Keira

Score: If We Ever Meet Again - Timbaland Ft. Katy Perry

"You're going the wrong way!" I practically yell into the driver's ear, as the Uber I'm traveling to the airport in crawls painfully slow through the Parisian traffic, which is especially bad today. And now, the driver's going the wrong way.

I have never seen the streets of Paris busier before. With this speed, I'll get to Charles De Gaulle Airport just in time for my flight's landing in London.

When I woke up in my hotel room this morning, I realized I had slept through four alarms, had yet to pack, and my flight was in three hours... So, as I was rushing through my room, looking for my hairbrush and a clean pair of knickers, I called the hotel reception to ask for a shuttle to the airport, but it turned out they were all booked, for an incoming flight.

Weird. There always is a spare shuttle or two, but the girl from Reception told me there was a big group, checking in today and asked me whether I wanted her to call me a taxi. I told her not to bother and that I'd take an Uber.

So, here I am, an hour later, trying very hard not to panic, in the back seat of the Uber, updating my Maps app every three seconds, but, unfortunately, it is giving me the same result every time. My estimated time of arrival at Charles De Gaulle Airport is about the same as the time of my meeting with the GM, back in the London office.

"I'm sorry, madame, there's no other way," the driver says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "There's a big concert at Stade De France tonight, and the adjacent street is closed. All traffic to the airport is rerouting through here."

Feeling helpless and defeated, I sigh and throw myself back in my seat.

Fuck! None of this would have happened if I had just gone straight to bed last night, instead of roaming the streets with a complete stranger and going to bed at four a.m. I would have woken up early enough to possibly get a shuttle to the airport and avoid the crazy traffic, and would be at the airport, sipping Starbucks right now, instead of sitting in this car that smells of patchouli...

Yet, that walk last night, and the way it ended, were the most exciting things that have happened to me in a while.

Heat rises to my cheeks, as memories from last night flood my brain. I reach with my hand and touch my lips, and I can still feel Strange Hot Guy's soft lips on mine, his hand, stroking my cheek, and his warm, skillful tongue, exploring my mouth...

The memory is so vivid that it makes me feel dizzy like I've had a glass of champagne on an empty stomach. The strange flutter in my chest causes me to let out a small laugh. It's been so long since I felt that bubbly feeling, that I had forgotten what it was like.

I glance out of the window. The streets are flooded with young girls, rushing feverishly in the direction where we came from, passing the cars, frozen in the street. Their faces are lit up, their expressions ones of feverish anticipation. They look almost enthranced, as if they are headed to a religious service and not a concert.

"Who's playing?" I ask the driver, accepting my fate and deciding on coming across as friendly at least.

"Oh, a lot of bands, Madamme. It's a concert for charity, and the line-up is phenomenal! I can't even believe how they got all these stars to be performing together, on one stage, but it is something about humanitarian aid. Even The Flying Benjamins have agreed to participate, Madamme," the driver says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror. I frown back at him, clueless. It's probably some big local thing that I have not been introduced to. "They are really popular with the young girls," the driver says to my baffled expression. "My oldest daughter is going. My ex-wife is taking her."

"Oh, nice," I say, nodding slowly, trying to be nice, but not having the slightest idea what the guy is talking about.

I get it, though, they must be huge, if the streets of Paris are getting closed for them, and hordes of young women are taking the city by storm.

It must be nice, I guess, to be fourteen again, and have all your life revolve around boys, bands, and school. I never had that as a teenager. I had to grow up real quick when my mum got sick, and I never had the time to be the girl, who went out every night and had an exciting dating life. I had to take on responsibilities that weren't exactly suitable for a teenager, but it taught me discipline and how to be a responsible adult, which has paid off well in time. I'm not afraid of work, and I don't complain about the crazy hours I'm putting in. I'm doing it all for me so that I never have to go back to that place...

A police car appears out of nowhere, and the syren disrupts the gloomy path my thoughts have taken.

It's just because I'm stressed out, I tell myself, and look through the window again. The police car is making way for an ambulance to pass through the blocked street.

"Today is your lucky day, madame," the driver says, ans I whip my head around to look at him in the rearview mirror. "Someone must be giving birth. That's why the police are making way," he explains, and then shuffles a little in his seat. "I hope you don't get motion sickness," he says, and, just as the police car and the ambulance drive past us, he steps on the gas, and, with an almost unnatural turn of the wheel, pulls the car out of the traffic and behind the cordon, and I am quickly reminded of that French movie, Taxi.

If you haven't watched it, highly recommend. Just don't bother with the 5th film, it is not worth it, if you ask me.

