So after graduating from college and landing a job as an assistant at a prestigious modeling agency in NYC, I was well on my way. I would make this work.
My roommate pulled out cheese and crackers then set them on the counter, jarring me from my thoughts. She munched on a cracker and sipped her wine. I watched her and smiled.
She was spunky and fun and I was glad to be subletting a room from her, but we were from totally different walks of life. Ellie was a sassy New Yorker who didn’t let anyone blink at her the wrong way without making some sassy comment in retaliation. Being the opposite, I’d been known to stop on the side of the road to help ducks cross the street and couldn’t walk by a homeless person without giving him my last few bucks.
“Okay, we need to prep you for your Euro-adventure! You’ll need a makeover; we’ll get you smokin’ for all that hot-male-model action. New clothes. Haircut. No more carbs. Wine doesn’t count,” she added, urging me to take another sip.
I laughed at her enthusiasm. “Whoa there! There will be no model action in my future,” I assured her. I didn’t need a one-way ticket to heartbreak city. No thanks.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking about Ben Shaw again. Those intense, sexy eyes, his full lips . . .
I’d thought of him constantly since our awkward tea-spilling, blueberry muffin–peddling run-in earlier. Ben was the reason Fiona and I were even going to Paris and Milan. As the agency “It-boy,” he’d been booked for several spring campaigns in some of the hottest fashion markets in the world. And Fiona, superbad at disguising her crush on the poor man, told me that she always traveled with Ben when he went on extended assignments. I couldn’t blame her, though. I was pretty damn close to crush territory myself.
Ellie thoughtfully swirled the wine in her glass. “We should also make sure you get some nookie before you go; otherwise you’ll be a horny mess.”
“What?” I laughed again. “No, I won’t. I’m a professional, unlike you.”
Ellie shook her head and snorted. I didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble that many of the male models were gay anyways.
She grabbed the menu for the deli across the street, picked up her phone, and dialed. “Yes, two spinach salads with grilled chicken.”
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“No carbs,” she mouthed to me. It was a little disheartening to be informed by your roommate that you needed to slim down. Sure, I could probably stand to lose a few pounds, but spinach, seriously? That was ridiculous.
“You’re going to be in the company of male models for the next few months,” she explained after ending the call.
I didn’t think Ellie understood that I’d be working, not competing on a game show to find my future husband.
But then I made the mistake of thinking of Ben.
Honest to God, I would never eat another carb again.
While he and Fiona had been out to lunch, I’d opened his file. That way I could snoop in peace without her watching over my shoulder. He was perfection. Textbook perfect. If I had to draw up the specs for my perfect man, Ben Shaw is what God, or Cupid, or whoever would’ve delivered to me wrapped in a bow. Tall, broad shouldered, and blessed with chiseled dark features. The pictures of him shirtless, or better yet, in a pair of briefs, really sent my pulse racing. Smooth, rounded pecs, golden skin, a well-defined six-pack, full pouting mouth, and the most intense eyes ever completed the look.
I had been ready to remove my panties discreetly under my desk when Fiona came back and my sexy reverie was over in a damn hurry. As fast as my mouse would allow, I closed the pictures of him, silently cursing myself that I hadn’t thought ahead to email any to my personal account for private viewing later.
I had shaken my head clear of those horny thoughts and leaned back in my chair. The last thing I needed was a desperate crush on a male model I worked with. I would need to keep my wits about me if I expected to survive the next few months living in close proximity to him. Not to mention pack a big supply of batteries. Yes, an extra suitcase full of batteries oughtta do the trick.
3
Emmy
After a relaxing weekend watching Netflix and lounging with Ellie, it was back to the grind Monday morning. Oddly, Fiona seemed like she was in a great mood for once; her smile was sincere as she greeted me.
“Good morning, Emerson.”
“Morning?” I wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden shift in attitude. The number of Post-its on my desk reflected her good mood. There was just one. Book your ticket to CDG.
It took me a second to realize that CDG was the Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris. I didn’t wait to be told twice. Using the credit card Fiona had given me for business purposes, I booked an overnight flight out that Friday night. Same as Fiona’s. I wouldn’t have a clue how to navigate Paris if I landed there on my own.
I wasn’t sure when Ben was flying out but I’d overheard that he would be there a few days before us to visit a friend.
That week leading up to our trip was crazy busy. During the day, I organized the many details that were Fiona’s life: coordinating her weekly massage appointments to take place in Paris, ensuring I had a whole caseload of her favorite brand of English Breakfast tea, and arranging the Post-it note bible in alphabetical order, with subsections according to things I thought might pertain to our trip.
My evenings were spent shopping with Ellie and packing everything I owned into two rolling suitcases. It was weird to think I’d be gone for three whole months. Ellie even had someone lined up to sublet my room while I was away. My life was about to be totally turned upside down, and I couldn’t have been more excited.
• • •
Pushing the strap of my duffle bag higher on my shoulder, I squeezed through the narrow aisle as I boarded the flight. I spotted Fiona sitting in the third row of first class, glass of champagne in hand, flirting with the businessman beside her. The stewardess leaned over to pass her a warm towel. Of course, I was sitting much farther back in coach, but on the bright side, I was going to Paris! Nothing could’ve dampened my mood right now. Fiona’s mouth pursed when she saw me gawking, but she continued her conversation with Mr. Business Executive in seat 3B.
Ellie’s advice to take Tylenol PM at boarding was sound. I was asleep before lift-off and only woke when we were an hour from landing. Leaving my seat, I freshened up in the tiny airplane lavatory, attempting to fluff my flat, greasy hair and dotting concealer under my tired eyes. But there was no helping the lack of color in my cheeks or the rumpled clothing. I knew I’d have a busy day ahead of me once we landed. Fiona was long gone when I finally made it off the plane. After passing easily through customs, I powered on my phone and waited at the baggage claim. Although I’d arranged for an upgrade to an international plan, I was still surprised when my cell showed a text from Fiona.
Get my bags and meet me at the hotel.
She’d left.
Well wasn’t that just craptastic? I had no idea what her bags looked like, so I was forced to wait until everyone from our flight had taken theirs and then read the little tags on the dozen or so bags left unclaimed.
She had a whole fleet of luggage. Louis Vuitton, of course. It was a wonder she trusted me with it. After wrestling her bags and mine out to the curb and tracking down a shuttle, nearly two hours had passed before I made it to the hotel: an upscale, boutique affair in Saint Germain in the lovely 6th arrondissement.