7
To say the least, Smith was conflicted.
He looked down at his scotch, idly swirling the amber liquid around in the heavy crystal tumbler as he sighed, thinking about Cameron.
Smith snorted to himself, taking a large sip of his drink. Thinking about her was all he seemed to do anymore.
After he’d kissed her, on the Pont des Arts of all places, Cameron had been seemingly content to pretend as if the moment had never happened between them, going about the rest of their night of sightseeing as if they were no more than professional acquaintances on a business trip together.
Which is what you bloody well wanted, you tosser. So what’s with all the brooding?
“f*****g hell,” Smith groaned to himself, leaning his head against the back of the leather armchair he was sitting in and closing hi
