The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1)

by Sophia Karlson

  Mila rolled her eyes. “Which is pretty much always.”

  Stacey laughed and flung her arms around James’s neck and hugged him thoroughly. “Thanks for the lunch, Jamie.”

  God only knew how much she wanted to do that. How much she wanted to feel his body against hers one last time, how much she wanted to have his hands travel down her back and pull her close. She wanted to savor his strength, harvest it and use it to get through this day. She couldn’t do this for longer. Not after what they’d had and his words that morning.

  “Thank you… James. For lunch,” she managed and gave James a cursory nod.

  “Jeez, Mila. Lighten up. It was just lunch.” Stacey had pulled away from James, and they were both staring at her.

  She inhaled sharply as she realized she’d hardly breathed.

  James reached out for her, taking her hand in his. “Too much wine in the middle of the day?”

  The gesture was so caring, so gentle, her hand wanted to snuggle with his, get cozy and never let go.

  “Yes,” she said as she pulled away to brush her hair from her face, hating the emptiness that hollowed her out. “You spoil us.”

  His gaze didn’t leave her face and for a moment he studied her so intently she didn’t know where to look. Heat settled on her cheeks, making her feel five years old again.

  With a sigh, he turned to Stacey. “Come on, this needs to be quick, I’ve got to get back to the office.”

  She trailed after them into the department store and they took the lift to the floor with women’s attire.

  There was no way she was going to stick around for Stacey’s spending spree with James. She had to get away, let them do their thing on their own.

  When the lift’s doors opened, she didn’t exit with them. “I’m going to the gift section upstairs.” It was several floors up and as far away as she could get. “Meet me there once you’re done?”

  Stacey gaped to protest, but Mila pressed the button to close the doors again. “Thanks again for lunch, James!” she called as the doors swept closed.

  With a heavy heart, she idled the time away, aimlessly walking between the displays of stuff she didn’t need and couldn’t afford to buy. Trying not to keep track of time, she almost caved in and left to find the Sinclairs when she spotted Stacey coming up the escalator.

  Stacey’s smile was contagious as she stepped up to her. “James is a darling.”

  “I bet he is,” Mila said, taking a glimpse at all the bags Stacey clasped in her hands.

  “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop him.” Stacey’s eyes sparkled and she bit her lip, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a suppressed smile. “Jamie insisted.”

  Her eyes widened as her blood seeped to her feet. “Oh no, Stacey. What?”

  “We got you that simply gorgeous black dress. The strapless one that makes your shoulders look so sexy.”

  She shook her head. “Why? I can’t possibly—”

  Stacey handed her one of the bags and Mila took it hesitantly. Stacey hooked an arm through hers. “Don’t be difficult,” she begged. “James said you’d need something for the opening night of your exhibition, and this is just perfect.”

  She skipped a breath. “Stacey, really, I can’t. It’s too expensive. I can’t possibly wear that dress to the opening night. My mom would have heart failure.”

  But he’d thought of her. The dress was short and so sexy, she’d been a goddess in it, ruling the world. What she would give to let James see her in it. For a few simple minutes, wearing that dress, she’d felt she could compare with Marlène.

  “Good thing your folks won’t be at your opening night. Rugby first, remember. Johnson and Johnson will be playing in Durban that weekend.” Her voice reduced to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’ll never know.”

  Mila laughed. “You’re plotting against me.” She was already too deep in debt with James for someone he’d had nothing with, except her whole heart and soul on a platter. It wasn’t like him at all, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a ‘thank you’ gift from James as if she’d been his kept woman for a few blissful days.

  Stacey shot her a grin. “Never plotting against you, Mila, but with you. Best of all is, you can wear it tonight too.”

  That dress was way too precious to spoil in a wine bar.

  “Can’t we wear jeans? And a nice top?” Mila probed. She’d brought exactly what she’d needed from home for a night out. Plus, there was the red dress from Marlène’s vast selection, but she’d hate to wear something of hers. “It’s just a club, after all?”

