Blame It on Paris by Jennifer Greene Read Free Book Online

was no reason to worry just because her mother hadn’t answered her messages; sooner or later her mom would call back. The lack of response meant, though, that Kelly was still dead broke, still financially dependent on him.
    And that was killing her. Will tried to keep up a hustling pace to get her mind off it, but initially they only ran into more frustration instead of less. Their first stop was the specific commissariat—the police station. There, of course, the bureaucratic bullshit began. In order to obtain the required récépissé de déclaration de perte ou de vol —proof she’d been through a theft—she had to get two separate sets of receipts. One was for the passport papers, and one for any other type of stolen valuables. Everywhere there were lines.
    Because Will knew the system, he figured he’d stay cool, but by noon he was coming apart at the seams, like Kelly was. The solution was obvious. Get the hell out of Dodge. By midday Saturday, there was no real chance of getting business done anyway, so there was no reason not to aim for some fun.
    He picked Île de la Cité first. The island, located in the middle of the Seine, was sardine packed with history and monuments, a guaranteed attraction for tourists. Hell, even the locals loved it. So did he.
    It seemed the ideal place to get her out in the fresh air, removed from everything to do with the trauma of the mugger—and whatever else was haunting those wet-velvet brown eyes.
    That was the theory.
    The reality turned into something else. Getting her out in the fresh air pepped her up just fine. Only then she opened her mouth and never shut it again.
    â€œI’m sick of thinking about me, talking about me. God knows, it’s your turn. What’s your job, Will? Why’d you end up in Paris? You’re not planning on living here forever, are you?”
    That nasty line of conversation started when they were in sight of the Notre Dame Cathedral. He’d figured it was the one place guaranteed to brighten up her mood…and it did. Only after thirty seconds of awed, respectful silence, she turned her attention right back to him, waiting for a barrage of answers to her endless questions.
    He could only duck so far. “Fromage,” he said finally.
    â€œFromage?” From the depths of her schoolgirl French, she suddenly remembered the word. “Cheese? Your job here is about cheese? Are you kidding?”
    He sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
    â€œWhy? What’s hard to explain about cheese?”
    The drizzling rain had stopped. A watery sun poked through the tufty clouds. Tourists, as always, were out in droves. It was spring, after all. Paris. And Île de la Cité had more old stone and romantic history than anyplace in the universe. She should have been entranced. They should not have been talking about cheese.
    â€œI came here originally to…well, to loll around. Play. Live my life. The idea was to take any job I could find that would support me, but otherwise, I wasn’t looking for career work. There’s no way I’ll ever be driven the way my father is. I’m not about to be chained to an office or living just for money.”
    She stopped dead, as if a lightbulb suddenly dawned in those far-too-smart brown eyes. “Oh my God, oh my God. Will…I know you said your last name was Maguire, but you’re not…” She gulped. “You’re not one of those Maguires, are you?”
    â€œDon’t go there,” he warned her.
    â€œHoly mackerel. You’re Aaron Maguire’s son? Good grief. Good heavens. Your family’s practically a dynasty in South Bend. Everybody knows they’re wallowing in money. Practically drowning in it.” She hustled in front of him on the sidewalk, walking backward to look into his face. “I’ll be darned. I’ve seen his picture a zillion times in the paper. You look just like him,