“Let me call Uncle Bryan. He knows someone who flies charters. She’ll do it for him.”
“Can she get me to Paris?”
“You’re not objecting?”
“Hey, your uncle owes me for having all the fun last evening.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Mark did like to be in control. “She can’t make Concorde time, but she’s fast.”
“Thanks, babe. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll get to it then—”
“Quinn, wait!”
“Yes?”
“Stay in London. Well, stay in Europe. It shouldn’t take long to get this done. There’s a little bar in Paris near the Place Pigalle, Le Petit Homme. Meet me there?”
“Of course, Mark. Place Pigalle, Le Petit Homme,” I repeated. “When?”
“Shit. I’ve got no clue how long it will take me to wrap this shit up.”
“Never mind. I’ll be there, and I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Thanks, Quinn. I… uh….”
“I know. Forever.”
“Well, yeah, but….”