2. Alistair

2

ALISTAIR

W hat a peculiar creature.

I spotted Winnie on the pavement outside of St. Pancras Station, jostling the blue bag on his shoulder as he raced toward me, pulling two large suitcases behind him. A lock of raven hair fell over his forehead, partially covering his hazel eyes, which appeared to have been painted a cobalt hue that complemented his long emerald coat. I dare say, he resembled a beautiful peacock. Truly lovely to behold. And very colorful.

Truth be told, I was rather in awe of Winnie Rodriguez. I’d never met anyone quite like him. Of course, I rarely strayed far from work. If I was in London, I was at the museum. If I was in Oxford, I was at the university. A trip to Paris was quite extraordinary. Brilliant city and all, but I didn’t travel outside the UK unless it was important.

And this conference was important. There was much to discuss between the recent archeological dig in Saqqara, new developments in digitized aerial photography, and a ton of artifacts found in the necropolis on the Nile.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world. As a leading expert in Egyptology, I’d been asked to speak at the weeklong event. I knew myself well, though. Shorter trips cost valuable research time…more so than longer ones. It was a matter of efficiency. I concentrated better if I stayed in one location for a month.

And Paris was always a good idea. Or so I’d heard.

I’d taken a six-month sabbatical from the university to finish the book I’d promised my agent for the Oxford Press, but I rarely took time away from the British Museum. It was my main office, and there were far too many exciting things happening. Like the fresh new batch of religious artifacts I’d received from my colleague in Egypt on Tuesday.

My team could handle preliminary studies, and Raine would take over in the lab when he returned from his trip, and— Oh, dear. That’s ri g ht . Raine wasn’t coming with me to Paris.

Winnie Rodriguez was taking his place.

Now I’d admit that I wasn’t the most socially aware individual on the planet, but based on our one formal meeting, I had a few doubts about my new assistant.

You see, Winnie was very…distracting.

“I don’t think it will work, Raine,” I’d lamented via a last-ditch phone call after yesterday’s meeting.

Raine had sounded genuinely confused. “Why not?”

Fair question. I’d erroneously assumed Winnie would be a carbon copy of Raine, and he most definitely was not. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a good reason.

Winnie had been charming and friendly, he’d asked about my research and had claimed to be excited to assist me in France. I had no reason to complain, other than…my pulse had accelerated at an alarming rate the moment he’d stepped into the room.

I’d thought it was a mild reaction to his cologne until I’d gotten my first close-up look at the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. Technically, I’d seen Winnie from afar at Raine’s soiree a couple of years ago, but I hadn’t formally met him. He’d been surrounded by friends—a social butterfly to my reluctant hermit. I hadn’t been brave enough to introduce myself. And there’d been no point since we’d never cross paths again.

Now here he was.

Winnie was truly…stunning—tall and willowy, colorful and confident. He exuded that unintentionally intimidating air of someone who was supremely self-aware. And my God, he wore eyeliner with the panache of an ancient Egyptian aristocrat.

“He’s not academically minded,” I’d stated after a long pause.

“That shouldn’t matter on this trip. Think of Winnie as a companion who can organize your calendar for you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Give him a chance, Professor,” Raine had cajoled. “Winnie will take good care of you. I promise.”

There wasn’t much else I could say without sounding mental.

I had no one to blame but myself. Because I hadn’t paid attention to Raine’s plans, I was stuck with a technicolor whirling dervish who gave me a mild case of tachycardia.

“He-lloo! There you are! I’m so sorry. I went to the wrong train station.” Winnie gestured wildly between King’s Cross on the other side of the road to St. Pancras behind us. “I’ve been standing in front of the platform departure sign, waiting and waiting. Raine dropped me off and said, ‘Go that way,’ but I chose the wrong way, and oh sweet baby Jesus, if stress burned calories, I’d be a supermodel. Not to worry, I’m here and ready to get this party started. Shall we?”

I adjusted my spectacles, attempting a calming smile as Winnie fanned his face, panting like a fish out of water. “There’s no reason to panic. Our train leaves at half three. ”

Winnie frowned, thrusting his rainbow-bejeweled phone toward me. “This says fifteen thirty. That’s two thirty.”

