Haute Couture Page 9

  Then, like perfect timing, our food arrives, and Lauren and I partake in consuming every delectable bite, fitting in pieces of small talk in between.

  “What inspired you to start Haute Couture?”

  She swallows her sip of sparkling water. “Spite.”

  My forehead furrows. “Spite?”

  “Yes”—she bites on her lower lip—“my mama, with whom I never seemed to get along, used to indirectly make fun of my weight. She would take me and my evil twin shopping for clothes, hand us both the same small size, which she knew damn-well would only fit skinnier-than-me-Becky, then say, Oh yeah Lauren, I suppose they don’t have your size here. I guess we’ll have to special-order yours from the catalog where they sell plus size.”

  She pauses for a few seconds to take a bite of lobster, then goes on.

  “So, I got fed up, asked my daddy, who has always been my biggest supporter, if he could buy me a sewing machine and he hooked me up. By the time I got to high school, I had designed an entire collection of prom dresses for all sizes, including the skinny bitches like Becky. Of course, by then, I had outgrown my chubby stage, but wanted so badly for all girls to be able to go to a store that had the same style dress in size zero to sixteen. No girl left behind.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, saddened by what sparked her inspiration. “And after high school?”

  She produces a soft grin. “Well, I had an entire collection of dresses, pants, skirts, and blouses by the time I got to college. Four, by the time I graduated with a degree in Fashion Merchandising. I called my line of clothing Hot Mess Couture. Living in the south, the term Hot Mess didn’t always have a negative connotation.” She lets out a genuine belly laugh. “Then, my best friend Arabella and I took a trip to Paris for the summer. I fell in love and the fashionable women, walking the streets all decked out in their eloquence, got me wanting to bring my line of clothing here. So I did it. Came here to Paris and about six months later, Haute Couture—a brand of high-fashion clothing for women and men of all shapes and sizes—was born.”

  I sit silent for a moment, completely fascinated by her, her story, and her drive. She took a negative experience and let that drive her to success. Something her dad and mom should be proud of.

  “Wow, Lauren, I-uh, I think you’re amazing. Simply amazing.”

  Her eyes glisten as if my words make her want to tear up.

  “Would you two like to see our dessert menu?” comes the waiter, breaking the awkward silence skating between Lauren and me.

  I look to Lauren—if she’s up for some, I am too.

  “Not me, I’m stuffed,” she says.

  “Okay, I’ll bring your check then.”

  After I pay, we exit the restaurant, then I lead Lauren up a flight of stairs that takes us to a rooftop deck with a view of the city. We stand close, shoulder to shoulder, admiring the view of The Tower.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful up here, Jaxson.” She grabs a loose strand of hair, flounced around by the breeze, and tucks it behind her ear.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shakes her head before the word, “No,” escapes her mouth.

  “Jaxson,”—she turns to face me—“it was you, right? The one I bumped into at the airport two months ago.”

  Now this blunt-force inquiry—I can admit, I was not prepared for. I suck up the shock, swallow it, and say, “Yes, Lauren, it was me.”

  Unable to peel my gaze off her lingering one, I lean in close, my thumb grazing her smooth cheek. I want to kiss her, feel her tongue intertwine with mine.

  And when our lips lightly touch, we break away, both startled by, “Do you mind taking a picture of us?”

  An elderly man holds out his flip phone, his female grey-haired companion grinning from ear to ear.

  I smile, grab his archaic phone and wait for them to strike their romantic pose, the shot of the Eiffel Tower as the stunning backdrop. They hear the click from the phone’s camera before they break their pose and go on their merry way.

  Lauren and I both chuckle. Then she leans in close to me, her head resting on my chest. I breathe in the scent of her hair, as we stand here, my arm around her. We’ll have another chance to finish that kiss.

  But for now I want to savor this moment. Just us.

  Me. Lauren. Paris.

  Chapter 21

  Jaxson

  “I think the limo business should be sold,” I say, following behind Gramps, as he walks through the villa, making sure the movers grabbed everything they want to take with them.

