“Perfect, simply perfect!” I say to my design team.

We’re at our monthly planning meeting, reviewing layout plans for the maiden issue of Haute Couture Magazine. Everyone is ecstatic, each department playing a significant role in the process. Today, the art department presented their photoshoot backdrops to support the theme of the magazine’s first issue: Paris in the Rain. What they’ve presented is pure perfection. Then, Rachel, director of content, presented titles of the four slammin’ articles to be featured:

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Beauty—The Ultimate Lash Guide

Fashion—What Would Audrey Hepburn Do?

Love—Flirting 101

Food—Food Critic Undercover

The magazine will be about seventy-eight pages, cover-to-cover, with CraveMe in the center spread plus a one-page ad featuring Antonio Michaels’ new men’s underwear line called ALLMe—which is what he wants to speak with me about this morning. I invited André and Daniella to join me on the conference call meeting, since I have assigned them both the duties of working with featured guest designers on content and layout, to be sure it aligns with the theme of the issue they have purchased space in.

The three of us are gathered in my office now, speaking with Antonio via speaker phone.

“Glad you were able to squeeze me in on such short notice,” he says.

“Of course, so what can we do for you?”

“Well, as mentioned in our initial meeting earlier this week, I am planning to introduce my new line of underwear—ALLMe—in your magazine.”

I nod. “Right, and I am excited about that—we all are. Including La Boutique.”

“Wonderful. But, I’m having an issue getting the model I want for the spread. I-uh have a particular guy in mind, hoping he’ll be the face for the new line. Only problem is his agent can’t reach him.”

“Okay, so what does that mean for Haute Couture and the first issue? If you can’t get the guy you want, then can’t we just go with another model? I mean we have plenty of—”

“I’m not exactly sure what this means. I just wanted to give you a heads up that there may be a delay or maybe even a change of plans,” he says.

I shift in my seat, growing more nervous by the second. Antonio can’t back out now…one of the main reasons La Boutique so eagerly offered that contract is we snagged this exclusive brand launch.

“Antonio, you’re not backing out of giving Haute Couture Magazine the exclusive launch of ALLMe, are you?”

He sighs. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. How long do I have before we go to print?”

“Well, we go to print in three weeks. But the photo shoot has to be done before that. So I would say, you have less than a week to find that model or come up with a Plan B.”

“Okay, I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

Exhaustion hits me, and I’m ready to put an end to this day. Simon has been texting me seemingly non-stop, telling me how he misses me and can’t wait to take me out again tomorrow night. He’ll be arriving back home from London later tonight. Part of me wants to wait up for him. Especially since the last time I saw him, he planted his soft lips on mine, making me want more.

His lips, hands, his everything on me.

We talked on the phone for hours last night, and I still believe he may be the one. I guess.

Although a teeny-tiny part of me thinks about me and Jaxson at the airport, that kiss we started on the deck of the restaurant. And how my heart skips whenever I see him.

Ugh. You can’t be developing feelings for both of them.

Jaxson has agreed to pick me up and take me to and from work until I find another car service I’m comfortable with. I can’t deny he’s a sweetheart.

He’s downstairs waiting for me now, and all I need to do is grab the bags of new fabric samples I got in from a new supplier. I always take the samples home, and make Truffles’ some clothes out of them so I can see how durable the material is. I should have left with everyone else, so someone could have helped carry all the bags down.

You’ll manage.

I grab the first, second, third, then the fourth one. Plus my purse, and my laptop bag, then head out.

By the time I am downstairs, the struggle is real. Jaxson must have spotted me and sympathized because he rushes inside to help.

Taking hold of all four bags and my laptop, Jaxson says, “Why didn’t you just call me to ask for help? I would have totally come upstairs and carried these to the car.”

“Well, I thought I could manage,” I say, biting on my lower lip.

He laughs. “Manage to topple over?”

“Asking for help is something I have never been good at.”

He opens the trunk to the car, places the bags in, and says, “I’ve noticed.”

As he pulls onto the road, I steal a glance at him, his features in the dark, highlighted by the city lights seeping into the car.

He smells so good, and for some reason, I imagine reaching over and running my fingers through his thick hair.

He probably thinks of you just as a friend, Lauren, so stay in your lane. Besides, you and Simon will probably work out.

We roll to a stoplight and he turns to face me, catching me staring. “Are you hungry?”

“No. I had a late lunch. But thanks for asking.”

He nods. “So, just straight home?”

“Yes, I’m really tired anyway.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask, whatever happened with Simon?”

I hesitate for a few seconds, knowing Jaxson isn’t fond of Simon. “He, uh, had a great reason for not showing up that night. We actually have a date tomorrow. I honestly think we have a chance to make it work.”

Jaxson keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing at first. Then about a minute later says, “Oh.”

That’s it? See…just friends.

We ride the rest of the way in silence and when he pulls up in front of my building, he kills the engine, hops out, pops the trunk open, then a few seconds later opens my door for me.

“I’m carring these up for you,” he says, holding up the bags of fabric.

“Okay, thank you.”

While on the elevator, he keeps his dark browns glued to the number display, avoiding eye contact. He seems annoyed. Why?