“No, it’s half three. Or three thirty p.m., if you’d like.” I checked my watch. “We have plenty of time to check in and have a spot of tea. Follow me.”

“Wait up. I’m supposed to be in charge of travel stuff. I have our tickets and?—”

“I have an e-ticket on my mobile. You can be in charge of the tea.”

“I can do that,” Winnie grinned, turning his two suitcases back-to-back and securing his long fingers around both handles before reaching for mine.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your suitcase. An assistant must assist,” he singsonged, turning to the entrance.

Two steps in, Winnie jolted to an abrupt stop, nearly impaling himself on the spires of luggage handles.

“Let me?—”

“No, no. I’ve got this.” He waved me off, but I certainly wasn’t going to let him wheel three large suitcases and a carry-on alone. That was madness.

“I insist.” I grabbed the nearest handle, gave a sharp tug, and accidentally dislodged the bag from Winnie’s shoulder.

It slipped down his arm and toppled to the ground, spilling half the contents. A water bottle rolled toward the curb along with hand sanitizer, an eye mask, and a first-aid kit.

Winnie gasped in horror and hurried off to rescue the runaway water while I dealt with the items at my feet. Including a travel-sized container of hand cream and lube and…a massive pink silicone phallus.

“Maybe we should carry our own—oh! Roger escaped. Naughty, naughty.” Winnie plucked the dildo out of my hand and made a production of dusting it off, winking at a curious businessman passing by. “I think that’s everything. Let’s get the show on the road, honey.”

And with that, he was gone, breezing away as if it were perfectly normal to drop a sex toy at an international train station in broad daylight. I stared after him for a beat with my mouth wide open, then licked my dry lips, straightened my jacket, and headed inside, where Winnie was casually waiting for me at the end of the general ticketing queue.

I motioned at the first-class signage. He did that single-raised-brow trick again and wordlessly wheeled his hefty suitcases to join me. The queue was much shorter here, but the usual security hassles applied, with slow-moving passengers and brusque agents.

I was painfully aware of Winnie as I shuffled ahead of him, passport in hand.

“You are traveling alone?” the border agent asked.

“No, I?—”

“We’re together!” Winnie popped up at my side, fussing with the collar on his peacock ensemble. “Do me a favor and make the ink mark super dark for me, please. I want everyone to know I’ve been to France.”

The older man’s lips twisted in amusement as he stamped our passports. “Like this?”

“Yes, perfect. I mean… oui, oui !” Winnie grinned. “ Bon-gher, miss-ure .”

“Safe travels.”

I stepped aside to give Winnie room to maneuver around me. The agent caught my eye and inclined his chin in what seemed like…admiration by association. Or a nonverbal, “Your boyfriend is lovely.”

“He’s not my—we’re not—” Oh, bloody hell.

I cleared my throat and speed-walked to catch up with Winnie .

I pushed the button for the lift to the second-floor first-class lounge. It was usually quieter upstairs with ample seating. I gratefully commandeered two comfortable leather chairs and sank into the one closest to the window.

Winnie insisted on getting drinks and returned a few minutes later with tea for me and a glass of champagne for himself.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon.” He scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned toward me, raising his glass in a toast. “To Paris!”

I tapped my cup to his flute awkwardly. “To Paris.”

Winnie watched me cautiously. “Did I get your tea right? Raine said you like a smidge of milk and sugar.”

“Uh, yes…brilliant. Thank you.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome. What should we do now?”

“Wait for the train,” I replied evenly.

Winnie threw his head back and laughed, drawing a few curious glances our way. The lounge wasn’t exactly a library, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment that this was a quiet zone.

“Got that. I meant, what about work? I’m your assistant. If you need me to do anything, just say the word and I’m there.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your diligence, but there’s no need. Enjoy your champagne,” I said in a tone that clearly marked the end of the conversation.

Winnie didn’t take the hint. “Do you like champagne?”

“No, I don’t.”

He flattened his hand over his heart. “Why not? Champagne is the elixir of the gods, sunshine in a flute, bubbles for the soul.”

I shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t care for bubbles at all. I don’t want to drink them, anyway. ”

“ Mm , you’re missing out. I would bathe in champagne bubbles if I could.” He hummed indulgently.