  “And why is that?” he asks, spinning around to face me.

  “Well,” I stammer, “it’s just that I noticed the number of clients are dwindling, and it will cost more to keep the business up and running than it will to sell it. Besides, the other drivers have already mentioned they had to go elsewhere part-time since we just don’t have the hours to give them.”

  Gramps looks up at me, his eyes full of scrutiny, and says nothing but, “Hmm, interesting,” then turns on his heels, continuing his sweep of the villa.

  Following close behind him, I wonder what his reply means.

  We finally end up in the kitchen, a few minutes later, the café-style table being the only piece of furniture of theirs left in the house. Some furniture pieces I ordered have already arrived. More will come tomorrow.

  He pulls out a chair and takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same.

  His mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first other than a long sigh. “How was your date last night?” he asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

  I lean back in my chair, a smile emerging at the thought of me and Lauren last night. “It was great, Gramps. Thanks for recommending Shang Palace. She loved it.”

  He nods. “Good, I’m glad it went well. She’s a great gal, and one of Chic Limos most loyal clients. Most of the others, on the other hand, have gone to Uber’s black car service.” He takes in a sharp breath. “The subject of selling the business is something I have been battling now for months, years really. I thought if I stepped back, allowed someone—you—to come in and tell me I needed to sell, the decision would come easier”—he lowers his gaze—“but turns out, it doesn’t.”

  I square my shoulders and say, “Gramps, if you really want me to continue to operate the—”

  “No no”—he waves a dismissive hand—“you’re absolutely right. The cost of operations far exceeds profits and I have to learn to let it go. Cut my losses now, before it drains my pockets. And I know, if I sell, the next person will most likely run into the same problems. So I think it’s best to just close the business and sell the town cars.”

  His revelation could not have come easy; it takes a lot to pour yourself into a business, especially one from the ground up, so to speak. At the same time, no one should waste time spinning wheels on something that won’t yield a return. Times are changing and what once was obviously a thriving opportunity, is now just an existence.

  “Sorry, Gramps,” I say, now drumming my fingers on the table.

  “Oh, no…don’t you feel bad. I probably needed to hear a second opinion, confirming what I had already known to be the right decision. Will you take care of selling the cars?”

  I nod. “Of course. And, I’ll reach out to the drivers. But, I think perhaps you can reach out to the few remaining clients?”

  He lifts one bushy brow. “And Lauren Blake? What about her? She depends on the service; she’ll never Uber. And she won’t drive her own car although I never bothered to ask her why.”

  “I’ll figure out something with Lauren, even if I have to pick her up all on my own everyday.” I smile, knowing that’s probably exactly what I’ll do.

  Gramps passes me a probing look. “You really like her, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes, at the mere mention of her name.”

  I can’t hide my grin. “Yeah, I think I do like her. A lot in fact. But she’s a hard case to crack.”

  Gramps leans in and says, “So are you.”
<
br />   We both chuckle.

  “What are you going to do now, Jaxson. I mean, this is your house now, seeing as how we did give you this early inheritance. So I am assuming you’ll stay, even though the business is out of the picture.”

  I shrug. “You know, I don’t really know yet. I mean, I won’t worry too much about money. I have some in the bank and get paid for residuals in shows I was in. But who knows what I want now. My agent keeps calling. Maybe I’ll call him back to see what he wants. I know for sure I am not doing another version of Date Me, Then Marry Me.”

  Gramps laughs. “Yeah, please steer clear of that garbage.”

  We sit and chat about Nana’s new art gallery, their new house, and my plans to take a train ride to visit them soon. Then Gramps makes calls to all of the clients, other than Lauren, to make them aware that Chic Limos is no longer open for business. I can tell what a relief it is for him to let go. Then he sets out to head back to the South of France, eager to begin his new chapter with Nana.

