Kiera

Score: Midnight Memories - One Direction

I clear my throat, mortification choking me up.

Well, babes, it was too good to be true. Now, let's curl our tail between our legs and take our drink and our weeping vagina back to our room, shall we?

"Do you, uh, work for Brett Events?" I ask him, even though I'm already expecting his answer.

He furrows his brows.

"What?" The strange man asks with a laugh, confusion pulling his eyebrows in.

"Nothing," I say hurriedly, taking my eyes off of him and gluing them to my glass. I can basically feel my whole face going bright pink, and I don't want him to witness my embarrassment any more than he already has.

But the relief, rushing through my system, chases everything else away. He's not one of them. He doesn't even look like one of them.

And why do you care? That small Gollum voice in my head asks. It's not like you're going to do anything.

I slide a sideways glance at him over my glass. He's still smiling and shaking his head, but he doesn't say anything.

"So, what are you doing in Paris?" I decide on a swift change of subject, and what better way than to steer the conversation to the third party in any conversation in Paris, namely, Paris herself?

"I'm here for work," he shrugs his shoulders.

How very uninspiring.

"And you?"

"Same," I say, lifting a brow. The lightbulbs over the bar suddenly turn dark.

"We're closing in ten minutes, Miss Vough," Michel says with a shy smile.

"I know," I say. "Can you just whip me up another one," I lift my glass which now has mainly ice left in it. "And we'll be out of here, I promise."

"Wow," the stranger laughs, a deep, velvety laugh this time, that vibrates under my skin. "You really are thirsty tonight, aren't you?"

"And you really are rude tonight, aren't you?" I cock a brow at him.

"My apologies," he says, reaching with his hand and lifting his baseball cap a little. His eyes are shining with an amused gleam, which makes him look even more devastating.

"So, how do you like Paris?" I say, trying to bring the conversation back to Paris.

Wow. You really are dull, Keira, aren't you?

"I don't know," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I just landed today and was dropped off here directly from the airport."

I look at him, my chest suddenly constricting. He's just like me, I think before I say:

"Yeah, same, I haven't left the hotel for the past three days, and I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh, no," he gasps, just as Michel hands me my drink.

"Thanks, Michel. I'm gonna take this to my room." I look at the stranger and his glass. There's still a finger of whiskey in there. "I'm sorry, but we need to leave."

He stands from his stool and I notice just now how tall he is. He must be at least six-foot-four. He picks up his glass and then tips his head back, throwing the whisky down his throat. His eyes water a little, but, apart from that, he doesn't let out any hint that the whisky is burning his throat.

"Ugh," I shudder. "I hate Lagavulin."

He laughs, lifting a brow. "No one hates Lagavulin."

"Well, I do," I say, jumping off my stool. "It tastes like the dentist's."

He looks at me, amusement written all over his face, and shakes his head again.

He does that quite a lot. I don't know what is meant by that, but I feel like it's poking my anxiety with a stick through the bars right now.

"Put it all on room 1011, Michel, will ya," the stranger says, winking at Michel over the bar.

1011. One of our VIP suites.

"You didn't have to," I say, swatting at his arm lightly. His body suddenly stiffens.

Way to go, Keira. You startled it with your inappropriate advances. Boundaries!

But, to my surprise, his posture relaxes and a wide grin spreads over his face.

"Not a problem, I wanted to," he says, winking at me. He looks so pleased with himself that I decide against telling him that one of the perks about working here is that I get free drinks, free food, and pretty much free anything when staying at any of the Lavet Hotels Group worldwide.

"Hey, do you want to, you know, go somewhere else?" He says, and I lift my eyes from my glass to look at his face. An adorable blush is peeking through his stubble. There's a flicker of something...wild I just don't know how to explain in his eyes.

"Well, that's not usually my thing, but..." I say, flashing him a wicked look. The flush on his neck and cheeks deepens and I can't help but laugh at how adorable he looks when he is flustered.

"NO! No, no, I didn't mean it like that," he says, waving his hands wildly in front of him.

"Why? Don't you think I'm attractive?" I say, wriggling my brows and shaking my head, feeling the bun on top of my head bounce a little.

