The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1)

by Sophia Karlson

  “I’m not like you,” she murmured. “You always know where you’re heading, career-wise, love-wise. You’re always in control. You always achieve what you want.”

  He wanted to laugh. He’d never had so little control over his life as he did right now.

  Mila. He was going to be lost without her and yet he had no control over what was going to happen between them. It scared him shitless and already he hurt like hell. “That’s not true. When it comes to the most important things I can’t get what I want.”

  “And what are the most important things?” She was probing and he’d let himself into the trap.

  “Love. Happiness with the perfect woman.”

  She pulled her hand away to wipe at her eyes. His stomach twisted as he caught the shine of a tear running down her finger. He couldn’t have Stacey crying. He’d cave into anything she wanted.

  “Is it Marlène? Why?” she asked. From the strain in her voice, she tried to hide her tears. “Why did you let her go then?”

  “No. It’s not Marlène. I broke up with her for all the right reasons.” He looked away over the view of Paris. “It’s someone else.”

  “Someone you’ve been spending the past few nights with?” She glanced at him. “Mila told me you weren’t here.”

  He hung his head, the implication of her words working his innards. Mila hadn’t told Stacey about them, sticking to her resolve from last night. She was not interested beyond the few days they’d had.

  “Yes.” This was the easiest way out, but it was killing him.

  “Will I get to meet her?” Stacey’s tears had stopped.

  He blocked the bitter laugh that threatened. “It’s still early days.”

  Stacey leaned forward in her chair. “Bring her tomorrow night. We’re going out. It would be awesome.”

  He scanned her face to see if there was anything he needed to be wary of, but Stacey was sincere and innocent in her invitation.

  “I can’t commit now.” Not unless he pulled a new girlfriend out of his magic hat. “If I can go out it would only be later. Need to wait for the New York stock exchange to close.”

  “Ugh. Did you really have to get yourself that job?”

  “That job is paying for your messing around, Stacey.” He couldn’t help the jab, but she had it coming. He didn’t relish working strange hours either, but it came with the salary package.

  She stood and her chair scraped angrily on the tiled terrace floor. “Wow. One low blow after the other. Marlène had it spot on when she said you’re a growly bear.”

  He lifted his gaze, staring at the odd star that managed to shine through the polluted air that hugged the city. “Best you stay away from Marlène, Stacey.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you to hang out with her, okay? Marlène is not what she seems.”

  “Really? Jeez, you’ve totally lost it. To think she still cares for you!”

  “Should make you think she’s really stupid, doesn’t it?” The conversation was turning ugly and he had to cut it short. “It’s not up for discussion.” He stood and walked back into the apartment, leaving Stacey to stew.

  He’d barely gotten under the covers of the sleeper couch when she strode back inside and closed the French doors behind her. She stopped short of going down the corridor to the bedrooms. “Marlène is like a sister to me. I can’t cut her off just like you did.” She exhaled sharply. “Best you make peace with our friendship.”

  She padded down the corridor, leaving him to stare at the checkered shadow pattern the scant city lights threw on the ceiling.

  Women. He could do with a fucking universal manual instructing him how to deal with them.

  chapter 34

  James woke up to the clanging of cups and the rumbling of his coffee machine. He felt like shit, having hardly slept. He tossed the covers to the side and got up. They’d banished him to the lounge and sleeper couch, the least they could do was give him some silence at six in the morning.

  He strode to the kitchen to find Marlène, in her signature satins, making some coffee.

  He should have known. Only she would be so thoughtless as to wake him up by banging and crashing around in the kitchen. He stretched and yawned.

  “Would you like some?”

  She hadn’t even turned to see who it was. But she knew him and had probably woken him up on purpose. His mind returned to the aborted conversation he’d had with Stacey the night before. He had to do everything possible to separate Stacey from Marlène.

  “Sure.” He sat down on a bar stool by the kitchen island and watched her every move, steeling himself. Her hands were shaking and he suspected she needed a shot of something stronger than coffee.

  “Slept okay?” she asked as she pushed a cup of coffee towards him.

  He twisted his neck, stretching his stiff muscles. “Perfectly.”

  She finally met his gaze. Her skin was still smooth and flawless, but the color had taken on an undertone of grey. He strengthened his resolve. “I’ll arrange for a removal company today. Get your things into storage.”

  “James. Please.”

  He was no longer feeling up to any more niceties. “Don’t you get it, Marlène? We were over before you even started with Damien.” He dragged in a deep breath. “I’ll ask Jean-Pierre to help with the legal side of buying you out.” He might have to let go of the apartment completely to get rid of her.

  “Give me the weekend.”

  He shook his head. “No.” He couldn’t risk Mila, Stacey, and Marlène together. “Are you working today?”

  She took a sip of her coffee, studying his face. She turned away to put the milk back in the fridge. “Yes. Tonight I’m having dinner with my parents.”

  “Can’t you go stay at their place?” She wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot.

  She didn’t respond but took up her cup again, drinking her coffee at leisure as she leaned against the counter.

