Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
There’s an audible gasp. A rare display of emotion from my stoic former admin. “Great,” she says, and I can still hear the thrill in her voice before she tamps it down, sliding into full professional mode again. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow afternoon when I send out all the replies to agents. And don’t forget, your tickets to the gala tomorrow night will be waiting at reception outside the ballroom at the Luxe Hotel.”
“Thank you,” I say. Then I hang up, go to dinner, and turn my focus completely on my production team here in Paris. They’re working hard on this show. We’ve turned it around. I want nothing more than a terrific launch for Afternoon Delight.
If it goes well, it’ll pay a lot of people’s bills for a long time. That’s what I need it to do.
When dinner’s done and I’ve said goodnight to everybody, Mia tells me she’s going to catch up with friends in the city. “They convinced me to grab a glass of wine in Le Marais.”
“Gee, so sorry to hear. That sounds terrible.”
“The worst,” she says. “See you in Los Angeles next time you’re there. By the way, the marketing for this show is magnifique.”
“My marketing VP is brilliant.”
She waves goodbye, then heads on her way.
I’m alone again. Walking through a city. Just like I do in New York when I need to reset. To think.
And, also, to clear my anxiety. To erase the tension that’s chased me my whole life, since I was younger and felt the uncomfortable press of too loud, too boisterous, too intoxicated crowds.
I’ve shucked that tightness off through sports, through exercise, through control, through stories.
But especially through work. My relentless quest for excellence is a pursuit that’s defined my days and my dreams. Lucky 21 has woken me up in the morning and put me to bed in the evening.
It was all I ever needed in my twenties.
Until Harlow stormed into my heart.
Until she peered over my walls fearlessly, then knocked them down brick by brick, moment by moment, insisting that she noticed things. That she noticed me.
Then, insisting I notice her.
Day by day, I did.
Now, she’s all I need.
And more so, she’s what I want. Even if wanting her changes everything else in my life, like the relationships I have from nine to five. Because it does. There is no easy solution to being with her. Only hard ones. But she’s worth it.
That same sense of calm I felt with her the other night tiptoes alongside me as I walk by the river, the moonlight reflecting off the water.
I pass a magazine stand. Then another one peddling postcards of Paris. I take a moment to assess what I’m feeling now that I’ve made my decision, waiting for the familiar knot of tension to tighten.
I don’t feel it at all.
I know what I want.
I know what I’ll give up.
I’m ready.
I take a picture of the last bouquiniste, framed by the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp. Then I send it to Harlow with the caption: Want to go here with me? How about for Christmas?
Her reply lands quickly. Don’t tease me. You know I want to.
I write back. You know I want to take you. Come with me.
My phone pings once more. Oui.
When I’m back in my hotel room, the clock ticking close to midnight, I text again to see if she’s free. She tells me she just left work.
As I toe off my shoes, I call her, and I waste no time. “We need to come clean as soon as possible. Let’s set a time to tell him,” I say, then I lay out the whole plan. The one I’ve been working on this week in the city of light. “What do you think? I return tomorrow just before the gala. I think we should do it on Saturday morning. Together. I want to look him in the eyes and tell the truth.”
I can hear the gulp in her voice, but I can also hear her strength as she says, “And he needs to hear it from me too. Should we take him out to breakfast or lunch?”
“Breakfast. Wait. No,” I say, running through scenarios as I pace around the suite. “He might make a big scene in public. We don’t want that.”
“Good call. I’ll invite him over for lunch at my place. And then you’ll be here too.”
Finally. “Yes.”
She shudders out a breath though, full of nerves.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, honey? We can wait. I’ll wait for you,” I say.
“No, we’re not waiting. We’re doing this,” she says, emphatic.
Good. I need her intrépidité. Telling Ian will be the biggest thing I’ll have done in my whole life.
“This is huge,” I say, struck by the magnitude of what’s happening in my life, in my heart. I sink down in a chair by the window, Paris stars winking in the sky.