by JA Low
“Oh my God, you bitch. You’re in Paris,” Lettie squeals down the phone when she woke up to my messages.
“I know. Isn’t it amazing?” I reply while sipping my champagne in one of the many picture-perfect cafés that line the Parisian streets.
“Are you there with Sebastien?” Lettie questions.
“Nope. His cousin kidnapped me, put me on a private jet, and whisked me away to Paris,” I wistfully tell her.
“Private jet? Who the hell are you?” Lettie laughs.
“I have no idea, Lettie.” Staring out at the locals walking past, I continue, “This is so not me.”
“It’s the new jet-setting Quinn Miller. Watch out, world, she is coming…” Lettie screams down the phone, which has me in fits of laughter.
“Europe feels so right, Lettie,” I confess. “I thought Barcelona was amazing, but Paris…” I let out a long sigh. “It’s stolen my heart, too.”
“I can hear it in your voice, Quinn. You sound happy.”
“For the first time in months, I’m looking forward to my future,” I confess to her.
“Grab it by the balls, Quinn.” Lettie has always had a colorful vocabulary.
“I promise, I will,” I tell her. “I miss you so much. When do you think you will be over?” I ask because I want Lettie to experience this new world like I am.
“Not sure… I’m swamped here at work.”
“Boo,” I moan, which makes her laugh.
“Go grab yourself a hot French man and kiss his face off,” Lettie demands.
“I’ll do my best. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Lettie signs off just as Maya comes back from the bathroom.
“Looks like our time in Paris has come to an end. I have to get you back to Barcelona before Sebastien kills me.” She grins.
I finish the last of my champagne, stand and give Maya the biggest hug. “Thank you.” She’s surprised at first, but eventually, she hugs me back. “You have no idea how much this day has meant to me.” Getting a little emotional now, we pull apart, and Maya gives me a look.
“You better not start crying. Otherwise, I will, too.” She grins. “I’ve had so much fun, Quinn. It’s just what I needed, too.”
We link arms and walk over to where our car is waiting. We jump in and head to the airport, the trunk of the car filled to the brim with designer outfits. Never in my life have I spent so much money on clothes or shoes. I decided to throw caution to the wind because maybe European Quinn Miller wears designer clothes. Maybe I should embrace the sophisticated woman I’m trying to be. It’s time to reinvent Quinn Miller.
Champagne and altitude don’t mix, which I am finding out the hard way as I’m unable to stop laughing on the return flight.
The captain helps us down the stairs and into the waiting car while the chauffeur collects our multitude of bags and deposits them into the trunk.
“I’ve had so much fun, Quinn.” Maya sags against the leather interior of the car.
“Me, too.”
“I hope we stay in touch even if you and Sebastien go your separate ways,” Maya tells me.
“Of course, I would love that. Maybe you can visit me in America, and I can show you around.”
She nods her head in agreement. “Hey…” she turns her head to look at me, “… just so you know… Sebastien is a good guy. Under all that…” She waves her hands in the air trying to find the right word.
“Womanizing?” I finish for her.
“There is that.” She rolls her eyes at the comment. “He’s been hurt. He has a wall up, and no one has been able to climb over it. But I see when he is with you, he’s relaxed, more natural,” she muses.
“That’s because we are friends,” I explain to her. She gives me a look that says otherwise. “I’m not interested in him,” I reiterate my stance on Sebastien.
“Why not?” she questions.
“Because we work together?” I tell her the obvious.
“And after that?” she asks.
“I go back to America, and he continues his life here in Spain.”
Honestly, it’s not rocket science.
Maya just shrugs, and her eyes begin to flutter shut.
We arrive at Sebastien’s home a short time later. I buzz the apartment, the door opens, and the chauffeur passes over all my bags.
“Thank you.” I go to tip him, and he shakes his head.
Maya is sleeping peacefully in the back of the car. The chauffeur closes the door, and the car disappears back into the Barcelona traffic. I wait patiently for the elevator, and I’m surprised to see Sebastien stepping out to greet me.
“Hey.” I’m happy to see him.
“Oh, wow.” He eyes all my bags. “Maya has taught you well.” He grins.
“It’s all part of the new aesthetic I’m creating,” I tell him as he takes all my bags from me and steps back into the elevator.
“New aesthetic?” he repeats.
“Yes. Me being here is a chance to reinvent myself.”
“Reinvent yourself?” he repeats more words again.
“Yes, to leave the old Texan Quinn Miller behind and hopefully discover the new Quinn Miller here in Barcelona.” Explaining my grand plan to him, I have to admit it sounded a lot better when I was sitting on a private jet drinking really ridiculously expensive champagne.
The doors open, and we step back into his apartment.
“Why do you think you need to change, Quinn?” Sebastien asks. He places my bags beside the sofa.
His question stops me. I turn around and run back into him which sends me off balance, but his hands reach out and steady me.
He seems awfully close all of a sudden.
Those intense chocolate eyes are staring down at me.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I can hear the echo of my heart in my ears, the buzz of the champagne tingling all over my body.
