“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 cell 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?