  She was scrutinizing him, trying to see what was going on in his mind. “This Mila,” she said eventually, “does she know everything she needs to know about you?”

  Fuck. He should have known. Was she jealous of Mila? Of course she would be. She’d be thinking that despite her transgressions he still belonged to her, and her alone. That was the weirdest thing about this swinging business, they might have been out there fucking other people, but at the core, they’d still been one hundred percent committed to each other. It was the only way it worked.

  She’d been the one to break the rules, not he.

  He ground his teeth, clutching his coffee between his hands. Marlène had a malicious streak in her and wouldn’t hesitate to expose him to Mila. And somehow Stacey would be dragged into it and get to know the real James Sinclair. His blood curdled, the coffee turning to acid in his stomach.

  “Mila and I—” he faltered. In the few days he’d been with Mila, they’d become so much more than just sex. He got off the bar stool and took a few indecisive steps. His mind was racing, but he needed to do something to stop this game so he could get Marlène to back off.

  She’d strolled out of the kitchen towards the terrace and he needed to hold her back, make her understand. Mila was sacred.

  He paused as the only solution that could possibly work charged through his mind. Marlène would let go of Mila if he could make her believe he didn’t care. That’s how it had worked when they were together.

  “Mila and I… we’re nothing and I’d prefer to keep her uninformed of my past life.”

  Marlène turned to face him, but her gaze jumped to look over his shoulder. “Is that so?”

  A ripple of dread ambled at leisure down his spine. He could feel her gaze on him, her beautiful brown eyes as she studied him. He turned and his stomach crunched up as if he’d been hit by an iron fist.

  Mila stood outside the ki
tchen, in the corridor that led to the rooms. Her hair was rumpled but she looked gorgeous in her floppy Hello Kitty bed shirt and socks. She dropped her gaze, but he’d already seen every pain his harshly spoken words had inflicted reflected in her eyes. Fuck.

  “I just wanted to know if you want to use the shower?” Mila gathered a few stray hairs from her cheeks, staring at the floor.

  “Use my shower, James,” Marlène said, dismissing Mila. “Don’t you need to be at work early on Friday mornings? You know, last day of trading and all that?” She sauntered to the French doors, threw them open wide and took a deep breath of the cool morning air. “Who knows what could be crashing today if you’re not there to take care of it.”

  She walked out to the terrace with a swagger, as if nothing could faze her, as if she’d staged their whole conversation and had enjoyed a perfect first run without a dress rehearsal. Marlène had been conscious of Mila coming out of the bedroom and had known she’d hear their conversation. Marlène had been playing him.

  He looked up to find Mila turning away. He had no idea how much she’d heard.

  He groaned. “Mila.”

  It was too late; she’d heard his last words. He needed to stop her and explain. But what was he going to explain? He’d known this was going to come, but he hadn’t known it would be so soon. And not like this, with Marlène the puppet master and he all but limp and hemorrhaging from the inside. “Baby—”

  Mila raised her hand in warning. “I’m no baby, James. Please don’t call me that.” She shook her head. “I’m going back to bed.”

  He was left standing in the lounge, raking his hands through his hair. Bloody hell. He used to like women aplenty, but now he couldn’t seem to deal with even one of them.

  The rotten apple needed to go first before it spread its poison to the others. He squared his shoulders and walked out to the terrace. “I don’t care where you stay, Marlène, you can go stay with fucking Damien for all I care. He has rooms aplenty. But you are not staying one more night under this roof. Understood?”

  She didn’t look at him, didn’t say a thing.

  He stomped away, straight to her room and picked his way through discarded shoes, accessories and clothing items that didn’t have a place on a hanger in her open wardrobe. He showered at speed in the en suite, hating every moment of inhaling Marlène’s signature musky scent from her toiletries that crowded the shower. Marlène was forever plotting and might corner him in her room. He found a clean towel and dried himself, rapidly dressed in his jocks and made a quick escape.

  He hovered outside his own bedroom door, which was closed.

  He had to protect Mila and Stacey. They had no idea who Marlène really was. They had no idea who he was. But he no longer felt good in that old skin that had protected him for years, and shedding it would be the first step in pulling himself out of the swamp of his past. He took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Come in.” Mila was back in bed, sitting up straight, pen in hand and seeming to write her postcards. She dropped her gaze immediately as he walked in and he had to clamp down the urge to stride over to her, take her in his arms and kiss her.

  Stacey reclined against the headboard, busy on her phone. He’d interrupted a cozy tête-à-tête, because Stacey looked up at him and gave him a glare.

  “I thought you were bringing us coffee in bed,” Stacey murmured, but her eyes sparkled with naughtiness.

  Heaven helped the man who fell for her.

  “Just getting my clothes,” he mumbled, wishing Mila would acknowledge him.

  The pen paused and she looked up, making his heart bleed. Her gaze was cold, so unlike the ones she’d given him the past few days. “I’m sorry, we didn’t think all the logistics through last night,” she said, perusing his naked chest. A blush rose to her cheeks and he forced his body not to react to the thought of them together.

