The Parisian Billionaire Sugar Daddy Agency_A Billionaire Age Play & Spanking Romance

by S. L. Finlay

  "When did you move to the city?" Ma asked the girl in a polite voice, but I was sure it wasn't just curiosity that made her ask. Everyone wanted to know about those that got out. Ma would take the news back to her friends and customers in the cafe where she worked. She would have plenty to say about this girl for months to come, even from this short conversation.

  "I moved away about five years ago." The girl said with a smile, "Small town life isn't for everyone I guess."

  Both of my parents looked at me pointedly then as I smiled at them before turning to the girl and confirming, "No, it's not." I agreed whole heartedly. "I am going to move to Paris." I told the girl behind the counter, feeling both proud of myself for making the move and happy to have found a kindred spirit.

  She nodded before the penny dropped then all at once she asked, "Now?"

  I nodded feeling more proud than ever. "Now."

  The girl's jaw dropped slightly then she recovered. "That sounds scary." She told me genuinely.

  "I'll be okay." I assured her.

  Recovering herself fully the girl gave me a big smile and handed back my passport that she had been holding for a little too long after checking me onto the flight. "I'm sure you will be just fine. Probably be a bit better than fine, really."

  We exchanged a smile before I turned away. I was going to Paris and didn't have all day for this conversation. I was an important woman in that moment. An important woman with a plane to catch.

  My parents made their excuses to spend more time with me before I went through security. As is apparently the case with all airports, only people who were flying could go through security. They meant that my parents would need to leave me at the gate. I humored them because I wanted to enjoy this last bit of quality time together as much as they did. We had coffee together, we looked in the airport stores. I was sure this was just my parents way of buying more time with me as I obviously had enough stuff with me, plus what I had left with Jackson.

  Jackson and I would steal moments to have a laugh here and there as my parents flailed for excuses to not let me get on the plane, or even to not let me leave through security, but when it was time I told them straight: I had to go.

  My parents and Jackson reluctantly walked me to the gate and said their goodbyes. Ma was clearly holding back tears as she hugged me but I reassured both of my parents, "Don't worry. I'll drink all my money and be home before you know it!" This elicited a small giggle from my mother.

  I hugged my father and Jackson then before turning back and seeing my mother quickly wiping her eyes. It felt awful to be the cause of that, but I reminded myself to stay strong and walk through those security gates. I had to do this - for me. It was about time I took those steps into leading my own life, the life I so desperately wanted to lead for myself.

  When it came time to walk, I did so without looking back. I didn't think I would be able to handle it if I did. If I looked back and saw their sad and disappointed faces, I would want to run back and tell my parents I wasn't going, to take me home and never let me near a computer to book a flight impulsively again.

  So I didn't look back, I walked on, forcing my heavy legs to move and ignoring the butterflies that flew around inside my tummy.

  When I knew I would be out of sight of my parents and brother I stopped and caught my breath, but I couldn't stop for long before people all around me started complaining. Those who had entered the gated area after me were tutting and telling me to get out of the way, those who worked at the airport were telling me to move on.

  I felt sad, but in that moment, I realized I wouldn't really have time to feel sad from now on. The big bad world I had just entered didn't have time for it. So I picked myself up emotionally and decided I didn't have time for it either. I had made this choice for all the logical reasons, there really wasn't anything here for me in my small town home.

  Onward I walked. To Paris.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the end, moving to Paris was simple. I followed the steps I had set up for myself before I left. When I arrived, the limo I had booked (yes, limo!) was waiting for me. The driver stood at the arrivals gate with a little sign with my name on it, just like in the movies. That car took me to the place I was staying that I had already paid for. There, I let myself in with the door code I had been sent by the company when I booked and made myself comfortable.

  I had a shower, I freshed up. Then I messaged my family back home to let them know that I had arrived safely and would be going to sleep now.

  Then, of course, I went to sleep. It wasn't a very long sleep, but it was refreshing none the less. Just what I needed after the long flight to rejuvenate myself.

  The next day I made the phone calls I had written down for myself to make - I called the agency that had promised me work and told them I was now in France, I called a few numbers of real estate agents who could help me find an room to rent. Boring phone calls, but ones I had to make (and had to make after I arrived in Paris too of course!)

  I had learned some French before I left home and would open the conversations in French before asking to speak English. Everyone appreciated that I tried to communicate in their language, even though the girl at the agency giggled and told me no-one did that, I wanted to be better to my hosts. I had heard the French are proud of their language and I wanted to respect that. Just as Americans are proud English speakers, Parisians are proud French speakers. It made perfect sense to me.

  By lunch time, everything was in place. I would be interviewing with some families tomorrow for babysitting jobs, and I had a few inspections booked with the real estate agents coming up. I could do all of that and I could relax a little before work started.

  When I had researched everything, I gave myself a week, possibly two to work everything out. I would spend that time exploring Paris and becoming comfortable in this city. I had never lived in a city before, and after my few experiences in cities, I knew it would be an adjustment. Compared to my life in a small town, this was a completely different experience.