“That sounds…sticky.”

Winnie’s lips twitched. “You’re right. It also sounds like a waste of a good thing, and I wouldn’t sacrifice a single sip of this stuff.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond or if I was supposed to, but this was probably a good time to remind Winnie that I didn’t need him to entertain me or vice versa. Or perhaps this was an opportunity to ask him a few questions and be done with prerequisite niceties.

What sort of questions, though? I had no clue. This was the sort of thing Raine usually handled for me.

I set my cup on the side table, pulled my phone from my pocket, and typed, Questions for a new acquaintance.

Google suggested the following: Number one, ask personal information—likes, dislikes, favorite color, hobbies. Not a chance. In my admittedly limited experience, that line of inquiry invited reciprocity, and there was no point in pretending we shared any common interests.

Number two, comment on something pleasant, such as the weather. I glanced out the rain-streaked window and quickly abandoned that suggestion. Too dire.

Number three, pay a compliment. That seemed like a safe option. Winnie was very…winsome. He had beautiful olive skin, perfectly coiffed hair, a flair for fashion, and?—

“You have lovely eyes,” I blurted.

Winnie froze midsip, quirking his head as he slowly lowered his glass. “Are you flirting with me, Professor?”

“I—no! No, I…no,” I sputtered, wrinkling my nose, licking my lips, and blinking in rapid succession. “That was a statement, not a flirtation. I don’t do flirtations, so you’re quite safe there.”

“Am I? ”

He was teasing. The spark in his eyes held pure mischief, but I didn’t know the rules of engagement at all. Was I supposed to say something clever in return? Possibly, probably. Witty banter wasn’t my strong suit, so I went with the truth instead.

“I couldn’t help noticing that you’re wearing makeup and…you look quite smart.”

His megawatt grin hit me like a bolt of lightning. “I do? How so? I’ve never been told my application of Chanel Stylo Yeux in espresso gave collegiate vibes.”

“Uh, no. I didn’t mean smart in that sense. That is to say, I’m sure you’re very intelligent, but I meant that you look…nice.”

His smile didn’t waver. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Well done, old chap. Now, leave it alone. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shut my gob. This was bad…very bad. “Ancient Egyptian men wore cosmetics, and depending on their rank and social class, they wore a lot of it. The kohl liner they used had practical purposes, too. It shielded one from the sun’s rays and repelled insects. They used animal fats and oils to create moisturizers, shampoos, and even to prevent baldness. Interesting, isn’t it? They’d rub fat from a snake or a?—”

“Okay.” Winnie held his hand up. “That’s a lot of information.”

“That’s hardly the tip of the iceberg,” I assured him.

“I bet.” He gestured to the corner of his eye. “I made a last-minute trip to Sephora for this stuff. Much easier than wrangling a snake.”

“Sephora, derived from the Greek sephos, or beauty.”

Oh, bloody blooming bollocks. What is wrong with me?

Winnie eyed me warily. “Are you all right? You seem…nervous.”

I’d been afraid of this. I hadn’t actually thought it would be this bad, but in my gut I’d known I couldn’t function normally around someone like Winnie. I hadn’t realized I’d turn into a human encyclopedia, though.

“I am,” I admitted. “I’m very nervous. I’m—it’s not…I’m?—”

“You don’t like trains?” he guessed.

Incorrect. Trains were by far my favorite mode of transportation.

“I hate them,” I lied. “I get fidgety, spout nonsense, and my palms go clammy. Never mind me. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you’ll be fine. You’re with me, and you know what? I’m a master at deflection. The trick is to change the subject inside your brain.”

I furrowed my brow. “What does that mean?”

“Under every heavy thought is a light and fluffy bloop. You need to access the bloop and hang on to it till the heavy stuff moves on.”

“The bloop?” I repeated.

“Yes, something whimsical. Here’s an example.” Winnie shifted to face me. “This morning, I almost lost my ever-lovin’ mind when I couldn’t find my French adapter. I’ve had a month from H-E-double-hockey-sticks, and it was kind of the last straw. I’d ordered the adapter last week, put it directly in my suitcase so I wouldn’t lose it and poof ! Just like that, it was gone. It was a minor calamity, and I was in danger of spiraling. But I closed my eyes, cleared my thoughts, and dusted the drama aside. And do you know the first thing that popped into my mind?”

