Haute Couture

by Joslyn Westbrook

  “Well then, it looks as though we both need to keep each other posted.”

  Arabella sprays perfume on each wrist and says, “And your meeting? How did it go, sweetie?”

  “Ugh”—I bury my face in the palm of my hands—“the meeting. It went alright. I just need to find a guest designer for the first issue. I’ve reached out to one who is local and I’m hoping he accepts my request to meet with me tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, babe, I know it’ll work out. It’s Haute Couture for cryin’ out loud. Everyone who is anybody will be lining up to be in your mag.”

  “Thanks. Honey, I’ve still got a ton of work to do before I crawl my pitiful ass into bed. You have a great day today and we’ll chat later. Love you.”

  “Yep. Love you too,” she says before we end our chat.

  Truffles’s yelp by my bedroom door takes my attention from the files sprawled across my bed and onto him.

  He looks at me, paw raised, and barks again.

  “Poor little guy. Mama got so wrapped up with work, I missed your 8 o’clock pee time.”

  I step into my slippers and head out to the living room, the sound of Truffles’s claws tapping against the hardwood floor letting me know he’s trailing right behind me.

  “Just let Mama get a raincoat on and grab your leash, baby boy.”

  He whimpers all the way to the door, lowering his head as he waits for me to button up my coat.

  Drama king.

  “Come on. I’ll put on your leash once we get on the elevator,” I tell him as if I’m expecting him to reply, okay.

  Arf

  Close enough.

  Once downstairs, I scurry to the front double doors, Truffles leading the way. Jules has already gone home for the day, more than likely on his hot coffee date. He leaves mosts days around seven, anyway.

  I open the door and Truffles dashes out, me hanging onto his leash, running behind him. “Whoa, boy, slow down,” I yell, in sort of a whisper.

  He lifts his leg, taking care of his business, a satisfied glow on his face, as he shivers. It’s much cooler out now, rain a minute sprinkle. A couple walks by, holding hands, looking perfectly happy. They both give a collective awww when they see Truffles.

  Admittedly, Truffles is quite the cutie that folks—mostly women—get all giddy over. No wonder Jules likes to take him for walks.

  Arf.

  Truffles yelps, dashing to the double doors.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  Crap.

  I left my key to the lobby doors upstairs.

  Instinctively, I pull on the door to see if I can jar it open.

  Fail. Perks of living in a secured building.

  I shiver, folding my arms in front of me.

  Maybe I can ring Mrs. Deveox in 1B. But she’s probably asleep now, just as ninety percent of the residents are.

  I give it a shot, pressing 1B, as I bounce up and down, in a effort to stay warm.

  Arf. Truffles practically yells, paw up, waiting by the entrance.

  I grimace at him, as the intercom rings Mrs. Deveox. “Bonjour, qui est là?”

  “Bonjour, Mme Deveox. C'est moi Lauren de 11A. Pouvez-vous me laisser entrer? I’ve forgotten my key to the front door.”

  There is an exhausting pause.

  “Je suis désolé qu’avez-vous dit? Je suis un peu dur d’oreille.”

  Crap. I forgot Mrs. Deveox is hard of hearing.

  “My key. I forgot it. Can you let me in?”

  “Bonjour? Tu es encore la?”

  Ugh. “Yes, I’m still here,” I say, bouncing even more frantically.”

  Oh, it’s no use.

  “Never mind, Mrs. Deveox. Merci.”

  I run my index finger down the directory, looking for someone I think I can call to help. Then I spot 11B. Simon Hunter. My new neighbor.

  I look down to Truffles, who has pooled himself around my feet in an effort to keep warm. “Shall I ring Simon, Truffles?”

  Arf.

  Sounds like an emphatic yes to me.

  I press the button to 11B and wait past three rings when I decide to give up.

  Then…

  “Hello, may I help you please?”

  God, his voice is heavenly which is good because the thoughts I have when I hear it may be viewed by some as sinful.

  “Um, yes,” I stammer. “It’s, um, Lauren Blake from across the way”—I fidget with my coat—“only I’m not across the way right now. I’m kinda locked out of the building. Would you mind buzzing me in?”