His eyes, if possible, go even wider, and then panic, pure, honest panic washes over his face.

"I...I..." he stutters. "Of course, I find you attractive, but..."

I swat at his arm again.

"Relax! I'm just messing with ya," I laugh, and then take a sip from my noodle. He relaxes the tiniest bit.

"I just meant, like, do you want to go out?"

I raise my brow at him.

"It isn't getting any better, buddy," I shake my head, laughter bubbling its way up my throat.

"I mean out, out. Out there. Out and about," he stutters, waving frantically his hands in the direction of the Parisian skyline and the Eiffel Tower behind my back. "Since you've been stuck here for three days and are leaving tomorrow, and this is my first time here..." his voice trails off and his eyes fall to his feet. I can't help but notice how young he looks. How old is this guy? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?

"So, what are you suggesting?" I say, playing with my noodle.

He lets out a deep breath, visibly relaxing this time.

"I'm suggesting we sneak out and wander the streets of Paris at night," he says, waving his arm dramatically in a wide gesture across the night sky. "Since you're such an expert on Paris," he says in a mocking tone. I swat him for the third time, but he just shrugs his shoulders and gives me an adorable look. "Maybe you can show me around?"

I take a second to contemplate his offer. I have a flight tomorrow morning, and I need to pop into the office for a quick debrief meeting on the Brett Events deal with the Sales Manager, but this guy's offer is just so tempting. It's been seriously ages since I've done something outside of the script of hotel room-work-airport-repeat, that I can't even remember when was the last time I went out, wandering the streets of any place. I just never have the time anymore.

When I first took this job, I was so excited about the prospect of traveling. When the Sales Manager told me on my last interview that the job would demand seventy percent travel time, I couldn't believe how lucky I'd gotten. It literally sounded like my dream job. A few weeks into it, however, reality hit me, and I wasn't so sure anymore. Because, yes, I travel the world, yes, I have visited more than twenty countries in the past nine months alone, and I have been sleeping, dining, and wining in one of the top luxury hotel groups in the world. However, from most of the places I've visited, all that I see is the view out of my hotel room window and the airport.

It doesn't sound like a dream anymore, does it?

For the past month alone I've been to Paris twice, yet I haven't gone outside of this same hotel, even for a drink, or a meal, because every night I feel so exhausted, that I tell myself it's not worth the effort, when I can get any type of food, and any wine that I can possibly desire, delivered straight up to my room, 24/7.

I glance at my phone.

12:35 a.m.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" I nod and feel the messy bun on the top of my head bob with the movement. This time, not on purpose.

I cringe.

"Let me just change real quick, OK?"

"No time," he says, grabbing his sunglasses from the counter and popping them into his back pocket. He then grabs my hand and literally drags me toward the door. I have time only to put my glass on the end of the bar and flash a confused grin at Michel, who shakes his head and smiles while wiping the bar down. "You look beautiful the way you are," the stranger says and strange warmth makes its way into my chest, settling behind my sternum.

It's been a long, loong time since anyone's told me I look beautiful. I know he's probably saying it out of good manners, but I can't help the stupid grin, stretching my mouth. I've been smiling all day, but none of it felt this real, like this smile right now. In contrast to my fake, "selling" smile, which I had plastered across my face all day, I actually feel like smiling now, with this strange man, dragging me toward the lifts. It doesn't feel forced, or painful. It just feels...right.

The lift doors chime open and he steps inside, pulling me in by the hand after him. As the elevator starts its descent, I feel my heart soar in my chest. I look up at him, standing by my side and that warm feeling behind my sternum settles in a little deeper.

I am going out in Paris at night, looking like a tramp, and with a strange man.

I can't believe I'm doing this! My heart is racing when the lift doors chime open on the ground floor. This is so unlike me, the twenty-nine-year-old workaholic that I have turned into.

I scan the pretty much-deserted lobby, but, fortunately, I can't see any familiar faces. The Brett Events team are probably either up in their rooms, working or resting, or already gone.

I heave out a deep sigh of relief and look up at my companion, who's gotten weirdly tense himself. He's looking cautiously around the lobby, as if he's afraid someone might see us. He pulls his baseball cap further down over his eyes.