“Because I…” I’m trying to find the right words to answer him, but they are not coming easily. “I don’t know if anyone will want the old Quinn.”
Sebastien stills as tears begin to well in my eyes.
Shit! I was not expecting to become emotional tonight. I blame the damn champagne.
“Because Chad didn’t think I was enough,” I say the last bit on the tiniest of whispers.
Sebastien lets go of my arms, and I feel his loss instantly. He rakes his hand through his hair, then those intense eyes narrow on me again. “Why do you care what Chad thinks?” He sounds angry. “Do you still love him?” there is slight irritation to his question.
“No.” Wrapping my arms around myself for protection, I stare at him.
“Then why do you think you need to change?” Sebastien raises his voice slightly.
“I don’t know…” I raise mine back, and his softens a little as he sees my eyes well up with tears. “I worry that no one is going to want me ever again.”
There I have said it out loud—it’s out in the open now, my biggest fear.
“Oh, Quinn.” He gives me a pitying look that I am not too keen on.
“No…” I point in his face. “Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I warn. He raises his brows in surprise at my stern voice. “Don’t you dare feel pity for me.”
“Pity?” he states. “I don’t feel pity for you, Quinn,” he tells me. “I feel anger toward your ex. I’m furious actually that he’s made you feel less than perfect.” He shakes his head angrily.
Sebastien takes a couple of purposeful steps toward me. “You are an amazing woman, Quinn Miller,” he tells me, but his kind words make me look away from him. “You’re funny, smart, beautiful,” he continues.
No, I can’t hear this. The first tear falls. I simply can’t keep them in.
Sebastien reaches out, and his thumb grazes the tear and wipes it away. “A man needs to earn you, not the other way around.”
With his kind words, he’s melted me into a puddle on the floor. It’s probably the accent which has made them feel like
so much more.
“Thank you.” The two words fall from my lips as I meet his stare. Those chocolate eyes are almost black as he intensely holds my look. His hand cups my cheek, which sends shivers over my skin. Time seems to have stopped in this moment between us. As his hand tightens, I feel his fingers sink into my skin. My tongue slips out and wets my lips, and his eyes follow the movement.
Is he going to kiss me? I feel like he’s going to.
Thud, goes my heart in my chest.
“Oh, fuck it,” he says just before his lips descend onto mine.
28
Sebastien
I’ve had a weird feeling all day since finding out Maya took Quinn to Paris, and I’m not sure what that feeling is. Then Quinn answers the phone looking like a goddess. I may have continued to stalk her Instagram all day just to see what she was up to.
Eventually, although it felt like a lifetime, they came back home with Quinn a little tipsy. She had the brightest smile on her face, and she practically glowed as she excitedly told me about her time in Paris.
What I didn’t like hearing was her thinking she needed to change, to be someone other than herself.
Watching the tears fall down her cheeks because Chad has made her feel less than worthy makes my blood boil. That someone as amazing as Quinn could be made to feel anything other than the magnificent woman she is. So, when she began to break down, I just couldn’t stop myself.
“Oh, fuck it,” I curse as I pull her lips to mine.
This is probably the stupidest, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. But to be fair, using my man-logic, it makes total sense.
Her hand reaches out and pulls me to her as our lips tangle with one another. The kiss starts off heated before turning molten.
The next thing I realize, I’ve picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter. Her strong legs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer to the holy grail. Her hand explores under my shirt, and warm, eager fingers run along my heated skin. It feels so good while our lips continue to collide with each other. She tastes like champagne and sunshine, the two things I love. Tiny mewls fall from her lips as her fingers dig into me.
Reluctantly, I pull myself away from the kiss, both of us needing a minute to catch our breath.
“Wow. Um…” Quinn bites her bottom lip. “That was unexpected.”
“I… I’m…” Trying to find the right words, but my blood is still sitting further south, so it’s going to take me a little while to collect myself.
“If you say to me that you’re sorry, that whatever just happened was a mistake, then I’m going to punch you in the dick,” she warns. Those blue eyes narrow in on me, her cheeks are flushed, and her pink, pouty lips are swollen from our kiss.
Her reaction makes me smile.
“It wasn’t a mistake, Quinn,” I reply. Quinn’s legs are still wrapped around my waist, I’m invading her space, and I can still feel the heat between us.
“Good.” She grins at me. Then a frown forms across her forehead. “So, while that kiss was hot and all,” she states awkwardly. “I’m not sure why you did it?” Those doe blue eyes widen as she looks up at me, waiting for my explanation.
Reaching out, I cup her face again, my thumb running along her flushed cheek. “I wanted you to know that I like you the way you are. I don’t want you to change, and especially not for a man.”
Her mouth forms an O-shape as she listens to my explanation. “So, you like me, just the way I am?” she questions, her eyes tracing over my face to find a crack of untruth.
“Yeah, I kind of do.” Giving her a wide smile, I continue, “Just the way you are.” Leaning forward again, I kiss her lips, and she hums her approval.
“So, um…” her face screws up a little bit, “… not that I’m complaining about anything, but why do you keep kissing me?”
My hand falls away from her face as I contemplate her question. “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I just want to.”