  “Now you’re sure you’re not some deranged serial strangler, right? I mean, how can I be certain you’re who you say you are?” I hear a chuckle brewing under his tone.

  “Well, we met today on the elevator,” I say, realizing my face is wearing a wide grin.

  “Aw, yes. In fact, your smile was the highlight of my day.”

  The door buzzes and a click indicating it’s unlocked follows.

  Truffles and I run into the lobby, and over to the elevator, its doors opening just as soon as I press the call button.

  And once we reach our floor, the doors slide open, and there waiting to greet us…

  Simon. A huge smile parting his full lips.

  “You alright?” he asks, bending down to pat Truffles.

  I am now.

  Chapter 11

  Jaxson

  It sucks being single in the city of looming lovers.

  And seeing couples all in love, walking the streets of Paris together in the rain only makes it worse.

  Damn you, Dixie. Damn that fucking Date Me, Then Marry Me.

  Can you believe my agent keeps calling me? I haven’t bothered to return any of his calls yet. And I won’t listen to any of his voicemails. He’s probably trying to get me to do another lame reality show. I’m on a break from all of that, unsure if being in the starlight is for me anymore. For now anyway.

  I kinda like this role.

  Driver.

  A mere nobody.

  When Lauren’s assistant asked me if I’d been on a reality show, I almost froze.

  But, like the actor I am, I played it cool, slugging back the last of my water, then gave a calm and convincing “Nah.”

  What are the odds he’s somehow streamed that show?

  About the same as the odds that Lauren is the babe you bumped into at the airport, you idiot.

  I wonder if anyone else’s conscience is as big of a dick as mine.

  After I dropped Icy Hot Princess off, I drove around, almost getting lost in the city, people-watched at a local café, then finally came home where Gramps and Nana are staring at me, smiles plastered to their always jovial faces, eager to interrogate me about my first day on the job.

  I should have gone straight to the guest apartment. I’m in no mood for questions.

  “Come, sit with us,” Nana says, patting the seat of an empty chair at the round, café-style table situated in the corner of the kitchen. It opens up to a terrace overlooking Nana’s vegetable garden. Not that I can see it now. It’s pretty dark outside, save the iridescent glow bouncing off the tea lights strung over the lattice roof of the terrace.

  I remove my hat, and ease down onto a cushy chair across from the two of them, both of their eyes gleaming as they sip on wine. Besides the business office being conveniently located in the basement, there is also Gramps’s cellar filled with bottles upon bottles of wine he used to sell when he had the import/export business. Now, he and Nana open one bottle a day, guzzling down a couple of glasses, paired with cubes of cheese and sweet grapes, before going to bed.

  Seeing them together, still very much in love, makes my heart flicker. Sure, my own mom and dad are still very much in love too, but for whatever reason, Nana and Gramps’s love for each other lunges at me like a 3D cinema.

  “So, how was your first day?” Gramps asks, offering me a cube of cheese.

  With a wave of my hand, I pass on the cheese. I’m pretty stuffed from the burger I had for lunch a
nd the small pastry I had at the street café before I came home. “It was okay.” I say, resting my elbows on the table.

  Nana traces the rim of the wine glass with her index finger, her eyes fixed on mine. “Why just okay?”

  I shrug. “You know, just okay. It started off bad, when I ran over Icy Hot’s”—I pause—“I mean Lauren’s phone. The phone that skidded across the cement and onto the street, after she took a tumble on the sidewalk.”

  Two sets of WTF? eyes stare back at me. Incredulous. Curious.

  “Oh and that’s not the worst of it,” I add. “When Lauren went down, her skirt went up, showcasing a pretty nice-looking b—”

  “Oh my word,” Nana squeals, while Gramps leans back in his seat, the look of shock and awe painted all over his face.

  A few seconds, maybe ten, twenty, or sixty pass, the sound of the tick, tock, tick from the kitchen wall clock is magnified by the silence permeating the room.