Twenty minutes later, the driver pulls up in front of Departures at Charles De Gaulle Airport, and I am very grateful that I didn't have time to eat breakfast this morning. If I had, it would have made a messy reappearance somewhere on Saine-Saint Deniz, and we wouldn't have liked that. Also, I believe I lost my dignity, when we were passing by Stade De France, because I screamed like a little girl, when we narrowly escaped a free-fall into the Canal de Saint Deniz, but I quickly recovered from the shock, when my Maps app informed me that there might be a sliver of hope that I actually make it to the airport in time.

I jump out of the car, thanking every deity that I can think of, that I made it here in one piece, and then scrumble with my suitcase, as I literally run towards the entrance.

When I finally make it past security and locate my gate, I am so relieved that I want to kiss the tiles under my feet in the security zone. I made it! Jean won't kill me! I made it on time, and I even have some time before my gate closes, so I rush over to a newspaper stand and grab myself a magazine.

I skim through the cover and see that there is an interview with The Flying Benjamins on page 39.

Jeez, those guys are everywhere.

I pay for my magazine, tuck it under my arm, and step into the boarding line for my flight.

I am halfway through taking a deep breath of relief when my phone pings in my bag and I literally jump in my place.

As I rummage through my bag for my phone, I shove my magazine somewhere between my laptop and a zipper bag, full of dirty underwear that wouldn't fit in my suitcase in the rush in the morning.

My hand finally wraps around my phone in the depths of my Chloe tote bag, and I pull it out, almost expecting a message from Jean, my boss.

To my surprise, it is a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Thanks for the walk last night. I really enjoyed it. I'm so sorry I took off like that.

"Strange Hot Guy!" I gasp, and the woman in front of me in the Business Class line whips her head around to look at me.

I glare at her, and she quickly faces the desk again.

I look back down at my phone, rereading the message. The three dots are moving at the bottom of the screen, letting me know that there's more coming.

Unknown Number: I hope you don't mind. I took your number from Anabelle from Reception.

A grin materializes on my face.

Keira: Impossible. She's discretion personified.

I respond, and then I add a little eye-rolling emoji.

Unknown Number: I can be very persuasive...

I can practically feel my cheeks flushing with a strange warm feeling. If I didn't know myself better, I'd say it's excitement, but I don't do that. It's bad for my poker face in negotiations.

Keira: I am aware. I nearly missed my flight this morning, because of your persuasion skills.

Unknown Number: Not sorry.

I let out a small chuckle that comes out more like a grunt.

"Sorry?"

I lift my head up so quickly that my neck cracks.

"Hm, excuse me?"

"Your boarding pass, madam." I blink and stare for a second at the girl, standing in front of me. She's wearing a blue uniform and her black hair is pulled in a sleek bun at the nape of her head. She's looking at me with confusion in her eyes.

It takes me embarrassingly long, but I finally realize that I have reached the end of the line, and I haven't even noticed.

"Oh, yes, sorry. Sorry..." I close my messages and pull my boarding pass up on my screen, before swiping it over the scanner at the desk.

"Have a nice flight, madame," the lady nods at me and I rush past her inside the sleeve, opening my messages again.

Keira: Well, you should be. My boss would have gone mental if I hadn't shown up for my meeting today.

I reach the door of the plane and am seated, but he still hasn't replied. Maybe he's lost interest. Why would he care about my work issues anyway?

Disappointment creeps into my chest. Maybe I'm not the most interesting person in the world, but I didn't get his phone from Anabelle from Reception, right? I know his room number. I could have asked her.

I can be very persuasive, too...

My phone chimes in my hand again.

Unknown Number: I never got your full name last night, Miss Vough.

I feel my cheeks warm up again.

Keira: Didn't Anabelle give that to you along with my number?

Keira: Besides, I didn't get yours, either.

Unknown Number: I actually like it that way. Keeping a little bit of mystery.

I let out a frustrated sigh. This guy! We go around walking in Paris all night, and he kisses me at my door, and then he goes on and asks my number from Anabelle, whom I should have a very serious conversation with, but he won't even tell me his name? I don't know anything about him, but there's something strangely exciting in all this secrecy.

Also, I really like calling him Strange Hot Guy.

Keira: Like I even care...

Unknown Number: Exactly.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I furrow my eyebrows and try to think of a smart comeback, but before I come up with anything even remotely original, an attendant's face materializes in front of my face.

"Excuse me, madam, but I'm going to have to ask you to put your device in Flight mode and pay attention to the safety demonstration."

The pain of flying Business Class. You are always at the very front of the aircraft and you can't miss the fucking safety demonstration.

Like a vest is going to do anything if the plane combusts into flames and crashes into the La Manche.

"Sorry. Of course, sorry," I smile up at the lady and switch my phone into flight mode, before dropping it into my bag.

To distract myself from my thoughts about Strange Hot Guy, I pull my laptop out. I might as well get some work done for my meeting with Jean.

We've not even flown out of Paris territory before my thoughts are totally occupied with reports and numbers, and Strange Hot Guy is left behind in Paris.

Where he should stay, as a nice memory, as we'll probably never meet again.