One Kiss in... Paris: The Billionaire's Bedside Manner / Hired: Cinderella Chef / 72 Hours. Robyn Grady

have this week off. But then I thought she’d appreciate something for Reece far more.”

      Chuckling, he wound her arm more securely around his. “You’re right. She would.”

      “Maybe some kind of stuffed toy. A Gallic Rooster.” Her step faltered at his unconvinced look. “It’s this country’s national animal, isn’t it?”

      “But Reece isn’t a baby. He’d appreciate something more—” he thrust out his chest “—masculine.”

      She slanted her head. Okay. “How about a football?”

      “Too young.”

      “Suggestion?”

      “That we go to the experts.”

      “And that would be?”

      He quickened his step and propelled her along with him. “The oldest and largest toy store in Paris.”

      Soon they arrived at Au Nain Bleu, the massive store that had been serving French children’s play needs since the mid-nineteenth century. There were lots of stuffed floppy-eared rabbits. Bailey seemed especially taken with a pair of bunny slippers. But Mateo ushered her through to a spot where boys’ toys ruled.

      They looked at trucks, action figures, miniature drums. Bailey drifted toward a nearby girls’ section while Mateo kept searching. After a few more minutes, satisfied, he called and gestured toward a shelf.

      Bailey hurried over from a jewelry stand and picked up the pack. “A builder’s kit, suitable for eighteen months to three years,” she said. With a plastic hammer, automatic wrench, an “electric” drill that buzzed when you pressed a red button. “But Reece is only twelve months.”

      “Believe me, he’ll grow into it quickly.”

      She quizzed Mateo’s eyes and smiled.

      “You would have liked this when you were young?”

      “More than anything, I wanted to be a builder.”

      “And you ended up becoming a doctor?”

      “Ernesto wanted me to make the most of my grades.”

      She smiled knowingly. “But there’s still a part of you that wants to hammer and saw and create.”

      He rolled that thought over and admitted, “I suppose there is.” Although he hadn’t thought about it in decades. He straightened his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be a hit with Reece with this.”

      At the counter, Mateo pulled out his wallet but Bailey held up a hand. “I have money enough for this.”

      He wanted to argue but finally put his wallet away while she extracted some French currency. He hadn’t known she’d exchanged any cash. But given her backpacker history, of course she’d be well up to speed on such things.

      The lady behind the counter insisted on gift wrapping. Mateo was checking his watch again as they headed for the exit when a large well-dressed man materialized directly in front of them. With a stony expression, he studied Bailey who, looking uncertain, slid a foot back. Mateo wasn’t uncertain. He was annoyed. They had a jet to catch.

      Before Mateo had a chance to speak up, the man addressed Bailey in French.

      “I am a security officer for the store. Please empty your pockets.”

      Bailey clung to his arm. “What’s he saying?”

      Mateo stepped in front of Bailey and demanded of the officer, “What’s this about?”

      “I have reason to suspect your wife has something in her pocket for which she did not pay.”

      Bailey’s hushed voice came from behind. “Why is he upset, Mateo?”

      He looked over his shoulder. “He thinks you’ve shoplifted.”

      Her eyes rounded. “That’s crazy.”

      Yes. It was.

      And yet he couldn’t help but wonder why a security officer from a well reputed store should stop them if there was no basis to the accusation.

      Stepping beside her again, Mateo assessed her knee-length coat. “He wants you to empty your pockets.”

      “What on earth does he think I stole?”

      “The quickest way to end this, Bailey, is show him the contents of your pockets.”

      If she had nothing to hide, she would have nothing to fear and, doing his job or not, he would then demand an apology from this man. If, of course, the security guard was right.

      As shoppers swirled around them and a toddler, trying a mini slide, squealed close by, Bailey reluctantly dragged something shiny from her right pocket then held out her hand, palm up. The officer preened his moustache before leaning in to take a better look. Mateo didn’t need to. He knew what Bailey had hidden in her pocket.

      The officer angled his head and frowned. “What is this?”

      Sheepish, Bailey found Mateo’s eyes. “You were right. The clasp broke when I was looking through a display. It fell in with some necklaces. I put it in my pocket and was going to have it fixed, first thing, when we got home.”

      Mateo let out a lungful of air. Her charm bracelet. She was lucky she hadn’t lost it. He knew how much it meant to her. He should have made her listen.

      Mateo explained the situation to the officer who accepted the story with an apology before allowing them to be on their way.

      “I know what you’re thinking,” she said as they walked out onto the pavement. “It could have slipped off without me knowing.” She cringed. “I hate to think what my father would say.”

      “He wouldn’t be happy.”

      “I’m used to that. But you don’t need to be upset.”

      He didn’t reply.

      As they cabbed it back to the suite, Mateo mulled over the incident. What really bothered him was that for a moment he’d been prepared to think the worst of Bailey—again. But it had been a misunderstanding, something similar to when he’d jumped to conclusions the second she’d confirmed she’d taken that money from Mama. But that hiccup was long behind them. Bailey wasn’t dishonest. Wasn’t manipulative.