  Now leaning forward, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass, Gramps says, “Well if anything, that is definitely a unique beginning to a day. And how did it go from there, better right? I mean considering it was already downhill at that point.”

  I sigh, threading my fingers through my hair. “Nope. You see, it turns out”—I shake my head, scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all—“I’ve had the pleasure of bumping into Lauren Blake once before.”

  Nana’s eyes widen.

  Gramps blinks.

  The clock ticks.

  I roll my shoulders to ease the tension.

  All that’s missing is a bright light shining down on my face and a couple of detectives staring down at me.

  “See, when I landed in Paris, all fascinated by the ambiance of actually being in France, I wandered aimlessly through the airport corridor, taking my time as I made my way to baggage claim. People were scrambling about, running to make their planes and some dude brushed my shoulder and when I spun back around, I bumped into her: this beautiful dark-haired woman with the most amazing blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Gramps and Nana exchange a look, then both turn their focus back to me.

  “The two of us stood looking at each other in silence, and then she took off, dropping her scarf as she scurried away. I still have the scarf, by the way.”

  Nana brings her hand to her heart, eyes glistening, as she tilts her head to the side, her lips parting into a grin. “Oh Jaxson. It’s like a scene fit for one of the books in my series of romance novels.

  “So, I thought I’d never see her again, until today.”

  “Did she recognize you? Did you tell her about the day at the airport?” Gramps asks, still tracing the rim of his glass.

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not, Gramps. For one, she was recovering from an embarrassing fall, where I played it off like I didn’t see that sweet a”—I clear my throat—“I mean her bottom. But more importantly, I don’t want her to know who I really am. I don’t want anyone to know who I am. I came to Paris to escape the celebrity-type life of Jaxson Malone. So I told her my name is Jack Maloney.”

  Nana giggles. “Jack Maloney? Okay…what if she recognizes you?”

  I shake me head. “That’s where this hat and my dark shades come in handy”—I rub the stubble growing on my face—“along with my new beard. Besides, since I’ve been here, no one has recognized me. I’m a nobody here, which is fine with me.”

  I leave out the fact that Lauren’s assistant asked me if I was on a reality show. I don’t want to add more to this interrogation session, plus I had time to think about the incident while I was people-watching at the street café. Out of the many people that have seen me here in Paris, he is the only one who may have recognized me. Even though I was equipped with the hat and shades.

  Both Gramps and Nana flatten their lips and nod, proving two lovebirds can indeed act as though they are one person.

  “And what do you think about taking over Chic Limos? Do I need to sell it? Or are you game?”

  Gramps’s inquiry leaves my mouth craving a glass of his vintage wine.

  Am I game?

  Well, what else do I have going on in Paris?

  That’s right, a big fat nothing. Rien as they say in French.

  “I’m here for you, Gramps. I will gladly take over the business, whenever you’re ready to cut the cord.”

  A victory-laced squeal escapes Nana’s mouth as the two exchange giddy glances.

  “Consider the cord cut. When we met with the realtor today, we were shown a spectacular space for Nana’s art gallery near the small villa we purchased in Marseille, a three-hour train ride from here.”

  My eyes bug out as I slump into the back of the chair. “W-what about this house? The office space here? Heck, what about me?”

  Sure, I can leave here, find a place on my own; I’ve got enough funds from the sale of the Porsche, residuals from a few TV shows I was in, and the money I made from Date Me, Then Marry Me, as the star contestant, plus the dough Wake Up America and The Scoop paid me for interviews. But this villa is starting to grow on me—it’s like a haven of peace. Lush. Private.

  “We want you to stay here of course, Grandson.” Gramps says, shifting in his seat. “We wouldn’t think of getting rid of this place, it’s been home for us since we came back here to live twenty years ago. It’s all paid off now, of course, and while we truly love it here, we are ready to move south and enjoy yet another chapter in our lives. As our only grandchild, the plan was for you to inherit all of this anyway. Just think of this as an advance inheritance.”

  I allow myself to grin as I, once again, thread my fingers through my hair. “I-uh, I really don’t know what to say besides thank you, of course.”