“Uh…I really have no idea.”

“Brie cheese.” He smiled, bright and bold.

I gave him the blank stare he deserved. “Brie cheese.”

“Yep! My subconscious reminded me about all the amazing things I want to see and do and eat in Paris. I’m going to positively gorge on French cheese, French baguettes, and French wine, honey. I see myself wearing a black-and-white striped shirt and a beret on a blanket near the Eiffel Tower, chowing down in style. Just thinking about it calmed me. And guess who found his adapter a minute later?”

“You?”

Winnie slapped my knee. “That’s right! So…close your eyes. Go on and find your bloop.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think that will work for me.”

“Just try it. One time,” he insisted. “Close your eyes for me. Are they closed?”

I sighed heavily.

Playing along seemed easier than arguing. “Yes.”

“Good. Now clear the slate like you’re wiping a chalkboard at the end of the day, and say the first thing that pops in your head.”

“Penis.”

My eyes shot open, my face ablaze as I stuttered and stammered an awkward apology. I was too caught up in my state of mortification to register that my assistant had keeled forward, his shoulders shaking.

Winnie whooped with glee. “Oh, Professor. I like you!”

“I—that’s not what I—” I sucked in a breath of air as I reached for my tea. If nothing else, I could hide my face in my cup.

“Oh, please don’t tell me you were kidding. Dick is always on my mind too.” He gave a mischievous wink and continued. “But I promised Raine I’d be on my best behavior. I don’t want to shock you with the unedited version of yours truly before we leave Scotland.”

“England,” I corrected.

“Oh, that’s what I meant.” Winnie pursed his cherry-tinted lips and whispered, “Now tell me where your penis came from. ”

“My—I—” I looked down at my crotch on cue.

Winnie was now positively overcome with hilarity, howling with laughter like a demented hyena.

Much to my horror, curious glances drifted our way.

This was not going to work. Not at all. I liked Winnie, but he was more than I could handle. Too loud, too enthusiastic, too charming, too pretty, too…everything.

“You’re funny.” Winnie deserted his seat, pushing aside his luggage to slide into the leather chair next to mine. “However, I have a feeling you weren’t talking about your own johnson.”

I opened my mouth and shut it immediately. “If you must know, I was referring to the pink…toy you dropped earlier. Not that I was actively thinking about it, but it isn’t something one sees popping out of bags every day.”

“That was embarrassing,” he said, sounding the very opposite of embarrassed. “I didn’t repack very well after my adapter fiasco this morning, and the cock got out of the bag, as they say. I apologize. I promise you won’t see Roger again.”

“It’s no bother. It was just a surprise…that’s all.”

Winnie snickered. “For me too.”

A blessed quiet fell between us, and I was more than happy to let it linger for as long as possible. Which wasn’t long enough. Inexplicably, my mouth opened and?—

“Roger?”

“Roger.”

“Is Roger named for your boyfriend?” I asked, immediately cringing. “Sorry, don’t answer. That was too personal.”

“Oh, hush, you. Get personal. I don’t mind,” he chided, crossing his legs as he settled into the leather upholstery. “Roger the dynamic dildo is a gift from a former beau who looked like Roger Moore’s James Bond. Hunk-y! Human Roger ended up being a total prick, but nice eye candy while he lasted. Honestly, if I hadn’t named my toy after him, I wouldn’t have remembered Roger at all. He was one of those obnoxiously fit gym rats who couldn’t pass a mirror without checking his muscles.”

I squelched the impulse to share the ancient Greek mythology about the beautiful man who fell in love with his reflection and mourned being kept apart from his “love.” It was a fascinating tale, but not everyone was interested in folklore and past civilizations. Their loss.

“Narcissus,” I mumbled…because I couldn’t say nothing at all.

Winnie brightened. “Exactly. I love that story.”

“You know it?”

“Sure, I took a class on mythology at San Francisco State as an elective. It ended up being one of my faves. Zeus and Hera and all those egotistical gods and goddesses sitting on their mountain interfering with the masses below. So rude. Of course, I’d have given my left nut to be one of them. How fun would it be to smite your foes?”