  “Apparently this one has a dress code. It’s very exclusive.” Stacey didn’t meet her eyes. “Marlène said women wear dresses. Men go in suits.”

  “Wow. Okay,” Mila chuckled. “Only in Paris.”

  As they left the department store behind, Mila suppressed a sigh of resignation. At least she had something else to wear, and wouldn’t be in Marlène’s debt.

  chapter 36

  Mila ran her hands down the thick silk fabric of the dress for the third time. The dress was the sexiest thing she’d ever worn. It hugged her curves, accentuating every feminine bit of her. Looking at the mirror, her heart pounded wildly. James had picked it for her, knowing every inch of her body, and with his expert eye had known it would fit her like a glove.

  The style left her shoulders bare, making her smile with a tinge of heartache. The bits that had driven James crazy the other night, when she’d worn her cheap strapless summer dress, were fully exposed for his enjoyment. But he wouldn’t be there tonight and with all Stacey’s scheming, they’d miss him completely.

  If nothing else a girl should take home a little black dress from Paris, and a broken heart.

  Why did she suspect this club wasn’t like the clubs either she or Stacey were accustomed to? She had no idea what Stacey was expecting, but reading between the few lines Marlène and James had spoken, thinking about what had happened between James and Damien—she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was also the conversation she’d had with James a few days ago about clubbing, of which she hadn’t made much until now. Something was off, but she wasn’t sure what.

  She suppressed a sigh as Stacey walked into the bathroom and appeared in the mirror.

  “You look stunning,” Stacey said, her gaze running down her body.

  “I really wish you didn’t talk me into this.”

  “You only live once,” Stacy murmured and slicked a layer of cherry red lipstick over her parted lips.

  Stacey looked striking. Her dress was equally simple, with a halter neck and elaborate collar that spread seventies-style to her shoulders. The whole back was covered with mesh. Both dresses allowed only strapless bras, and since neither of them had brought any, they were naked except for panties underneath.

  “So, whose funeral are we going to?” Stacey joked as she checked her make-up and hair one last time. “All dressed in black as we are.”

  Mila chuckled but wanted to weep. They’d be putting to rest the liaison she’d had with James.

  “Your brother sure knows his way around haute couture.” Any other response would open the Pandora’s box of secrets she’d been sitting on, trying to keep the lid on.

  “Marlène’s influence,” Stacey stated. “But he always had exquisite taste. I’ll give him that.”

  “How are your heels?” Mila asked, in dire need to steer the conversation away from Marlène.

  “High.”

  Mila laughed. They didn’t splurge on shoes and already Mila’s were biting into her heels and toes. Her feet were going to have a hard time tonight. “I don’t know if I can do a whole night in these.”

  “Maybe we can take them off at some point,” Stacey said. She rolled on a final layer of lip gloss. “I don’t mind dancing barefoot.”

  “Let’s see how it goe
s.” She was ready; there was nothing more to do.

  They went out of the bedroom and found Marlène sitting in the lounge, wearing the slutty bride dress. She was on a call, her voice husky and low as she spoke in French. She became aware of them and looked up, her hooded eyes widening.

  “Mais, voilà, les filles,” she laughed into the phone. “We’ll see you soon.” She hung up and stood, taking them in from top to bottom, stripping them naked. Mila shuddered inwardly. Marlène studied her just a little too closely, a little too intimately with her eyes as they roamed over her body.

  Why did she wish James were here, giving her an excuse to stay at home? She licked her lips, nervous, the oily sweetness of her lipstick invading her tongue. If she carried on like this her lipstick would be obliterated by the time they arrived at the club.

  “Mon Dieu, you are perfection.” Marlène sauntered over, her every curve swaying in time with her hair. She took hold of Stacey’s hand and pulled her closer in a hug. “Thank you, for always being there for me.”

  Stacey blushed, a sweet smile on her lips. “Anything for you, Marls.”