  I was in a big city, it was loud and busy where my small town was quiet and boring. There was plenty going on in Paris for locals and tourists. There was noting going on in my small town for anyone and that's how the locals liked it. At home everyone spoke the same language as me, here they spoke French, a language I didn't speak yet.

  That first day though, without anything else to do and feeling excited to be in this new city, I decided I would take myself for a walk. I would learn my neighborhood a little I told myself. What I really wanted though, was adventure and I hadn't come all this way to sit in my accommodation, avoiding the life outside in Paris.

  So I put some clothes on and headed out the door, into a Paris that had just begun work for the day.

  When I first started exploring, my aimlessness made Paris feel differently than I would have expected. I was renting a small studio in the Latin Quarter. During my endless hours of research research I had found the quarter to be lively and hip. A place for young people, thanks to Sorbonne University located within the quarter. The quarter was also beautiful and the river Seine was right there.

  When I found my place on the Internet before arriving, I had thought this area would suit me well, having people around my age everywhere and seeing the Paris I had expected - one of cafes and beautiful old buildings by the river.

  But when I got here it was a little different to my expectations. Sure, all the cafes were there and the university (which is beautiful by the way!) was there too. But there was also the sense of loneliness and disjointedness I carried around with me that day.

  I had left my home and everything I had ever known for what? I was here, sure. But why was I here? I started to loose the sense that this was really a good idea. Even if I was chronically under employed (and unemployed) surely that didn't really matter in the long run as long as I had my family?

  I tried to dismiss these thoughts, but they would creep up on me every time things were not going well in Paris
. That this or that thing wouldn't happen at home. That this or that thing wouldn't be an issue. That this or that thing wouldn't be allowed to happen, or whatever.

  Sure, living abroad more bad things seem to happen to you because you're out of your comfort zone, taking big risks. But for the same reason, being out of your comfort zone, you are also get the greatest rewards. It's an odd thing, but every expat in Paris who I spoke to about these feelings could relate. It's really not just me who feels this way, honest.

  When I was finished exploring for the day (after I had stopped for food a couple times and felt a little overwhelmed by the city) I returned to my studio.

  When I talk about Paris to those at home, I never tell them how much time I spend at home, inside my little Parisian flat. It took me going all the way to Paris to work plenty of things out about myself, and one of those things is that I am a homebody, through and through. It's not that I don't think there is anything out there worth seeing, but more that I like to see things then return to my comfortable studio to sit and reflect. I am all about the comfortable studio. I had to push myself out to have adventures around Paris. As much as I enjoyed those adventures, I still had to push myself to have them.

  That first day went well, despite spending so much time sitting in my studio doing not a whole lot of anything. I was slowly letting the idea that I had left home and that it wasn't all bad sink in. Of course, it would take some time to really absorb the fact that I now lived in Paris, but when I did finally absorb that, these walks in my earlier days that I'd forced myself to have, after arriving here were what made me realize I really did live in Paris. It was on one of these little walks around the town when my location, and what I was doing for myself, really sunk in. And that was the day that I finally felt like this was my city. But that day wouldn't come for some time.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The day after I arrived, I had a bunch of interviews with families to go through. Then the following day I would be finding a room to rent long term (the studio was fantastic but because of its location and the fact I was renting on my own it was way too expensive to keep up long term).

  The rooms I inspected were all small, no matter where in Paris I looked. I knew I could look at the suburbs around Paris for cheaper rooms, but I didn't want to. I figured what was the point of living in Paris if I wasn't actually going to live inside Paris herself, and instead live in a boring suburb for economic reasons. Boring suburbs are not part of this young American girl's Parisian dream.

  I had inspected a few rooms led around by the estate agent - dragging my feet and trying not to think of how much this would cost - when we reached one building and in broken English the estate agent told me this one was different.

  "How is it different?" I asked.

  The estate agent looked me up and down and nodded slightly, more to himself than to me. "You'll see." He told me before pressing a buzzer and speaking to a female voice in rapid-fire French. I guessed he was telling her who we were and that we were here to inspect a room as I looked up and down the street, imagining what it would be like to live in this particular Paris street.

  When the door beeped and clicked as it unlocked, the estate agent opened the door gently before he held it for me to enter. I smiled and walked right in. It would be some time before I was used to French men. They were all so charming and gentleman like, polished, different somehow to what I was used to in my small town. I knew that when I was used to things like this, holding doors, it would be when I would go by almost unnoticed. I would be part of Paris when I stopped noticing these little differences.

  I entered and climbed up the stairs as the agent suggested. The stair case was big and grand, but had obviously been let go a bit. It was like this building used to be somewhere, and over time it had been let slip into nowhereness. As if whoever was responsible for its upkeep had better things to do that make sure beautiful stair cases were kept well maintained and immaculate.