“Yes, I can see the appeal.”

“Right? But I’m stuck in a mortal body, so one must make do, trading scathing memes with your coworkers or better yet, commiserating with your besties over margaritas.”

I wrinkled my nose in confusion and pushed at my glasses. “Right.”

“Thankfully, I know self-care and self-absorption are two different things. Roger the ex didn’t get it, but where I come from, he’s not unique.”

“Where are you from?” I inquired, curious in spite of myself.

“Oakland originally, but I’ve lived in LA—West Hollywood specifically—for oh…thirteen years now, give or take. Have you ever been to LA?”

“I have not. ”

Winnie gave an exaggerated gasp. “Really? I would have thought you’d been all over the world.”

“Yes, but for work primarily—to attend conferences or to occasionally give speeches,” I replied.

“About ancient Egyptians.”

“As well as ancient Greek and Roman civilizations.”

“Raine told me you’re an expert in your field.”

“I—well, yes, I suppose I am,” I agreed with a slight shrug.

“Don’t be shy, Professor.”

“Very well…I’m an expert in ancient studies,” I conceded. “It’s been my focus for over twenty-five years.”

Winnie gaped in awe. “That’s incredible, but I gotta ask…why? Why Egypt? Why Greece? What makes cultures that have been gone for thousands of years interesting? That’s a sincere question because I’m low-key jelly.”

“Jelly?”

“Jealous,” he translated.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Do you harbor a secret proclivity for history or?—”

“Ew! No.” He covered my hand and squeezed it, igniting a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. “Don’t be offended. I love old myths, but I’m more of an expert in modern studies. I can tell you anything you want to know about modern music, fashion, entertainment, and who’s who and what’s what on social media. My high school algebra teacher told me I was pop culturally precocious after he failed my ass in algebra. I don’t like numbers, but I like people. Well…most people.”

“I see.”

I didn’t. I didn’t see anything at all, but I was enchanted nonetheless.

Winnie was enigmatically captivating. Every word he spoke should have erected an impenetrable barrier between us, yet somehow, I was more interested in him than ever. Simply put, I was a proverbial moth drawn to a brilliant, rather eccentric flame.

I was a product of modern times by birth only. I used technology to advance my knowledge of the past…not for the sake of entertainment. That made Winnie my reverse doppelganger. A person with whom I didn’t have a single thing in common. My extreme opposite, my paradoxical counter.

Now, that wasn’t a surprise. I was reserved, Winnie was not. I was quiet, Winnie was not. I was committed to my studies, while Winnie was seemingly “figuring himself out.” Neither of us would have ever chosen to share a cup of tea, let alone spend a month traveling together, and yet…here we were.

“So what’s with old Egypt? Why is it special?” Winnie prodded, pulling me from my reverie. “What made you curious about it?”

I furrowed my brow. “Well, if you must know…”

“I must,” he gushed in a campy tone, propping a hand under his opposite elbow and tracing his jawline with a delicate brush of his forefinger.

“My nan gave me an illustrated book about Antony and Cleopatra when I was nine years old, and I’ve been hooked ever since.”

Winnie smacked my shoulder. “You closet romantic, you! Same here. Nothing in the closet about me, though. Hell-o!”

“No, I’m not a romantic.” I snorted derisively. “But their story is fascinating because it straddles Rome at its most powerful and Egypt at its decline. I found myself wanting to know more about both. I haunted libraries and the Internet for information, compiled data of my own, and eventually made a career of it.”

“See? That’s why I’m jealous. You have a passion, and you’re living for it.” He clapped his hands and leaned forward. “I want that. I’m a stylist and the passion is there, but something must be missing because I’ve been passed over for three promotions in a row.”

“Have you spoken to your supervisor?” I asked.

“Not since the first time. Lawrence has told me to be patient more than once, and I’ve had the patience of a damn saint, but now…I think I might need to move on. I just hate the idea of making a change and—” Winnie raised both hands and shook his head. “Let’s not talk about that. I’m not taking bad vibes with me to Paris. Only happiness. So…back to you and the Egyptians.”

