to the third floor, but then she thought better of it. Knowing her luck, a woman refusing to remove headwear would spark a security alert.

This was just a role to play. Exactly like a modelling role. She was a delivery girl. Tasked with the job of getting this private package to Francine personally. She just had to slip into that part. Give it the right attitude. No one at the insurance office would ever suspect what she was really doing.

She pushed open the glass door and was hit by the emptiness of the reception area. There was a Christmas tree to her right, but no lights, no decorations, just a bare tree in a pot. She almost felt sorry for it. Delivery girl. She looked to the pristine white desk in front of her and behind it two immaculately presented women oozing Parisian office chic. They looked efficient as they typed away on keyboards that barely made a sound, they would be able to smell her fake story a mile off. Eyes shooting left she picked out the elevator. That’s where she was heading.

Stepping confidently forward she stopped at the sound of someone’s voice. ‘Pardon, Mademoiselle.’

Why hadn’t she had the foresight to slip her earphones in before she entered the offices? She could have continued walking, nodding her head to inaudible music and making for the lift. Instead she was stood still, caught between running for the stairs and facing someone she didn’t really want to speak to.

Ava waved a hand. She could pretend she was mute. Had only heard the voice because of the vibration in the air. She walked a few steps more, willing the lift not to be up on the fifth floor. Perhaps someone was on their way down... but not Francine just yet, not until she was halfway to the third level... but someone who would force the lift doors open just when she needed them.

‘Madame,’ the receptionist called again.

She wasn’t stopping. Not now. Not for anything or anyone. She waved again then sprinted past the elevator and through the door that had a sign of a stick man going up some stairs.

Receptionists didn’t run, did they? Ava was quite sure, in all her twenty-four years, she had never seen a receptionist run. But, just to be sure, she ran. Taking the stairs two at a time and hoping, when Debs’ call came through that Francine didn’t decide to be health-conscious and not use the lift.

Powering up the steps she stopped when she got to a door indicating it was the third-floor entrance. This was it. Francine’s level. It was time to be the delivery girl/private investigator.

She pushed open the door with one foot and stepped through, trying to act confident. Shit, it

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