Page 95 of Eat Slay Love

I did my best not to burst into laughter. “I know, right?”

“She told you to take yourself out on a date, and you came back with a rich man.”

“Girl. . .”

The pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom, announcing our departure.

“Okay, Laila, I gotta go.”

“Fine, fine. But call me when you land. And take lots of pictures because I need to see if this man is actually real or if you had some sort of Parisian fever dream.”

I smirked. “Bye, Laila.”

She hung up, and I slid my phone into my bag.

Beside me, Fabien was unbothered.

He lounged back in his seat, still inspecting the menu like the fate of the entire French culinary world depended on his breakfast selection.

We hadn’t grabbed breakfast or lunch at his hotel.

We’d been too busy fucking.

My pussy was so sore, but I knew that once we hit California we would be fucking some more.

How did I get so lucky?

His long fingers drummed against the armrest, and I hated how much I wanted to touch them.

Scratch that.

I didn’t hate it.

I was just getting used to the fact that my life had taken a full-blownromance novelturn in the span of 24 hours. One moment, I was in New York for a much-needed solo trip, rediscovering my confidence after years of putting myself last. The next, I was tangled in the sheets with him—a man who moved like he owned the world and yet looked at me like I was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen.

And now?

Now, I was flying back to California with him.

Not only was Fabien coming with me, but his assistant had already locked down a beach house for him ten minutes from mine.

Ten. Minutes.

This man wasn’t even pretending to take it slow.

I should’ve been freaked out.

I should’ve had several questions about what the hell I was doing.

But instead, when I looked at him—at that sharp jaw, those full lips, that completely ridiculous head of tousled French perfection—I felt something foreign and wonderful settle in my chest.

Peace.

Because I wanted this too.

Fabien’s deep, velvety voice broke through my thoughts. “Why are you staring at me,mon amour?”

Heat flooded my face. “I wasn’t staring.”

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