“There’s nothing more to add. I enjoy history, and there are over three thousand years’ worth of successive dynasties to explore. Enough to keep me busy for a lifetime.”

“ Hmm .” He straightened his long legs in front of him. “Well, I obviously can’t help with the work part of this trip, but I can run errands and make reservations for you. Just say the word, and it’s done.”

“Thank you. I don’t anticipate needing much help, to be honest. You’re free to sightsee and do whatever you want in the city.”

“Not without you, Professor. We’re peanut butter and jelly this month.”

“That’s not necessary,” I assured him. “You’ve never been to Paris and?—”

“We’ll see it together. It’ll be tray mag-nif-eek .”

That wasn’t going to happen, but I had a feeling it was best to keep mum. Once we arrived in Paris, my work would dictate my schedule and Winnie could entertain himself.

I glanced down at my empty cup and set it on the coffee table. “I drank that rather quickly.”

“More tea?”

“No, that’s—” I protested. But Winnie was already gone, trailing a cloud of sweet-scented cologne in his wake. “…quite all right.”

I frowned, unsure what to think of my companion. Peanut butter and jelly? That sounded…disgusting. I reached into my pocket for my mobile, pondering Paris as one does. I’d been there dozens of times and knew the city fairly well. I could send Winnie on errands that doubled as sightseeing opportunities and?—

Where was my phone?

I tried my other pocket.

Not there.

I stood abruptly and felt my khakis.

Nothing.

Oh, no.

I rummaged through the carry-on strapped on top of my luggage, unzipping the side compartments and the main section. I pulled my computer out, my charger, my adapter, my emergency packet of biscuits and a roll of fruit pastilles that had probably been there for a year.

Nothing.

This wasn’t the first time I’d lost my phone. It happened often enough that I had a standard protocol in place, starting with retracing my steps.

So I pushed my glasses to the bridge of my nose, scanning the carpet like a hound on a mission as I headed for the lift.

“Where’re you going, honey?” Winnie hollered from across the room, carrying a cup of tea in one hand and two bags of crisps in the other.

Heads swiveled in our direction. The quiet businessman huddled over a computer at a small table, the family of five spread out near the window, the couple holding hands near the beverage bar. I blinked at the sudden attention, anxiety welling in my chest…the way it did for anyone who’d misplaced their ce llular device moments before boarding a train to another country. But my anxiety came with a side of panic.

Do not have a panic attack. Do not have a panic attack.

I licked my dry lips and strode toward Winnie, whispering, “I can’t find my phone. It’s gone missing.”

“You put it in your carry-on,” he said smoothly, handing me the to-go cup. “Left inside pocket, next to your passport.”

“I checked.”

“Check again.”

I hurried back to the mess I’d left, fumbled through my bag and… voilà , there it was. Thank Christ.

“I—that’s so strange. How did you know?”

Winnie winked. “I pay attention.”

The overhead speaker crackled just then, alerting passengers that the train bound for Paris was ready for boarding at Platform 4.

Winnie bent to help gather the items I’d strewn about, clucking over the state of my computer case: “Archaic, darling. You need an update.” My adapter: “I have the same one!” And of course, the sweets: “What’s a fruit pastille? Are they British Starbursts? Color me intrigued. Thankfully, I know you’ll share. It’s a travel rule.”

His commentary didn’t end there, but Winnie didn’t require my input. And though I was rattled from a near disaster, his whirlwind manner of speech was oddly calming.

I triple-checked that my glasses were on my head, slid my phone and passport into my coat pocket, and glanced up at a fellow traveler bestowing the same indulgent smile the boarding agent had given earlier.

My first thought was that it was flattering that random bystanders would think someone like Winnie would bother with someone like me. He was a peacock to my hedgehog—brilliant and beautiful .

My next thought was more closely rooted in reality.

Get serious, Alistair. No one in their right mind would have mistaken us for lovers. They’d undoubtedly guessed that Winnie was my keeper, my paid companion, my escort…minus the sexy bits. It was obvious. Just as it would have been whenever I’d traveled with other assistants and associates in the past.

I’d never noticed before, but I noticed now. And the truth of it was a tad mortifying.