  The sun beams down on my face, as I sit in the vegetable garden, contemplating what a NYC boy like me is gonna do with all these veggies. Sure, they’re good to eat, but I’ll be damned if I turn into garden boy. It’s close to noon now, the time ticking away slowly, especially since I didn’t have a certain lady to drive around today. She’s working from home, but I assured her I’d be available in case she needed a lift somewhere. Gramps hasn’t told her about the business closing; he left that conversation for me. Not that it will effect her. I’ll drive her wherever she needs to go.

  Yep, I’ve got it pretty bad for Icy Hot Princess.

  And spending time with her last night, only made it worse. I wanted so bad to finish that kiss as we stood on that deck overlooking the city. But I didn’t. I want to give her more time to warm up to me. Something tells me she still has hopes for her and the jerk who stood her up. We all tend to fall for those who are so very wrong.

  God knows I did.

  Hopefully time will show Lauren Blake, Mr. Right from Mr. All Wrong.

  Chapter 22

  Lauren

  “Don’t you dare lick my face anymore.” I try to sound as serious as I can through my giggles.

  But Truffles isn’t buying it. He licks, and licks, until finally I sit up and climb out of bed.

  “Fine. You happy now?” I tease.

  Arf. Arf.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I moan, “Mama was only trying to sleep in. The nerve of me, right?”

  Truffles spins around and around before darting off into the living room–the normal dance he performs before I take him outside to conduct his business.

  After I slip on some shoes and slip into my coat, I make sure I have the right keys, then head out, an eager Truffles leading the way.

  Of course the sight of 11B’s door taunts me like a display of forbidden fruit.

  Just keep walking. Just keep walking. I sing to myself, sounding a lot like Dory.

  Once down the elevator, Jules greets us both. “Bonjour! No work for you today?” he asks, bending down to pet Truffles.

  “I’m working from home today, Jules.”

  He rises back up from bended knee and says, “Oh? Well, how lovely. Would you like me to take Truffles out for a stroll? I’d be delighted to.”

  Truffles barks and lifts his paw, which always makes me laugh.

  “Um, sure. That would be great, Jules. Oh and how was your second date with the mystery lady?”

  His face turns red. “Third date is tonight. It’s all going wonderfully. And, what about you and Simon Grant? Things getting lively?”

  I lower my gaze from his, embarrassment flooding my face. “No. We had a date last night, but he never showed up. Left me waiting in the lobby for over an hour. I called his cell, but it went right to voicemail.” I shove my hands in my coat pocket and shrug.

  “Oh dear, well hopefully he had a good excuse. If not, the entire building will likely have him exiled.”

  We laugh and Truffles chimes in, always needing to voice his opinion too.

  “Okay, well, I will bring this little guy back up to you in about an hour. He and I chat it up while we are out there. He should be good and tired by the time I bring him back to you.”

  “Thanks so much, Jules,” I say heading back to the elevator.

  “It’s only my pleasure, LB.”

  Back in my apartment, I brew some coffee, make a couple pieces of toast, and sit at my small dining-room table. I open the blinds, the sound of them clacking as I pull on the cord. Bright rays hit my face, instantly warming me from head to toe. I rarely do this: take time to soak in the sun, enjoying nothing but the view and some quiet time. I’m usually in a hustle each morning, a victim to the same routine. Crawl out of bed. Take Truffles out. Come back home and shower. Get dressed. Call Ar—

  Crap!! I slept in and forgot all about my daily FaceTime chat with Arabella.

  And it’s an hour past that time. I wonder if she’s been trying to reach me.

  I spring from my chair and dart to my room to retrieve my phone from my nightstand. I remember deciding to turn it off last night, part of my plan to sleep in.

  I grab it, turn it on as I make my way back to the kitchen. And sure enough, Arabella has not only tried to reach me via FaceTime several times, she’s also texted me about a dozen times. Oh I feel horrible. We’ve never missed a call without it being planned well in advance.

  I text her back.

  Me: Arabella! I am so sorry I missed our chat. I slept in.