He drags me by the hand down the hall to the front doors. I hear him chuckle, as he nearly breaks into a run down the lobby. I feel like a child, running away from her parents after I've sneaked out of bed way past bedtime.

Just as we are about to exit the door, the stranger pulls to a halt so abruptly, I crash into his side.  I frown and take a step back and look up at him, but he doesn't seem to notice that I nearly knocked us both to the floor. His eyes beneath the cap are fixed on something, or, rather, someone on the other side of the double glass doors in front of us.

There is a car, pulling into the driveway in front of the hotel. It stops right in front of the door and a woman steps out of the back seat and starts walking up the red-carpeted stairs towards us.

if I didn't feel self-conscious about my appearance before, I certainly do now.

She is gorgeous. Her legs are so long that they should be deemed a national treasure. Her hair is long, sleek, and black, and her deep-brown skin is just...Wow! Not only that, but she has the gait of a Victoria's Secret model, and for a second there I swear she is one.

But before I can think of whether I recognize the woman from the latest London Fashion Week catwalks or not, I feel a powerful pull to my left and I literally swing around, as the stranger pulls me by the hand down the hall, and steps behind one of the marble columns, which are decorating the lobby. He spins on his heels so that his back hits the column and pulls me flush to his body.

His face is mere inches from mine and when our gazes meet, there's a flicker of mischief and something else I can't identify in his. I know that there's shock in mine, and I think it shows, because the stranger gives out a small laugh, and then he puts his index finger over his lips, telling me to stay quiet.

"I'll just...need a minute," he says, peeking from around the column to where the angel with the mile-long legs is crossing the lobby, headed toward the lifts. She has such a powerful presence that all eyes are suddenly fixed on her, mine including, but the way Strange Hot Guy is looking at her makes me feel unsettled.

"Who's that?" I say, craning my neck to see over his shoulder.

A chuckle vibrates in his chest, threatening to spill out of his full lips, but he stifles it.

"A friend", he says, never tearing his eyes from the woman. She's waiting in front of the lifts now. The one to her left chimes open and Strange Hot Gut holds his breath.

"Wait...You are not...married or something, are you?" I blurt out before I can help myself, my eyebrows pulling in and my eyes flicking quickly to his ring finger. He looks young, but that doesn't mean he can't be married, and the way he's hiding from that woman makes me think she's more to him than just a friend. He looks...intimidated by her. Scared, even.

Suddenly, I'm painfully aware of how close his body is to mine. My hands are resting on his broad, muscular chest and I can feel his muscles tense under the fabric of his hoodie, as he twists from the waist to get a better view from our hiding place. His scent is filling the space between us. He smells like leather and spice and the warmth behind my sternum turns into full-blown heat.

Jeez. Get it together, Kiki.

Embarrassed by my reaction to experiencing any semblance of proximity to a man's body, I try to pull away, but he wraps his hands around my wrists and holds me into place.

"Please don't," he whispers, as the elevator doors close behind the woman's back. "I guess it's all clear now," he says, turning his head toward me and lowering his gaze to mine. "No, I'm not married, it's just...complicated..."

My face must be showing just how unimpressed I am with his pathetic attempt at an explanation because Stranger continues.

"It's nothing like that, OK? It's just work."

"Work?" I lift my eyebrows suspiciously. "How can hiding us behind a bloody column define as work?"

He lets my wrists go and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"I told you, if I tell you, I'm gonna have to kill you," he says, that brilliant smile splitting his face in half again, but there is something more in his eyes now. A thread of worry, maybe? "Anyway, you have a city to show me around," he says and steps out from behind the column. I don't move. He extends his arm toward me, offering me his hand. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" I scoff. "I don't even know you!"

And why should I care, anyway? I'm not going to sleep with a complete stranger or anything. He just proposed a walk around the streets of the most romantic city in the world in the middle of the night and I accepted. There's certainly nothing wrong with that, right? Right?

"Then, please, take the word of a complete stranger and grant me the simple joy of taking a walk with me?" He says and his smile could melt the ice in Antarctica.

I sigh and take his hand and we walk out through the door.

As we step into the cool night air, I can't help but wonder, who's this girl, that's hijacked my body, and what the fuck happened to Keira Vough?