That he’d come after her?
How ridiculous was that? Why would he come after her when she’d spent so much time carefully explaining why she couldn’t stay with him? And anyway he didn’t know where she was.
He wouldn’t know that she’d chosen to come back to Paris, would he? He’d assume that she’d moved on somewhere new, as she always had in the past. And she probably should have done exactly that.
But she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
Paris was something that she’d shared with him. It was as if by being here she was holding on to a tiny part of him.
She didn’t understand why there was some comfort in knowing that he’d walked these streets and breathed this air, but there was.
Not that it made any difference. Even if he did know where she was, he wouldn’t care.
He knew who she was now. No more hiding. No more pretending.
Trying to ignore the dull feeling of misery that had sat in her insides for every moment of the last month, Chantal walked briskly back to the American party and helped them with their menu.
Her shift came to an end, and she made her way back to the old house in which she rented a room. As usual the key refused to turn in the lock, and it took a further five minutes of determined coaxing before she was able to gain access to her property.
As she climbed the five flights of stairs to her tiny room, she wondered what Angelos was doing.
Dining with a room full of diplomats?
Negotiating some mega-deal in New York?
Or lying by the pool discussing the money markets with his father?
Infuriated by the lump in her throat, she pushed open the door of her room and stopped dead.
The subject of her thoughts was sprawled on her sofa—six foot two of powerful Greek male dominating the tiny room.
She blinked several times, wondering whether her vision was playing tricks on her. Was the power of wishful thinking really that strong?
‘What are you—? How did you get in?’
‘Your landlady let me in.’ He glanced around him. ‘I don’t know what she’s charging you, but whatever it is you’ve been robbed. This place isn’t fit for human habitation.’
Stunned that he was there, and not understanding what could possibly have brought him all this way, Chantal pushed the door shut. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Claiming what’s mine.’ His glance was unmistakably possessive and she felt her legs tremble.
‘Angelos—’
‘Start packing. I gave your landlady notice. You’re going to need something bigger than this.’
She dropped her bag on the floor. ‘I can’t afford anything bigger.’
‘Yes, you can.’
She closed her eyes. Hadn’t he listened to a word she’d said? Or had he just been stubborn? ‘I’ve already told you I don’t want your money—’
‘I’m not offering you my money.’ His voice a soft drawl, he rose to his feet. ‘Sit down, Chantal.’
Her legs were shaking so badly that she plopped down onto the nearest chair without argument, staring at the neat file he dropped into her lap. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s your business plan. Some of the figures may be a little on the conservative side, but I’ve factored in reduced working hours.’
She glanced up at him. ‘Reduced working hours? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’