  Ugh. It wasn’t her place to say anything, but she wished—how much she wished—that Stacey would see Marlène’s true colors and no longer idolize her.

  Marlène glanced at her, and a slow blush stole over Mila’s cheeks. Did she really have to be so pathetic?

  “Let’s go have fun,” Marlène said, her lips smiling, but her eyes cold. “You don’t need anything. Damien is meeting us at the club.”

  Mila checked her cash before slipping her wallet back into her bag. “Are we taking a taxi?”

  “It’s not far to walk. You’re in for a pleasant surprise.” Marlène gave her a sly smile. “Just leave everything. Also your phones.”

  Stacey’s eyebrows shot up at this comment. “I don’t go anywhere without my phone.”

  “I’ve noticed, but we’re together and you won’t need it,” Marlène said. “Damien’s treat.”

  Mila rolled her eyes. First James, now Damien. “I prefer to look after myself.” Damien’s words, asking her whether James had been looking after her as he should, made her shudder.

  “Trust me, it’s not necessary. You can leave your things with the concierge, but no phones are allowed inside the club. And when Damien looks after his guests… he looks after them.”

  Mila pulled her phone from her bag with trembling fingers and placed it next to Stacey’s on the coffee table. They exchanged wary glances. There was a multitude of reasons why phones wouldn’t be allowed and an unexpected tingle spread over her skin as she acknowledged the most blatant of them: photos.

  None would be taken tonight, that was sure.

  Marlène led the way to the apartment door and held it open for them. They took the lift to the ground floor in silence, the claustrophobic space soon filling with the suffocating exotic blend of Stacey’s and Marlène’s perfumes.

  “This way.” Marlène opened the lobby door and started walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the restaurants, the same way Mila had gone with James a few nights ago.

  Mila glanced at Stacey, who was nibbling her lower lip, looking concerned for the first time since they’d signed up for this.

  They turned left into a narrow pedestrian walkway. The street was empty with the exception of a few doors. An odd twenty meters further Marlène stopped at a black door, which seemed to have a single watching eye. It was only a little plaque, but in the twilight, even darker in the narrow street, she couldn’t read what it said.

  Marlène raised an eyebrow at them. “Ready, girls?”

  Stacey bubbled up a nervous laugh. Mila wished she’d let James know where they’d gone. At least the apartment was only minutes away. But still. Why did this seem like a bad idea?

  Marlène held the door open and Mila shook her head, but after a second followed Stacey into a marble lobby. There was a cloakroom and a mirror that looked double sided. Security cameras eyed them from at least two corners of the room and Mila’s innards tightened.

  An antique escritoire stood to the side, a laptop looking out of place on it. Damien looked up with a smile, shuffling some papers together. “Ah, voilà!” He got up and crossed the marble floor in easy strides.

  He was dressed in a slick grey suit, molded to his body in the perfect fit. Every bit of him looked as if he’d stepped off an undeniably French fashion shoot. Too suave. Mila blinked. Underneath all that money was a frog that no amount of kissing would ever turn into a prince.

  He perused Stacey, soaking up every detail of her delicate frame, her thick blonde hair and those big, innocent blue eyes. Mila shifted on her feet, reading every feeling Damien’s intimate inspection made Stacey feel: sexy, wanted, desired. Groaning, she tried to tear her gaze away from Damien’s expert tactics but was compelled to watch as he stepped closer.

  “Stacey?” he purred. “Enchanté.” He leaned in, took hold of both of her hands and gave her two of those invasive pecks on the cheeks. But Stacey seemed to love him this close, in her personal space, and didn’t pull back. He smoothed his hands up her naked arms, slowly, with such intent that Mila just knew Stacey relished every inch of his caress. The touch was too slow, too intimate, to be anything but the first note to a sexual tune.

  Mila looked away and swallowed compulsively.

  “Damien?” Stacey chuckled. “We finally get to meet.”