  When I reached the first floor the estate agent - still behind me - told me to turn left. I turned left and walked through a glass door that stood open there. When I entered the room, it was an office. I was surprised at first, having expected to see an apartment. Taking the office in slowly, I saw that inside the office were men and women buzzing around working hard. No-one seemed to notice our entrance.

  Unsure, I turned to the estate agent, "Where are we?"

  He gave me a smile yet said nothing, he merely nodded for me to go forward. I went where he directed me to and found myself at a reception desk being staffed by a stylishly dressed woman. In time I would realize, finding an un-stylish Parisian would be difficult, but for right now I was still blown away by Parisian women's style just as much as I was blown away by the Parisian men's grace.

  This woman seemed to be expecting me, she smiled and asked, "Lindsey from America?"

  I nodded and told her that yes, that was me. She shot me a little smile and asked, "You've been having trouble finding somewhere to live?"

  I Nodded again, "Yes. Everything half way decent is too expensive and everything else is, just no."

  The woman nodded before turning to the estate agent and dismissing him in French. I turned towards him, a little shocked that he had been dismissed like this but I let it go none-the-less. I wanted to see what was going on and knew, somehow, that no-one was going to overtly tell me right now. I would have to play the game a little.

  "Please take a seat." She told me in accented English, as my estate agent left the same way we had just come in.

  I nodded slightly then made for the seats in her office before turning around and asking, "Just what am I waiting for?"

  The woman gave me a coy smile before telling me, "A meeting with a better estate agent than the one you've just been seeing."

  "They can help me find a place?" I asked.

  The woman nodded and told me simply, "yes, they can." Her tone was dismissive so I took my cue and sat down on a chair to wait.

  I was wearing jeans and a tee shirt and felt a little out of place in the chic office. This space felt so much more stylish than me! The office was like all the beautiful, stylish French people with their perfect polished manners (as long as you at least tried to speak French!) and I was the uncouth American who had somehow wound up here, much to the astonishment of everyone.

  As I waited, I wondered what made this estate agent better than the previous one. This didn't feel like an agency, most agencies at home had pictures of houses for sale and decorations that told you what the agents did. This place didn't even have a business name printed anywhere. It was an odd little office and something felt not quite right the more I thought about it.

  The receptionists smile, my estate agent not telling me anything as we walked up here, the lack of houses for sale or decorations that told you they were in the business of selling houses. Something was a little strange here.

  I had been sitting there thinking it over for a while when someone came out of the office to greet me. It was a middle-aged French woman. She had a strong presence in the room unlike that of the receptionist. She simply walked in and I knew she was the boss. The sight of her made me swallow hard. I felt like I might have been a naughty child who had been waiting for the principal, and now here she was.

  I sighed deeply and the woman motioned for me to follow her. Without her saying a word to me, I was obediantly following her into her office.

  Sitting down on the other side of her desk I felt the silence stretching between us. She simply sat there and looked at me, as if waiting for me to say something.

  "Ah, Hi?" I tried.

  The woman nodded in acknowledgment of my greeting. "Hello." She said.

  "So ah, can I ask why I am here? You're an estate agent or something?" I hazarded, feeling uncomfortable in the silence that this woman had allowed stretch between us, and that only seemed to be making me uncomfortable.

  "Yes, I am." She said simply, as if not willing to give anything more away.

  "So, y
ou have some houses for me to look at-?" I began, but was cut off.

  "-Tell me, what sort of life do you want to have here in Paris?" She asked.

  I wasn't sure what she was asking, so sort of shook my head, "ah, a good one?" I hazarded then told her, "I will be working. I was looking at places that hire English-speaking nannies and babysitters. I can afford to pay rent and bills and stuff."

  "You really want to do that?" The woman asked, throwing me off. Her questions were fast and her French accent was light. I guessed she spoke a whole lot of English in her day-to-day life.

  "Um, I guess so? Shouldn't I do that?" I asked, a little dumbfounded as to why an estate agent cared what I did, so long as I paid my rent on time it shouldn't matter to them too much how I made that rent money.

  There was a tense moment as she gave me a look that made me feel seen, exposed. As if she could see my naked body beneath my clothes and she was unhappy with it. Then, she turned away from me, towards a stylish laptop that sat on the desk. It was one that was so thin you could turn it on its side and not see it anymore. One that looked totally at home in this chic office with its chic staff.

  There was a clearing of her throat before she turned back to me, "my name is Emilie. I am a little bit more than an estate agent." She informed me.

  "What do you do then?" I asked, confused.

  Emilie smiled at me before telling me, "I do a great many things. But yes, one of them is finding housing for girls like you."

  I shook my head slightly as if to dislodge the assumption I had had that this woman was an estate agent just like the one I had been seeing. "Girls like me? What do you mean?"

  Emilie smiled slightly before telling me, "I look after girls who need a benefactor." She told me before asking, "How long have you been in Paris, Lindsay? It's been difficult to find housing and work hasn't it?"

  "I, um, I just got here two days ago." I told her and Emilie looked a little confused.