The Idea Man by Kristin Helling (The Idea Man Trilogy Book 1)
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.9 MB
Words are power, and ideas are dangerous.
Parker Rubec, a quirky hipster writer, leaves his deadbeat life to Paris in attempts to finish his novel. When a mysterious stalker leaves him a trail of notes, Parker follows to catch a good story.
A decade prior, on the other side of the globe, Greysen Price must escape his toxic job as an inventor, erase his identity, and flee the country.
When the two lives intertwine, chaos ensues.
The taste of the espresso played sweet and tangy notes on his tongue, and his eyes shifted around to the other tables in the Paris cafe in hopes of remaining unnoticed. He looked down at the handled shot glass sitting on its ceramic saucer. Parker lifted the miniature coffee cup to his lips and watched the hanging sign across the way as it flipped train times.
The caramel colored crema layer of the espresso began to recede as he took another sip and puckered his cheeks. No matter what I order…it’s always straight espresso shots!
Parker inhaled the faint scent of exhaust as he watched a monstrous locomotive ease its way into its destination on the track, delivering a new set of travelers to the bustling Gare du Nord station. He gazed a moment longer at a woman in heels as she wheeled a black suitcase behind her.
Where is she going, I wonder? His mind raced as he reached into his pocket for coins. More importantly, where am I going? With glazed eyes, he stared regretfully at the euros in his palm, then looked up at the waiter standing at the podium to the small bistro. He was a tall, lean man with nearly perfect sideburns, and wore a black tuxedo.
Parker sighed, touching his own head. I’ll never have sideburns that cool.
He turned his palm upside down and left his handful of coins on the table, knowing full well he’d overpaid in a city of overpriced things to begin with.
Without constructing the French he wanted to say first, he walked up to the waiter and said, ‘Uh… Est-ce que utilisez-vous les toilettes?’
The man curled his eyebrow in amusement. ‘Pardon?’ he slurred back with perfect inflection.
Shit, I think I just asked him if he uses the toilet. ‘Toilettes? Ou est les toilettes, I mean.’
‘Ah. Zey are right down ze stairs to ze left.’
Parker nodded quickly. ‘Merci, Monsieur.’ He stifled a nervous laugh, then headed for the stairs. Wow, what a nice guy! He either thinks I’m a dumb American, or he genuinely helped me because I suck at French. ‘I guess I’ll find out if the bathroom is down in the underground or not.” He pedaled down the ceramic tile steps.
The stiff chill in the air made his lungs ache. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth as he exited the heavy, double doors of the train station. His only bag hung over his shoulder. It held all the essentials: four days’ worth of clothes and his sacred laptop containing his twenty-six-year-old-life’s work. He’d dropped everything to come here, for a “change of scenery”, hoping to finally finish his novel, and had now spent a good chunk of his savings on airfare and a vacation rental in Paris, France.
His mom had been a huge influence as to why he’d chosen Paris over any other city in the world. She’d said she’d studied the culture when she was younger and would be able to assist him if he got into a bind while he was away. In fact, she’d been so adamant he go to France if he had to go abroad that he’d felt he couldn’t refuse. Though he’d assured her that if he did get into some kind of trouble over here, he’d be able to get out of it without her help.
Parker grunted as he walked briskly down the street toward his rented car. He was an adult, for Pete’s sake. Four years out of college and his mom still treated him like a middle-schooler. She’d even given his younger brother Stephen more leeway. She’d learn to let him go do his own thing too without fretting about it eventually, right? Besides, how much trouble could a writer get into?