Chapter 11:

The next morning, Dylan awoke to an incessant knocking. Rubbing his eyes, he opened the door to his suite and found Jill, still in her blood-smeared dress, sipping a slushie.

“Hey!” she said, straw gripped between her teeth.

Dylan rubbed his face. “Hey!” he said drowsily, “I tried to stay up for you.”

“Yeah, I just got back.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s four in the morning,” she said, something about her reminding him of a toy that’s just been wound tight and ready zip across the floor, until it keels over. Jill took a long sip. “I stayed until Claudette’s mother got to the hospital. Her family lives on a farm, which got me thinking.” Jill sucked down some more of her slushie. “Remind me to tell you what the farm got me thinking."

"Why don't you tell me now."

"Because I want to tell you later." She rolled her wrist. "First things first," she said, slurring her words just a little.

“Okay, geez, you must be tired.”

“I am, but across from the hospital there’s 24-hour market that makes Red Bull slushies.” She raised her cup. “This my second. So, I’m tired and wired, which makes me…twired. Wanna sip?” she asked, extending the slushie to him.

Dylan held up a hand. “No thanks, I’m good, but come in, sit down,” he said, flinging the door wide.

She shook her head, continuing to sip. “No, I'm going to take a long, hot shower. Remember,” she said, shaking a finger at him, “you wouldn’t kiss me because I had goo," Jill did air quotes, "in my hair.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do recall something like that.”

She pointed to her hair now swept up in a messy bun. “I got it out of my hair. And it wasn’t goo, if you must know.”

“I must not know," said Dylan, wincing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please don’t tell me what it was.”

“Fine, Mr. Weak Stomach, but that’s why I’m standing here at four in the morning.”

Dylan swallowed hard. “To let me know what was in your hair?”

She shoved him softly. “No, to tell you that I found it interesting, and why I found it interesting.”

“Why is that?” he asked, bracing himself for the answer.

“Because I love what I do,” said Jill, getting a little misty the way tipsy people do at new year’s eve parties. She tapped her chest. “I love my job. Money isn’t the only motivation for doing a job, Dylan,” she said, her tone making it seem like he'd been disagreeing with her.

“I agree,” said Dylan.

"I don't make as much money as you do," she said and took another sip.

"Nope."

"I'll probably never make as much money as you." Dylan nodded, remembering as he did that when tired Jill tended to act a little drunk. “But tonight I didn’t get paid anything for what I did and it doesn’t matter. And do you want to know why it doesn’t matter?”

"Tell me."

Her eyebrows lifted. "What was I saying?"

“That you love what you do."

“I love what I do." Jill pointed an unsteady finger at Dylan. "And that's why it's okay I'm poor, compared to you."

Dylan didn't know how to respond so he said his mantra. "This is your moment."

"Exactly!" said Jill, swaying a little, "This is my moment. My job may have its headaches, and my supervisor might be slightly terrifying, and my condo stuck in the eighties, but none of that matters because this is my moment. It feels good to help people, and I helped someone today. Well, yesterday."

"You did."

"Oh, and you bought them a crib. Or Jameson did, but with your money. I told him to do it. They didn't have one."

"I'm glad."

"This is my multi-millionaire week, not yours," said Jill, again sounding ready for a fight.

"It is," he soothed.

"And I can buy pefect strangers living in a small principality a crib if I want to."

"Yes, you can."

She patted his chest as she sucked down the last of her slushie. "I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?"

She shook her head. "No, I told you, I need a shower, and to pack."

"Pack? You need to sleep."

"I can do that on the train, which brings me to the farm." She handed him her empty cup. "I did mention a farm, didn't I?"

"You did." "Because it feels like this conversation has been going on for-e-ver. No offense."

"None taken." "But the farm!" she cried, grabbing hold of him and letting her fingers slide down the length of his arm and interlock with his. "I was talking with Juliette's mom, and not because I magically started speaking French," she said.

"No?"

"She speaks a little English, and she said that the countryside is beautiful and perfect for bicycling. So I texted Jameson. Is that crazy that I have your butler's number?"

"Not as crazy as it is that I have a butler." "True story. Anyway, I told him I want to bicycle our way to Paris."

"From Monte Carlo? So we'll get there…three weeks from now."

"Not the whole way, silly," she said, bumping him. "Just some of the way. Jameson is setting it up, and this much I know. He's got us on a bullet train in the morning for Lyon, and then from there we'll start biking to a countryside castle. Does that not sound epic?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

Epic! Dylan sighed with relief at her using that word. He'd feared his turning her down outside of Juliette had ended any interest she may have had in their ever sharing an epic kiss. All night he'd been telling himself, You should have just kissed her and pretended like afterbirth (or whatever it was) wasn't in her hair! But it was okay! They were okay. "That sounds fantastic," he said.

"Jameson asked if I wanted to sleep all day and leave tomorrow and do you know what I told him?" She didn't wait got Dylan to respond. "I said, Listen pal, I've got one week as a multimillionaire in France and I'm not going to waste it sleeping."

"Good for you." She squinted. "Except I didn't call Jameson pal. That would be rude." She tilted her head and thought. "He gives off Ambassador vibes." "He does give off Ambassador vibes."

"Don't call Jameson pal," she reprimanded.

"Noted, "he said.

Jill patted Dylan's chest, her eyes blinking slowly. "I was going somewhere..."

"To bed."

"Shh! I'm talking…metaphorically." Jill swayed, proof that in the fist fight between fatigue and Red Bull, fatigue was starting to get the upper hand. She rested her chin against his chest. "I was telling you our plans."

Dylan scooped her into his arms. "Tell me our plans," he said as he started walking toward her suite.

