Page 17 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

There’s no elegant way to go through them, just a weird shuffle and a hope you don’t time it wrong. Even she looks a little uncertain as the glass panels spin her forward. It’s oddly endearing.

At the front desk, Julia spots us and her smile slowly drops before she turns around and quickly disappears. Moments later, André takes her place, and I just know they’ve done this ‘rude guest incoming’ dance before.

I walk up to him and clear my throat. “Hi, André. I’m not going to beat around the bush, my behavior yesterday was out of line. I’m very sorry.” I hand him both bottles of wine. “Please give one of these to your colleague as well, along with my apology.”

He looks surprised but manages a polite “Thank you.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, like he’s biting back a sarcastic remark, but he swallows it down. We trade a few brief words, enough to smooth things over, and then I head toward the elevators, where Abby is already waiting, watching me with an unreadable little smile.

“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” I ask once the elevator doors close behind us.

She thinks for a second. I’m close enough now that I can see the way her breath changes, the little pause when I step closer.

“First, I need a nap,” she says, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Who knew looking at art was this exhausting? And then maybe a walk. I haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower up close yet. And tonight, I’ll enjoy the view of it from my balcony with a cold glass of champagne, preferably.” She shoots me a gloating wink.

“If you want company for any of that, let me know.” I smile and hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

She hands me her phone, a little unsure, and I can see the moment it hits her how much trust that takes.

I type in my number quickly and hand it back as the elevator doors slide open.

“I saved my number. Text me,” I say, holding her gaze for a second longer than necessary.

“Later,” she says, her voice soft, like the word barely made it out.

The doors close, and I walk away, leaving her alone with the kind of thoughts I’m pretty sure are spinning as fast as mine.

Reed

Ijumpwhenmyphone starts ringing just as I step outside the bakery I just had a lovely petit four and coffee at. With the show done, I figured I could indulge a bit.

My heart starts pounding in my throat, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I fumble for the device—then immediately tumbling and crashing when I realize it's my brother calling and not Abby.

"Hi, Adam, what's up?" I ask with a sigh and turn around to regain my orientation. I can see the Eiffel tower over some buildings, so I put on my obligatory ‘hope nobody recognizes me’ sunglasses and start walking towards it.

"Hey, Reed, are you feeling better now?"

"I do, actually," I admit carefully, suspicion making me take a deep breath.

Adamnevercalls just to check in. He’s all business, hell, he barely has time to call us for our birthdays or have the occasional family dinner with us. This smells of a man with an agenda, and I know my plans for this evening are about to take nose-dive. Not that I had any, because so far, Abby has neither called nor messaged me.

Some days, I resent him for it. For how business-only our relationship has become, how much work he's throwing my way to a degree I don't even quite know what to do with this free week, how much he’s distanced himself from me and our other siblings, Zoey being the only exception. She’s his princess, even today, the one who can do no wrong. I’m curious to see how he’ll react when she goes to university later this year.

"Why? What’s up?" I ask him, stopping by a corner as I brace myself for his answer.

"How are those eye bags doing?" he asks, and that’s when I exhale a deep sigh.

"Stop beating around the bush. What do you want, Adam?"

"Dimitri is out. Sprained his ankle when a designer forced him into platform heels that were too big for him.”

“Are you serious?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and whisper a curse under my breath. “What’s with all these models dropping like flies? Maybe you need to screen your designers better. How could that even happen?”

“I know, I know,” he says in that condescending voice that tells me he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m doing all that, but for now, he’s out of commission, but he had that photoshoot booked, like, right now…"

"Adam," I say, exhaustion washing over me as I continue my way with heavy steps. "Are you for real? Youpromisedme a free week here, if I did the last-minute fashion show. Which I did, as you might remember. You know, I was looking forward to serenity, a lot of coffee, a ton of unhealthy food and most of all, catching up on sleep."

Of course, I’m only teasing about the food. While my brother being one of the big bosses of the entertainment industry cuts me some slack, there are still certain expectations of models. He might get me into last-minute photoshoots and pull some strings to get me good spots in fashion shows, but no designer would say ‘yes’ to his demands if I didn’t fulfil those expectations.

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