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Weekend in Paris [Paperback]

$21.99       (Free Shipping)
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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Sisman, Robyn
  • Author:  Sisman, Robyn
  • ISBN-10:  0452284902
  • ISBN-10:  0452284902
  • ISBN-13:  9780452284906
  • ISBN-13:  9780452284906
  • Publisher:  Plume
  • Publisher:  Plume
  • Pages:  336
  • Pages:  336
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • SKU:  0452284902-11-MPOD
  • SKU:  0452284902-11-MPOD
  • Item ID: 107012710
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Oct 09 to Oct 11
  • Notes: Brand New Item. Not shipped to AK, HI, APO, FPO, AE.
Molly Clearwater had always wanted to escape the confines of her small-town upbringing to make a splash as a career woman in London. But somehow, working as a low-level assistant for the boorish Malcolm Figg wasn't nearly as fulfilling as she had hoped-until Malcolm offered her a perk -a free weekend business trip to Paris. She's ecstatic until she discovers that Malcolm's idea of business isn't exactly the same as hers. Horrified, Molly storms out of the office.  With nothing else to lose, she impulsively boards a train to Paris, intent on treating herself to a long weekend in the City of Light.

Within moments of stepping onto the cobblestoned streets of Paris, Molly is swept up in an adventure that defies her imagination. From infiltrating a conference in a Cleopatra wig to sharing her deepest secret with a complete stranger, Molly's weekend away from her troubles turns into a dizzying voyage of passion and self-discovery, transforming her absolutely...

Robyn Sisman was born in Los Angeles and grew up in various parts ofthe United States and Europe. She is the author of Weekend in Paris, Just Friends, Summer in the City, and Special Relationship.Eighty feet below Trafalgar Square the train rattled southward, steepening its angle as it prepared to plunge beneath the Thames. It was Friday rush-hour on an unseasonably mild afternoon in early October. The overcrowded carriage simmered with body heat and eau-de-commuter, a musty composite of stale perfume and warm armpit. Wheels screeched. Conversations droned. From all directions came the rhythmic hiss of personal stereos, like a chorus of invisible crickets.

Molly Clearwater stood midway between the doors, wedged between a dandruffy male shoulder and an enormous backpack, with one arm crooked for support around a metal pole. At her feet was a small, worn suitcase. She held a paperback inches from her nose, the pages flat and open. But she wasnl££

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