Undercover Billionaire Boss

Today, at the Louvre, where cell phones were all-but confiscated at the entrance, he had been hoping for a bit of peace amongst the beautiful art. But with his security team on his back and Thomas, his father’s lackey, trying to rush him out? It was starting to look like the time was ripe to create another one of his famous distractions.

Alexander tapped Thomas on the shoulder. “Thomas... Did you see that guard in the Holy Art exhibition? I think I could be wrong, but I could have sworn he had a gun on his waistband. The guards here don't carry guns, do they?”

Thomas eyed him suspiciously. He'd been tricked by Alexander before, many times, so anytime he warned Thomas of a possible threat, Thomas tended to question it more than his training told him was prudent. But Alexander was ready for his skepticism.

“You know what? I'll go check it out myself! I was quite interested in the exhibit anyway. Then we can just see how everything pans out!”

The look in Thomas' eyes made it clear Alexander had won; it was a look of pure annoyance. Thomas growled an order into his mic and then frowned when he heard an answer in his earpiece he didn’t like. Thomas turned to him. “Your highness, please, stay right here. I have someone coming to this location, but he's going to take a minute. Just… please. Stay... right here.”

Alexander feigned confusion. “Where in the world would I go, Thomas?”

Thomas scowled at him as he rushed from the room and down the hall to the Holy Art exhibit. Alexander figured he had about two minutes at most to make his escape before one of the other men in the security detail made it to his location. He'd noticed a stairwell about one-hundred feet away; all he had to do was make it there before he was seen.

It was a good thing he'd been training for this moment his whole life.

Paris snapped yet another quick picture of the gorgeous stained glass inside the Sainte Chappelle. She was absolutely mesmerized by all of the beautiful colors: pinks and blues and reds and purples, accented in shimmering gold. The group she was sight-seeing with had lost interest in the Gothic chapel a while ago and had moved back outside, but she just couldn't seem to pull herself away.

She felt so inspired inside the Chapel's historic walls; something about beauty like this always made her want to learn and grow more, even though she didn't have an artistic bone in her body. Paris honestly had no idea how long she'd been inside, but she felt intoxicated both by the color and by the history. She was just about to take another photo when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.

An ancient security guard, at least three inches shorter than she was, was smiling up at her expectantly. She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled back. The guard looked around awkwardly for a moment, and then grinned even bigger, pointing toward the door. Now thoroughly confused, she just shook her head at the small man to indicate she had no idea what he wanted from her.

In broken English, the man said, “Jeune fille... We close now... You last in chapelle. Il faut partir. To go, you must.”

She looked around and realized the guard was right; there wasn't a single person left in the entire chapel. She had no idea how it had happened, but everyone had filtered out while she was busy trying to capture the stained glass in the dying sunlight. Her first instinct was to feel guilty for holding up the security guard, who looked as if he should have been off his feet about three hours ago.

Her second instinct was pure, unadulterated panic, as she realized that there was absolutely no chance the tour group was still waiting for her outside. If the ancient church was closing, that meant the group had already moved on to its next destination.

Paris looked back at the guard, who gave her another uncomfortable smile and an arthritic thumbs-up before he turned to start locking the doors for the night. Paris ran for the Chapel's exit, grateful that she had worn sensible flats, unlike some of the women in the group who had opted for wedges or ridiculous heels. She was hoping against hope that at least one person from the group might still be waiting for her outside.

Maybe one person considered that she'd lost track of the time, and that it would be polite to stay behind until she came out? Besides, it wasn’t that hard to notice she was gone, right? She was the only black girl in the tour group. She kinda stood out. But when Paris got outside, the only people milling around were other tourists she didn't recognize, a few police officers, and one lone street vendor who was packing up his wares.

Paris took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her pulse. She didn't speak anything more than a smattering of French phrases so she couldn't ask for directions, and if she tried to do it in English, she knew no one would help her. She’d already learned that Parisians hated when Americans addressed them in English.

Paris was only a few steps from the Seine River, so she could potentially follow that until she saw something she recognized, but the truth was sinking in even as she stood there. Whether or not she happened upon a location that looked familiar, there was zero chance she would ever find her way back to the crappy hotel where she was staying. It was too far out of town to walk.

And she stupidly hadn’t brought anything with the hotel name written on it.

And her stupid phone didn’t work in Europe.

The simple fact of the matter was...

She was screwed.

Paris was screwed, and she knew it. The classes she was taking as part of the study abroad trip were starting in two days, and she'd be able to hook up with the rest of the people in her group at that point. At least she knew where the conference was held—the Centre Pomp

idou, one of the biggest landmarks in the city.

But what the hell was she supposed to do until then?

Alexander hadn't been this content in months.

Peace and quiet.

He had turned his phone off as soon as he had gotten away from the Louvre; not on vibrate, not on silent... off. If Whitney was trying to drunkenly yell at him about matching fabric for their honeymoon clothes or, more likely considering his recent escape, Thomas was trying to scream at him for running off, he had no desire to know about any of it.

Right now, he just wanted to stroll along the banks of the Seine in total anonymity and peace, his sunglasses and cap on, grateful for the setting sun which obscured his face even more.

So far, not a single person had recognized him since he left the museum. He'd stopped for coffee and a pastry at a small shop not far from the Louvre. He'd stopped to buy his mother a pair of (faux) emerald earrings from a local artisan selling her wares along the river, happy that his mother could never find something similar in Dalvana.