“So, you’re really going out with him again? Simon?”

I say nothing. Just nod.

He shakes his head. “What is it about him? He seems like a jerk to me. Any guy who stands—”

“He had a good reason. And I believe him.”

“You’re gonna get hurt. You deserve better.”

“By better do you mean, you?”

Just tell me you want me, please. Finish that kiss.

He glares at me and I can see the anger, or perhaps it’s disappointment in his eyes. “No, Lauren. Like you said yesterday, I’m just a friend, remember?”

Ugh. How dare he put this on me? Other than that almost kiss, he’s said or done nothing to indicate he wants more. Unlike Simon.

The ding of the elevator ends round one of our…conversation.

The doors slide open, I stomp out, and he follows; the ruffled sound of the bags he’s carrying intensifies.

Up in the distance, I hear voices, a woman’s giggles. And when I turn the corner of the hallway, I see Simon walking toward his apartment. In front of him, a blonde, long legs, pulling a suitcase. They stop in front of his door, you know, the one right across the way from mine.

Bewilderment runs through my body.

Who’s that with Simon?

The two of them whirl around, both seeming to be startled by me and Jaxson approaching their space.

Simon’s eyes grow large; the woman smiles innocently. “Hello,” she says, her accent British sexy, matching Simon’s.

I stop in front of my apartment door, Jaxson right next to me, the two of them standing across. Simon’s face is consumed with horror or guilt.

Maybe a mixture of both.

“Hello,” I say back to her, my eyes on Simon who is now as pale as a ghost.

“I’m Lydia, and uh, I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to meet my husband, Simon. He’s only moved in a few weeks ago.”

What?

“Your hus—”

“Great to meet you,” Jaxson interrupts, stepping in front of me. He grabs my key out of my hand, unlocks my apartment door and whisks me inside, closing the door behind him.

I stand still, my jaw slack, as he drops the bags of fabric onto the floor.

It’s dark—the only light is Paris peeking inside through the living-room window’s open blinds.

Jaxson steps closer. The tears welled up in my eyes begin to fall. Trickling down, down, slowly.

He wraps his arms around me, holding me, as I weep first soft, then harder.

“How could I have been so fucking stupid?” I moan while Jaxson holds me tighter, rubbing my back.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he says, still holding me. Soothing me.

He was right. He knew I’d get hurt. I’m the idiot who ignored all the warning signs. Too good to be true. Standing me up.

Ugh.

Embarrassed, I break from Jaxson and walk over to the switch on the wall to turn on the lights.

Truffles charges in from the bedroom and lets out an arf, pawing at my leg, demanding to be scooped up.

Jaxson bends down to lift him up, “Hey, little guy, show me the way to the kitchen so I can get your mommy some water.”

I plop down on the couch, and look around the room. I feel nauseous at the thought of me actually wanting Simon. He’s married. Married.

There goes another failed attempt at me not being alone.

I hate him.

Fury runs through my veins and I just want to flee. Anywhere but here. I don’t ever want to face Simon again.

Never get involved with the guy next door. If things don’t work out…someone has to move.

Jaxson emerges from the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hand. “Here you go,” he says.

“I can’t stay here, Jaxson. Not tonight anyway. Can you take me and Truffles to a hotel, please?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want.”

I really don’t know what I want.

After I throw some things in a suitcase, and grab some items for Truffles, we leave Chateau De Grenelle.

It’s close to 10 p.m. now, and Paris is still lively as Jaxson cruises down the road. Couples laughing, playing, loving. How’d they get so lucky? Six years. I’ve been in Paris for six years and I have yet to find love.

“Where to?” Jaxson asks, his voice like a soothing balm.

“Hotel De Jour, by my office, please.”

About fifteen minutes later, Jaxson pulls up to the front of the boutique-style hotel. It’s where I stayed when I first came to Paris.

“Bonjour,” says the valet as we drive up. “Are you visiting a guest?”

“Uh no, she would like to get a room,” Jaxson says.

The valet bends slightly forward, peering at me through Jaxson’s open window , “Oh Madame, I do believe they are all sold out. Most of the hotels are. It’s Design Week.”

Crap. I forgot about Design Week. The annual event where designers showcase home design, art, very little fashion. Not like Fashion Week anyway.

And great, now what?

“Okay, have a good evening,” Jaxson tells him, then drives off.

He looks over to me, “Where would you like to go?”

“I can just sleep at my office; it’ll be fine. We have showers and—”

“Lauren. I’m not letting you sleep at your office.”

“Well, I can’t go back home. Not with—” I pause, thoughts of me being an idiot cause tears to resurface. “Jaxson, I-I can’t go back there. Not tonight. So please, just take me to HC Headquarters. I’ll be fine. Truffles will be with me.”

He lets out a sigh. “How about you come with me to the villa? There is a guest apartment, completely furnished. You can stay as long as you like.”

“What do you think, Truffles? Should we hang out at Jaxson’s place?”

Truffles sits up in my lap, paw up, and yelps a commanding, arf!.

Jaxson laughs and says, “Does that mean yes?”

I look down at Truffles, then to Jaxson and say, “Yes, definitely yes.”