His To Shatter by Haley Pearce Page B

speaking! My heart began to race as I
realized that, more likely than not, I was in the same city as
Girard, the hero who had come to my rescue. I had hardly let myself
dwell on him in the months since our encounter. He was so
heart-stoppingly beautiful, so brave, so good, that it almost hurt
to let my mind linger on him for more than a moment. Girard was by
far the most attractive man I had ever seen, up close or otherwise,
and his act of valor only made him more appealing. All at once, the
full force of my desire to see him again hit me like a wrecking
ball.
    A wild thought crossed my mind as I gaped
like an idiot toward Monica. If she was here at la Passerelle, I
had to talk to her. She could lead me to Girard! He must be in the
city if she was—it didn’t seem like she often failed to follow him
wherever he went. She might be reluctant to give me information,
but I wouldn’t give her a choice. If there was anything my time at
Corelli had taught me, it was to be assertive and persuasive.
    I didn’t care if this woman was made of
stone, I had to crack her. She was my link back to Girard, and
there was no way that I could pass up this opportunity. I had to
thank him for saving me that day. If it hadn’t been for him, I
would have missed or completely blown my interview. I never would
have come to Paris, or had the best summer of my entire life. I had
to find him and tell him how grateful I was to him. And if I was
honest, I just wanted the chance to be near him again, to stand so
close to perfection once more.
    “Maddie?” Ashlee said, sounding concerned.
“Maddie, are you OK?”
    “What?” I said, turning toward her.
    “You look possessed or something,” Dara said.
“What’s up?”
    But I could hardly hear them. Across the bar,
Monica took two lowball glasses from the bartender and turned back
toward the pulsing crowd. My muscles seemed to have developed a
mind of their own, because suddenly I was on my feet in pursuit. I
slugged back the remainder of my martini and headed off after
her.
    “Hey!” Ashlee said, hurrying after me. “What
the hell is going on? Where are you going?”
    “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to shake her
off. “I just saw somebody I recognize.”
    “OK,” she said uncertainly. “We’ll be right
here.”
    I waved her off and hurried after Monica. I
spun and dodged around writhing bodies and careering cocktail
waitresses, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the ice woman
herself. My martini had been just potent enough to give me the
courage I needed to track her down. I craned my neck, searching for
her in the sea of people. The club was absolutely massive, and I
knew that finding Monica would be like finding a needle in a
haystack, but I had to keep trying. I tore through every nook and
cranny of the place, and quickly realized that there was an entire
balcony that I’d failed to investigate. A low groan escaped my lips
as I made my way up, down, and all around the joint. As the moments
ticked on, my hope of locating Monica among all these strangers
began to fade. I slowed my steps and turned back toward the bar to
collect my friends and regroup.
    “Did you find who you were looking for?” Dara
asked, as I retreated back to my barstool.
    “No,” I said, disappointed. “I’m afraid I
didn’t.”
    “Who was it, anyway?” Ashlee asked. “Who do
you know in Paris.”
    I looked back and forth between them, and
realized that I’d never told them about Girard after he’d saved me.
We’d been so caught up in my successful interview that we had
breezed right past the entire occurrence. And when our celebration
of that interview landed me in bed with a stranger, I had been too
ashamed to talk about any man, hero or otherwise. But for some
reason, I was still reluctant to fill them in on what had happened
with Girard. It was like I was afraid that saying anything about
him out loud would make the memory less mine, somehow.
    “Just someone I met in New York,” I