We saidgoodbye under the shimmer of the Eiffel Tower.
She didn’t make it something bigger than it needed to be. Neither did I.
Just a warm smile, a thank-you-for-tonight kind of look, and then I walked her back to her hotel. When we turned the corner, I realized hers was just across from mine. But I didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to know.
She slipped inside with a wave and a, “Good night, 1A.”
And that was the end of it.
I turned toward my own hotel, my hands in my coat pockets. I pulled out my phone and the napkin the bartender had given me earlier.
You still up?
I typed, stared at it, then deleted it. Almost
I don’t know why I did that. She was a good-looking woman, she had a great sense of humor, and she wanted me. Well, she wanted both of us, but I know that if I showed up alone, it wasn’t going to be a problem.
Who am I kidding?
I know why I didn’t text her.
When I finally got to my room, I took a quick shower.
It was meant to be functional, just enough to rinse off the city and the night. But it didn’t work the way I wanted. Because while the water hit my back and steam fogged the glass, she hit me harder.
The way she laughed, the way she leaned into her wine glass when she asked questions, as if she already knew the answers. Her ocean blue eyes were sharp and soft all at once. That damn uniform didn’t do her body justice at all.
Do you want me to invite you to my bed, Sam? I'm flattered, but I don't sleep with my passengers.
Fuck. I was getting hard, just remembering her. I changed the water to cold, even though that barely helped.
I don’t want to think about her like that.
I don’t know why, but she doesn’t seem like thetype of woman you sleep with and forget about. For a one night stand, I could just text the bartender, have some fun, and go to bed.
I got out of the shower, threw on joggers, checked a few emails, and told myself to be productive. The Hayes board wanted updates on the transition timeline. Max had sent over a polite, “When you’re ready, I’d like to introduce you to a few key folks in Paris. No rush.”
No rush. Right.
I tossed the phone on the nightstand, stared at the ceiling for a while, and finally let sleep win.
It was barely 6 a.m., and I was wide awake.
I rarely slept past six anyway, and this bed, while wrapped in overpriced sheets and comfy pillows, wasn’t mine.
I laced up my sneakers and headed downstairs to the gym. No music. Just the hum of treadmills, the clink of weights, and my own thoughts looping on a track of their own. I picked up my pace and ran faster than usual.
I needed this.
By the time I got back to the room, I was still dripping in sweat, but my mind was clearer.
When I stepped out of the shower, my phone waslighting up with emails and missed alerts. Mostly junk, one flagged as High Priority, from Harper. I pressed call instead of replying. “Good morning, Theodore.” She picked up after the first ring.
“Good morning, what’s going on?”
“Wanted to run through your day,” I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel through my hair. “Okay, hit me.”
“You’ve got lunch at Maison with Max Hayes and one of the senior VPs. He wants it to be casual, a small table, outdoor seating, no pitch deck.”