  Minutes later…

  Arabella: Girl, you had me thinking that Jaxson was either giving you some hot lovin’ or he kidnapped you.

  I laugh.

  Me: Nope. Neither. But I did have a nice time with him.

  Arabella: How nice?

  Me: Just dinner and nice conversation. I shared stuff and he shared stuff.

  Arabella: No kisses?

  Me: Almost. We got interrupted. Maybe we are suited to be just friends.

  Arabella: Friends to Lovers…

  I shake my head, freeing it from the thought of me and Jaxson becoming more than friends. When he held me last night, part of me wanted so badly for him to finish kissing me. My head resting in the plane of his muscular chest, taking in the smell of his cologne; it was like I belonged with him. But between Simon standing me up, and all of my past relationship fails, maybe friends is just better. Safer. Even though being close to him last night brought back all the feelings that stirred inside me that day I first laid my eyes on his eyes at the airport. Desire.

  Me: Not so sure friends to lovers will happen. Anyway, I hope you have a great day, sweetie. Chat later?

  Arabella: You bet, luv. XO

  I finish my toast, pour myself a second cup of coffee, then call the office to check and see how the morning has started. And to check on André to make sure he is handling Daniella’s first day on the job properly—managing to keep his fanboy tendencies in check.

  “Hey, boss. We miss you here. You never work from home; is everything okay?”

  “Good morning, and yes, all is well. I just need to give my brain a break after losing sleep and all over the pitch to La Boutique. Is everything going as planned with Daniella?

  “Everything is fab, boss, she’s”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“she is so damn beautiful. You two could be sisters. Seriously.”

  I chuckle. “Well, I hope she likes working with us. Did you give her the information I prepared for her about the launch of the magazine, outlining her role and responsibilities?”

  “Yep. And she seems giddy, boss. She’s super nice and asked lots of questions—all of them I was able to answer, of course. She did mention something about her husband wanting to speak with you about the launch of his new men’s underwear line. So I took the liberty of scheduling in a conference with him tomorrow morning, 10 a.m.”

  “Lovely. And thanks André. Be sure to call me if you need anything. I’ll be in tomorrow morning my usual time.”

  �
��See you tomorrow, boss.”

  I hang up, toss my phone onto the coffee table, and plunge into the couch’s soft cushion. This working from home stuff feels more like playing hooky. I think I’ll even stay in my pajamas all day. I sip on my coffee as I mentally plan the rest of my work / hooky day. A sound in the hallway outside my door catches my attention.

  It’s probably Jules and Truffles making an early return. Sometimes Truffles can be quite the boy diva, barely having enough stamina to walk around the block without me having to pick him up.

  I get up, make my way to the front door, swinging it open, fully expecting to see Jules stringing along a worn out, full-on-panting Truffles.

  But no, it’s not Jules or Truffles.

  It’s Simon. Simon stand-women-up Grant.

  Chapter 23

  Lauren

  Anger churns in my chest.

  Heat burns my cheeks.

  Yet all I can do is stand here, not sure what to say to him first. Apparently, he was leaving his apartment and evidently the small suitcase he’s toting was the noise that drew me out here.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he says, his voice low. “I’m really sorry about last night. I got stuck at the office all day. I had left in a hurry yesterday morning, leaving my phone behind. And when we got locked in a project, I was unable to break away. Obviously I couldn’t ring your cell, since I didn’t have my own. I didn’t get back home until after 2 a.m.”

  He approaches me, and hits me with those stormy-blue eyes.

  “Oh,” I say, “Well, I guess that explains why you stood me up.”

  He comes even closer, his thumb tracing my cheek. “Oh Lauren, I would never stand you up. I quite like you. It pained me not to be able to reach out to you last night. Since then, I have your cell memorized; that way in the future I can dial you from any phone.”

  I lean onto the doorframe, and fight the smirk that’s forming on my lips. “Oh really? So, what’s my number then?”