  “No worries.” He went to his wardrobe and picked out what he needed. “What are your plans for today?”

  “I’m taking Mila shopping.” Stacey stretched languidly, smiling up at him. “I suppose you don’t have time for us today?”

  “I can do a quick lunch if you want to meet somewhere?” He could check in on them, make sure they weren’t dangling after Marlène as Stacey would love to do. Stacey had spent a couple of days at the office with Marlène when she still worked in Paris and had even connived to get to a show during Paris’s fashion week. No wonder Stacey idolized his ex. He should have curbed the whole business.

  Stacey glanced at Mila. “We can do lunch?”

  Mila hid behind those thick-framed glasses, her hair covering most of her face as she looked down to her postcards. “I don’t mind coming back here for lunch after your shopping spree?”

  “Do perk up, Mila,” Stacey implored. “It’s just lunch.”

  He groaned inwardly. He knew what bothered Mila. She was not swimming in cash and hated to be beholden to anyone. “I get to treat you ladies at least once while you’re in town. Meet me for lunch at Galeries Lafayette at twelve.”

  He closed his eyes and turned, unable to stomach the rapture on Stacey’s face. It was going to be so much more than lunch. He strode out of the room, but couldn’t go deaf.

  “Eeeeek!” Stacey called out. “Shopping with Jamie! It’s the best!”

  He cursed under his breath. He might be sending out mixed messages here. And he should really stop spoiling his little sister.

  chapter 35

  Mila sat across from James, trying her hardest not to zone out of Stacey’s conversation about shopping and the light lunch they’d just finished. Ever since she’d heard James tell Marlène that they were nothing, she’d been holding herself together by a thread. If it hadn’t been for the three hours she’d been forced to shop with Stacey, she’d have had a broken heart bobbing in a puddle of tears by now.

  Those words… it was one thing to think them quietly to herself, but to have heard them from him had been a stab and twist to the heart with a blunt knife.

  And yet, whenever his gaze rested on her, which was often and longer than she could bear, regret shone in his eyes. It was killing her because that morning James’s words—inconsiderate and spoken in a mean tone he’d never used on her—were completely unlike the James she’d known and gotten to know again over the last few days.

  At least the famous department store was worth a visit in itself, but she prayed that this wasn’t how Stacey planned to spend the next few days. Stacey had insisted that they try on a pile of expensive, breathtakingly beautiful dresses, each item in the range of the average student’s monthly rent. It was fun, entering an impossible dream world of affluence for a few hours, but it was so far out of her comfort zone she felt as wretched as Cinderella as the clock struck twelve.

  Stacey nursed her wine, oblivious to the tension between Mila and James.

  Mila felt like a fifth wheel. James and Stacey’s conversation flowed naturally and they’d chatted about people and things she didn’t have a connection with. Her efforts to remain cool and unfazed by everything that had passed that morning were paying off, but for how long could she keep going with this charade? She wished for nothing but to be alone and lick her wounds. She should have known it was all too good to be true. Men like James Sinclair didn’t happen to the Mila Johnsons of the world.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” James asked.

  “I’m taking Mila to The Sommelier,” Stacey said, as she picked up her wine glass. “Should be fun.”

  Mila looked up. The Sommelier was one of the places James had recommended to her a few days ago, frequented by the English-speaking crowd. Where the lingo wouldn’t be an issue. It didn’t sound like Damien’s club.

  “I’ll join you there after work,” James said. “But it will only be later.”

  “But—” Mila started. A heeled foot dug into her toes and she closed her mou
th, biting her lip.

  “Sure,” Stacey answered. “We might be home if it’s too late, so maybe check in on us before you head over. We don’t plan to go big.”

  Right.

  “Excuse me,” James said as he got up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He walked past her, his fingers ghosting over her hair where it hung over her shoulders, the whisper of his touch echoing onto her back, to her skin and rippling to deeper, darker parts of her. She closed her eyes for a second, treasuring the sensation, and listened to his footsteps that hadn’t broken their rhythm despite the lingering of his touch.

  When she was sure he was gone Mila tuned her eyes in to Stacey. “Why did you tell him some tall tale of The Sommelier?”

  Stacey hitched her shoulders. “James can be super dull sometimes. And he doesn’t approve of Damien.”

  “Probably with very good reason,” Mila retorted.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be in bed and neatly tucked in by the time James gets home. When he does this month-end Friday night thing for work he’s always awfully late.”

  Mila shrugged and told herself to ignore the unease that had settled in her stomach.

  “Bottoms up, dearest,” Stacey said as she took up her wineglass and emptied it in one go. “When James comes back he’s going to be in a hurry.”

  She sipped at her wine. One glass down and she already felt heady; between herself and Stacey they’d been supposed to finish the bottle. James had only drunk water during lunch.

  She thought he’d gone to the gents’, but when he strolled in a minute later pocketing his wallet she pursed her lips. He’d gone to pay on the sly.

  “Do you always let him pay like this?” she grumbled to Stacey as they got up and gathered their handbags.

  “Only in times of severe financial strain,” Stacey whispered back.