Page 6 of Blue Eyes & Paris Vibes

I make a mental note to reserve one of my evenings for drinking some champagne out here and having some fancy snacks or pastries and sending pictures of me living my best wannabe influencer life to Max.

And who knows, maybe this upgrade will have the added bonus of making an asshole think about his actions twice the next time. Not that I have too much hope for him, but I have to be honest, his dumbstruck face when he heard about my upgrade is seared into my mind forever. If anyone asks me to tell them about my vacation, this will be the first and without a doubt the most enjoyable story I will share.

I’d have been perfectly fine letting karma do its thing without witnessing it. But oh boy, having witnessed it is the icing on the cake for me. It really turned my mood around.

I lay my suitcase on the ground and open it, sorting my stuff into the wardrobe and bathroom.

It’s barely noon but all the traveling, getting up early and having to deal withmen, or well, one man in particular, are taking their toll on me. Maybe I should test out the giant bed, have a short nap so I’m awake and ready to find out what Max’s hype with the city is all about.

Reed

“YoubettertellJeremyhe fucking owes me,” I grumble into my phone as I finally stumble into my hotel room, pulling my suitcase so forcefully it hits my heels. “Ouch. Fuck.”

“Come on, Reed. It can’t have been that bad.” Adam, my oldest brother, chuckles at the other end of the line, and I am so wired, the sound awakens the urge in me to kick my suitcase out the window.

“Oh, can’t it?” I roll my eyes and toe off my shoes, forcing myself to put them beside the entrance carefully. “Let me give you a little recap of everything that happened after your call yesterday.”

I let myself fall onto the bed, which seems surprisingly sturdy for a hotel bed, and let out a sigh so deep it might as well start that ceiling fan over the bed.

“After I had to rush and throw together my suitcase within twenty minutes so I’d make the flightyoubooked me on time, I arrived at the airport only to be told that it would be delayed. Three hours later, we finally got to board, only to sit on the tarmac for another hour. There was a screaming child in the seat next to me, whose mother couldn’t give less of a fuck about comforting her, the woman behind me misquoted every single line of the movie she was watching, and the flight was so turbulent I could neither keep food down nor catch a minute of sleep.” I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not sure this is worth the week of vacation in Paris that Adam promised me if I saw this show through.

“Come on, you’ve had worse.” Oh, the joys of being a model working for his workaholic older brother, who thinks he’s the only one in our family working hard.

“Oh, Adam, I’m not done. Then, right as we reached France and I started counting down the minutes to my sweet, sweet freedom, we got told that apparently Charles de Gaulle had a power outage, or something like that, and we’d be diverted to London. Where I then had to find the quickest way into Paris, which was a goddamn train, Adam, because the outage was still ongoing. So, first I had to somehow get to St. Pancras, go through yet another security and passport check and then sit on my ass for another two hours. Two hours where a steady stream of fans kept walking by my seat, sneaking pictures of me. So guess what? No sleep either.”

There’s no smartass retort from his side so I keep on talking.

“Did I have time to get something to eat? Also no. And when I arrived here, I almost had my wallet stolen, almost had my suitcase stolen, and there were issues with my room and you might want to send the front desk staff some kind of apology for me if you ever want to book someone into this hotel again. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but it’s a losing battle and all I want to do is sleep for the next three days but I can’t, because you decided I had to jump in and save the day for Jeremy who apparently can’t manage to board a plane without breaking a freaking toe.”

Adam laughs. Like what I said was supposed to be funny. Well, it very much wasn’t, and I’m afraid he doesn’t quite get the misery I am in. Every sound grates my nerves, the sun rays burn into my eyes like arrows on fire, my skin prickles like ants run over it and I’m just so ready to call it a day and hope tomorrow will be better.

“Don’t fucking chuckle at that, Adam. God, I feel like shit.”

“Well, you have two hours to catch a nap,” Adam says with a chuckle that makes my blood boil.

“Michel is going to hate you,” I whisper. I’m glad that I at least know someone who works the fashion show I’m supposed to walk in later today.

“Oh, please,” Adam says in a tone that tells me he’s rolling his eyes. “He fixed up Jackson after that bachelor party incident. You couldn’t see any indication of that black eye, even in 8k resolution. Some bags under your eyes are nothing to him.”

“Well, I’ll tell him you said that.” I exhale deeply, hiding a yawn behind my hand and forcing my eyes to blink open when my eyelids start to feel heavy as steel. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need that two-hour nap. I’ll call you after the show. Maybe.”

“I know, I know, no news is good news. Sweet dreams, don’t oversleep.” He chuckles again and hangs up.

I lower the phone onto the bed, blindly reaching for a pillow, and I barely manage to wrench it under my head and set an alarm before I finally let my eyes fall closed and doze off.

When I arrive at the venue, I’m surprised to see that it looks like a fancy courtyard, completely surrounded by old stone buildings that are probably older than my country. Ornate statues stand in every corner, watching over the buzz like gargoyles over cities. The calm beauty of the place is interrupted by the busy chaos of people getting ready for the fashion show.

Crew members rush past me, carrying folding chairs and rolling clothing racks. Someone’s on a ladder, adjusting bright stage lights while another person tests a microphone, sending loud echoes of ‘Test… test,’ bouncing off the walls. Cords snake across the ground, and everywhere I look, there’s movement—stylists shouting instructions, models practicing their walks, and photographers snapping test shots.

A lot of the models are already dressed, and only now do I realize that I never even bothered to ask Adam about the designer. But what I see so far? Cute. I’ve definitely worn weirder clothes on runways, like that one time I had to wear a top that was made out of balloons.

The dresses most women wear remind me of Greek goddesses. They’re made of simple, yet expensive looking fabric with golden accessories tying the outfits together, their hair styled in a way that makes them look like angels with a halo.

Finally, I find a familiar face in the chaos.

“Michel,” I greet my old friend with a smile, immediately making my way to him. He glances up from the model he’s putting his signature finishing touches on and motions for me to wait until he’s finished.

“I see you’ve brought me a lot of work,” Michel says, giving me a pointed glance before leaning in for the obligatory kiss to each cheek.

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