  “Indeed.”

  A bout of silence followed, then Damien turned her way, his hand still cupping Stacey’s elbow as he tucked her close to him.

  Mila stalled. Stacey didn’t know how often she’d already met Damien. That there had been a tiff between James and Damien… about her. She had to keep that information to herself.

  “Hi Damien,” she said, extending her hand as far as possible. She’d shake his hand and block any attempt at getting closer to her with a palm to his chest.

  His gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second before he reached out with a cool hand. “Welcome to our club. I look forward to showing you around.”

  Marlène had moved to the escritoire and was flipping through the papers Damien had left on the desk.

  “You’ve made two copies?” Marlène asked.

  “Oui.” Damien hadn’t let go of Stacey’s elbow but led her closer to the escritoire. “Please. Take a seat. I need you both to sign these documents before we go inside.”

  Stacey glanced at Mila and sat down. “What is it?” She fingered the stack of papers. “Does it have to be so long?”

  “It’s a non-disclosure agreement,” Damien answered as if every club in the world required this bit of paperwork before one could enter.

  Stacey looked up at him, her face pale in consternation.

  “Nothing to worry about, Stacey. You need to initial each page and sign the last page. We’ll witness.” Marlène smiled as she called Mila closer. “Jean-Pierre is a pedantic perfectionist… in everything he does.”

  “Jean-Pierre?” Stacey queried.

  “You might meet him tonight. One of the co-owners. With James and Damien. And a few other people.”

  Mila’s face burst with thousands of pinpricks. James?

  Damien smiled, but his eyes were hooded. “No entry without paperwork being done.”

  She tried to suppress the slow twist in her stomach. How did James fit into all of this? Surely this was another James? His words from that morning, which previously had no frame of reference slotted perfectly in place. We’re nothing and I’d prefer to keep her uninformed of my past life.

  There was no escaping the logic. Flushed, she took up the papers and tried to read the magnitude of fine print. Her eyes darted over the pages, but nothing quite made sense. Her breathing stalled, her hand quivered as she initialed the pages and signed the last one.

  Damien took the documents from her, scanned them briefly, then
handed them to the man who stood silently behind the concierge’s counter. He had an uber-strong build, looking more like a bouncer than a docile coat handler.

  The man scrutinized the documents, checking that every t was crossed and i dotted. Eventually, he nodded to Damien and shot them a disinterested glance. “We’ll open for you,” he said in English, nodding to the mirror. “If the ladies have anything to leave behind? No phones are allowed.”

  Mila handed over her frumpy handbag, which she’d clung to like a shield until that moment. She offered her empty hands for his inspection, feeling almost naked now that the moment had come. Stacey had left everything behind, showing her unwavering trust in Marlène.

  “Thank you, Pascal. Come, ladies,” Damien murmured, his hand settling into the low hollow of her back. “The champagne awaits.”

  Reality had sunk in. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t naïve. Imagine her, Mila Johnson, in one of those places her father loved to condemn as devils’ hives. Not that he’d ever mention those by name, but the Lord help her, she knew exactly what he’d spoken about and it made her body flush hot and cold at the same time.

  She turned to Marlène, trying to read her expression. “Is this one of those clubs where people get tied up and whipped?”

  “Why? Does someone need a whipping?” Marlène smirked and a chuckle escaped from deep in her stomach. “Non, ma chérie, but if you ask Damien nicely he could arrange it for you.”

  chapter 37

  Half an hour later James entered the apartment’s lobby and impatiently called the lift, checking his watch for the hundredth time. He’d phoned Mila and Stacey several times, but each time both their phones had just rung without going over to voice mail.

  He’d finished earlier than expected. One of his juniors had done most of the groundwork, and after they’d pulled in the numbers, checked that everything made sense given that there was no volatility in the market, they’d knocked off.

  A swift tour of The Sommelier had produced no Mila and no Stacey. He doubted his sister would have called it a night so early. Not when she was in Paris.