  What else is there left to say? It’s an awful lot to take in.

  Nana smiles, reaching across the table, placing the palm of her hand on the back of mine. “Jaxson, my dear, your grandpa and I have been dying for you to finally make it here to Paris. We were convinced once you saw it, lived it, breathed it, you’d fall head over heels in love with it. You didn’t need a petty show like Date Me, Then Marry Me to find someone to fall in love with. I’m sure your forever gal is here…somewhere in Paris, just as eager to fall in love as you are.”

  Her words pour over my heart like caramel sauce.

  Thick. Rich. Sweet.

  And when I think of someone here in Paris being my forever gal, the only face I see belongs to Icy Hot Princess.

  Chapter 12

  Lauren

  “He asked you out on a date? The hot Brit from across the way aka, the new man of your dreams?” Arabella stifles a yawn as she brushes her hair.

  My head bounces up and down before I yelp, “Yes. Isn’t it amazing?”

  Arabella and I just connected to our daily FaceTime chat, as I get ready for work. I barely slept last night, after my snafu of locking myself out of the building. Mr. Hot Brit not only rescued me, but met me and Truffles at the elevator just in case we were also locked out of the apartment. But I usually leave my door unlocked whenever I scoot out to let Truffles take a whiz. Simon and I chatted for a while, in the hallway, before he asked me in his smooth accent, “Would you care to have a cup of coffee with me tomorrow evening? I’d like to get to know you a bit more.”

  My legs practically buckled underneath me before I agreed to the date. And I tossed and turned all night, thinkin about him…me…the possibilities.

  Then I overslept, which is so unlike me.

  Arabella places her brush on top of the vanity table and stretches. “Sure, it does seem amazing. Make sure you ask him all the things. Where does he work, why he’s in Paris, does he have a girlfriend, you know?”

  “Of course, and I will be sure to let you know. Tomorrow. Because when you are up and getting ready for work, I will be out on my date.” I spray a few pumps of hairspray on the cotton candy bun I created since I have no time to blow-dry my hair.” My car should be out there waiting for me in less than ten minutes.

 
God, I hope he’s not late.

  “No worries, hun. Just be careful and please FaceTime me as soon as you crawl outta bed tomorrow morning. Oh”—she darts a sly eye through the screen—“Parker has planned a dinner for us this weekend. Maybe he’ll pop the question.” She fans her face, trying to prevent what I can only assume are tears of joy from leaving her eyes.

  “Oh, Arabella, honey, that’s such wonderful news. Gosh, I wish I could hug you right now.”

  “Me too, babe,” she says, yanking a tissue out of the box and running it under her eyes. “Maybe I do want to be with him for the rest of my life.”

  “Y’all are made for each other, sweetheart.”

  Arabella nods and blows a kiss before we say our goodbyes for the day and end our chat session.

  I’m happy for Arabella even though I really can’t stand Parker. The two have been together for three years and he hasn’t shown any interest in marrying her. And Arabella has been waiting for the moment to arrive. Every Valentine’s Day, Christmas, New Year’s, she hopes he slides a ring on her finger. But the days come and go with nothing. Sure he’s a busy Investment Banker, traveling all over the world making deals and what not, but either you’re in it for real or not. A ring means you’re for real about the woman you supposedly love. Otherwise, let her go so she can find a man who will.

  Truffles prances around in a circle, then races to the door once he sees me spring to my feet, dragging my butt off my vanity bench. I promised him he’d be able to come to work with me today.

  “I know, just let me grab my stuff, hun,” I say, giving Truffles my squinty-eye glare.

  He sits there, mouth open, panting with one paw up before he lets out an arf that I know means hurry up woman.

  I swear, he acts like an impatient teenager.

  Whiny. Bossy.

  Jules greets me with his usual, “Bonjour,” when Truffles and I step out of the elevator. He is wearing a super-wide grin.

  “How did your date go?” I ask, inching closer to the double doors.

  “It went quite well and actually we are going out again tonight,” he says, walking alongside me, his arms swinging back and forth.