"We leave at dawn on a bullet train for Lyon," she said, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Sounds good." "That's where we start biking, and we'll bike, bike, bike until we get to a castle. We're going to stay the night in a castle. Isn't that cool."

"Super cool," he said, pressing the elevator button.

"I call dibs on the prettiest room."

"Okay." "You can't have the prettiest room, Dylan," she said, nuzzling closer to him.

"That's fine," he said, stepping inside the elevator as she drifted to sleep. Maybe it was how hard he'd been hitting the gym, but it wasn't bad holding Jill. Not that she was a featherweight. It was more like she was the perfect weight. His biceps were definitely getting a workout, and if he didn't put her down soon he might end up straining his lower back, but she was a weight he could carry. Maybe it was the early hour but an image flashed through his mind of Jill in her Auburndale High cheer uniform standing on his shoulders. He could have never pulled it off in high school. back then he had twigs for arms, but today, he was pretty sure he could do it, but it would be smart to practice first in a pool. A bell chimed and the elevator doors opened, pulling Dylan from his thoughts and waking Jill who had begun to drool.

She looked at Dylan then down at the floor. "You're holding me," she said smiling lazily.

"I am," he said, his voice straining. Perfect weight or not, Jill was starting to feel heavy.

Jill giggled. "You're going to carry me across the threshold like we're married," she said, pressing her index finger (after a few failed attempts) to the lock.

"Yep," said Dylan, grimacing.

"Just like we're married," she said with a happy sigh.

"Just like we're married," he said as the door clicked. Using his foot, he pushed it open and carried her to a nearby tufted couch. "Dear heavens," he said, straightening his back. Whatever her big plans had been for a long, hot shower they were going to have to wait. Instantly, Jill curled up on the couch and fell back to sleep. Dylan grabbed fluffy blanket draped over a nearby chair, placed it over her then moved the hair from her face.

"Need lidocaine," she mumbled, making Dylan wonder if in a dream she was still on job, taking care of someone.

"Good night, my love," said Dylan, turning to leave too soon to notice Jill's eyes blink open at his words.

***

Having rested well on the train in their luxury sleeper cars, Dylan and Jill arrived in Lyon, ready for their bike adventure, or at least that was what Dylan was telling himself. The truth was, he wasn't much of a fan of cycling. He didn't like the padded shorts. They made him feel like he was wearing a diaper, and he didn't like that biking meant going into less populated areas, which meant he might lose cell reception, which meant he might not be able to continue his stealthy watch on Ball Baby's launch. So far, he had agreed with most every thing his launch team had decided, but there were a few key points that were worrying him. So much so he had almost placed a call to Mahalo to subtly suggest what he considered the best option. But then he'd had that epiphany while Claudette had given birth as she'd held his hand and he'd felt the incredible power associated with team work. It had been a transformational experience. And then he had gone back to his suite and fretted over details regarding the launch in Asia…which led to him hacking into a team meeting. He wasn't proud of it, but there it was. But being without a signal? The thought was giving him heart palpitations, or was that because of carrying Jill? It didn't matter! None of it mattered!

He was spending time with Jill, and he needed to trust him team. And he would. He totally would. He just wished there was a way to spy on them. He felt a tap on the back of his shoulder. He turned around and there was Jill, dressed in a blue cycling jersey and shorts."

"What do you think?" she said, holding her arms wide.

Dylan smiled. "Looking good!"

"I'm working my way through what is possibly a Red Bull hangover so I had to say no to the lime-green jersey."

"The blue is perfect."

She tilted her head as she took in the sight of him. "You look nice too. Very Tour de France-y. Any chance you feel like you're wearing a diaper?"

"Yep."

"Me too, but I think as the day goes on we'll be grateful for the cushion."

"You're probably right." Dylan looked at the sky. "Jameson says there's a chance of rain, but if we get going now we should make it to the castle before it's a problem."

Jameson stepped toward them, his polished leather shoes crunching the gravel. "Good afternoon to you both, and welcome to Lyon. Looks like you're in for a lovely day of cycling through gorgeous countryside." Dylan and Jill smiled at each other. "We were able to secure for you two pedal-assist road bikes to make the uphill part of the journey more enjoyable."

"Jameson, it's cheating," said Jill, her hands on her hips.

"You can always turn off the assist if you prefer. The motors are no heavier than your water bottle, but each one cost ten thousand U.S., so my advice is don't leave them unattended if you tuck into a shop." They both nodded. "There's food in your backpacks to keep you going until you get to Chateau du Mon. You're looking at a roughly 25 kilometer ride." He looked at the sky. "I'm hoping the weather holds. Say a little prayer. We anticipate you'll arrive around five at the chateau where dinner will be waiting for you."

"Sounds good," said Dylan rubbing his hands. "By the way, Jill has dibs on the prettiest room."

"I think that was the Red Bull talking," said Jill. "I'm fine wherever."

Jameson and Dylan exchanged a look. "I shall take care of it," said Jameson.

Just then Rubio appeared, wheeling toward them the bicycles. "These are beauties, boss," he said, smiling wide.

Jameson handed Jill a map. "I've outlined the route that allows for less traffic, more beauty. It will take you through small villages and farm land. The key will be taking a left at Rue Clodard."

"Got it," said Jill, pocketing the map and putting on her helmet, excitement radiating from her.

"You two, enjoy," said Jameson.

"Thanks," said Dylan, and then lowering his voice added. "Any word from Mahalo about the launch?"

"None yet, Sir." Jameson patted Dylan's shoulder. "Enjoy your day," he said, which Dylan knew was code for, Don't ask about the launch.

"Thanks," said Dylan

"Let's do this!" said Jill, sitting on her bike.

Dylan's smile was just a touch stiff. "Absolutely," he said. "Let's do this!"