The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel by Gwen Jones Page B

“Would you like to go lie down on the bed for a little while?”
    She stared at him as if he’d just proposed a leap out the window. “No,” she said pointedly, standing. “If I’m going to do any sleeping I’ll do it in my own bed, thank you.” She eyed him up and down. “Are you ready?”
    “Just let me grab my bags,” he said, leaving a hundred-dollar bill for the maid.
    As they rode the elevator down, as he settled his bill, increasingly Rex became aware of her, so much that even the smallest things, like signing his name and retrieving his wallet, became distractions. How would he ever spend the week with her? Perhaps it wasn’t so much Charlotte who was disorienting, as how the little things she had said made him inordinately mindful of himself and his position. She had no idea what he had lost and how hard he had fought to get where he was, though he thought that maybe one day he would tell her. But at the moment he hardly found her perspective endearing. So when they finally hit the sidewalk it was with some relief he found a bit of secondhand familiarity parked at the curb. Julie Knott’s Channel 8 News van.
    “And where do you think you’re going?” said her cameraman, Denny O’Brien, as he rolled down the driver’s side window.
    “That would be my house,” Charlotte said. “Hey, is Julie in there?”
    “Yes,” Julie said, her monstrously pregnant belly hardly allowing her to swivel toward them from the passenger seat. “Oh hello, Rex. Sorry about what happened last night, but I do love how the family keeps feeding me copy.”
    “As well as how it keeps you in maternity clothes,” Charlotte said, gaping at her enormous belly. “Jesus, Julie, ovulate much?”
    She laughed. “Not lately. But I’ll tell you, when they start coming in pairs, it’s time to stop.” The TV reporter winced as she adjusted herself in the seat. “So Charlotte, what the hell are you doing here? I came for Rex’s story, but yours is a hell of a lot better. Jump in and let me give you a ride while you tell me all about it.”
    “I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Charlotte said. “We can take a cab.”
    “Not on your life,” Julie pressed. “Or would you rather someone outside the family gets ahold of both your stories, and who’ll be sorry then?”
    Rex tapped Charlotte’s arm. “Better get in,” he said, and reluctantly, she did. The inside of the news van was so crammed with production equipment there was hardly room enough for her and Rex to squish themselves into the jump seats.
    “So Rex,” Julie said, struggling to turn to face him, “ ça va, mon ami . Andy assures me you may be a conniver and an opportunist, but a ravisher of women, you’re not.”
    “How gracious of him,” Rex opined, his knees nearly hitting his chin.
    “Then what’s the story?” Julie asked. “Come on, I’m having a drought here.”
    Rex knew in order to control this story he had to own it, and the only way to do that was to feed his version directly to Marcel Mercier’s sister-in-law. Even though she usually did the lighter side of the news, he was well aware that was hardly why she was here.
    “I didn’t have sex with that woman,” he said.
    “Gee, where have I heard that before?” Julie said. “But we’re not exactly talking a tryst. We’re talking assault.”
    “Exactly,” he said. “Which I’m sure you hardly think me capable.”
    “So naturally, she’s lying,” Julie said. “Now why would she do that?”
    “I don’t know.” He wished he did. “But I’ll be sure to let you know when I find out.”
    “Of course,” Julie said, “but for now, we need to do better than that.”
    “Where’re we going?” Denny asked. “I’m guessing not the Four Seasons.”
    “We’re going to my house,” Charlotte said. “Turn up Fourth Street.”
    “On the other hand . . .” Julie’s face lit. “Now there’s a story more like I’m used to. Why would the biggest feminist in town be