“So, what you’re telling me is I should expect random make-out sessions with you?” she pushes the subject.
“Well, no… because um… I…” Dammit! She is confusing the hell out of me. “We are friends,” I add.
“Oh…” Her eyes widen. “So, that’s how you kiss your friends?” She chuckles. “No wonder Sabine is confused as hell about where you stand if you kiss your friends like that.” She gives me a satisfied grin.
“What does that mean?” My eyes narrow in on hers.
“Doesn’t mean anything. Just making an observation.” She grins as her legs unwrap themselves from around my waist.
“Quinn…” I give her a look, which she ignores and simply smiles.
“I think I might go and have a shower.”
As she tries to move away from me, I declare, “I think we should talk about what just happened?” This woman is confusing me.
“I thought we just did.” She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.
Did we? She has me all tangled up.
“You said that you kissed me because we are friends, and you wanted to make me happy,” she explains.
Is that what I said? I don’t even know anymore.
“Yeah. That seems about right.”
“Great.” She taps me on my chest with her palm. “I’m glad we have that sorted. I need to go shower. I feel icky from all that travel.”
I move to the side for her to jump off the counter. “Have you eaten?” I ask.
She turns and looks back at me. “Nope, and I’m starved.” And with those few words, she turns back and disappears into her bedroom.
Shaking my head in confusion, I walk into my kitchen.
What on earth just happened?
I stare into the pantry, trying to figure out what I should cook for dinner.
A little while later, Quinn steps back into the living room freshly showered. She’s dressed in some black leggings and a red slouchy top that falls off the shoulder exposing her black lacy bra underneath.
Is this woman trying to kill me?
“Whatever that is, it smells delicious.” She floats toward the kitchen with her nose in the air. “What is it?” she asks while watching me plate in the kitchen.
“It’s Esqueixada de bacallà. Salted cod, shredded, then I’ve added chopped tomatoes, red peppers, and onions. I’ve also added some wilted spinach and olives with a splash of olive oil,” I explain.
“Smells great. Do you need me to do anything?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“I’ve set up a table outside for us to eat,” I tell her. “There’s some wine if you want to grab yourself a glass.” She smiles at me and makes her way out to the terrace. I finish plating the food and then take the dishes out to where she’s sitting.
“Que aproveche or bon appétit,” I tell her as I take my seat.
“This looks amazing, Sebastien.” She studies her meal. “Cheers.” She lifts her red wine glass toward me.
“Salud.” I raise my own, and we clink our glasses together and start on our meal.
“This is delicious.” Quinn moans as she saviors the mouthful she takes from her fork.
“You sound surprised?” I question her. “It is my job.”
Quinn rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend the chef.” She grins. “It’s just when you know someone, and you get what they do for a living, but you haven’t really seen it in action before, it’s more of a surprise when they blow your mind a little.” She takes another mouthful of food.
“I’m assuming there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
“I didn’t realize chefs were so needy.” Quinn laughs. “Yes, Sebastien, your food is amazing. I now understand why millions of women fangirl over the Hotshot Chef.”
Quinn insisted on cleaning away the dishes because I cooked. She told me not to worry that she would just pop them in the dishwasher and join me for more wine out on the terrace. I’ve commandeered one of the daybeds and laid back against the cushions while looking
out at the twinkling lights of Barcelona, feeling content.
Quinn’s cell starts ringing on the table beside me. Looking over at it, Chad’s name flashes across the screen. Standing, I pick up her phone and walk inside.
“It’s Chad?” I am waving her phone in the air. “Want me to answer it?”
Quinn stills. She places the last plate into the dishwasher, then turns around. The ringing stops. I see her visibly relax when it does.
“Does he call you often?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Why would he be calling now?”
Quinn shrugs her shoulders looking as confused as me. The phone vibrates in my hand again. “I can answer it… if you want? Unless you want to speak to him privately?” Anger lingers in my tone.
“Answer it,” she decides.
I quickly tap the answer button and put it on speaker. “Hello, Quinn’s phone, Sebastien speaking.” Putting on my best customer-service voice, the phone is silent for a couple of moments.
“Put Quinn on,” Chad yells.
“She’s a little busy at the moment, but I can take a message if you want?” Don’t ask me why, but I am being as nice as I can to this fucker.
“I knew Quinn would fall for your playboy tricks. The woman’s naïve like that,” Chad sneers down the phone.
I look over to where Quinn is standing, her jaw is wide open in shock.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“I bet you’ve put on your Latino charm like you do for all the women,” Chad spits. “And poor little heartbroken Quinn is ripe for the picking.”
I’ve never wanted to reach down the phone and strangle someone more than I do right now.
“For starters… Quinn is smarter than that. And secondly, she isn’t heartbroken.”
Quinn’s hand covers her mouth as if she is about to laugh.
“Aw, did I touch a nerve, dude?” the slimy bastard asks gleefully. “Please, Quinn and I have a long history together. Whatever is going on between the two of you can’t compete. Her #livingmybestlife all over Instagram is proof that she isn’t over me. She’s just trying to make me jealous,” he spits.