Paris Love Match

Chapter 3





For the first time in weeks, Sidney Roux felt hopeful as she threaded her way through the early morning crowd and crossed the Seine. Her stomach growled at the scent of freshly baked bread drifting from a corner café, and she wanted to stop, but she didn’t dare be late for her interview.

An interview. Her muscles tingled with adrenaline at the thought. She’d finally done it, landed an interview at a fashion house.

She tucked her portfolio tightly under her arm. She had no shortage of designs to show off. Paris had proved to be a fire hose of inspiration. She had searched every alleyway for handmade clothes in hole-in-the-wall shops. She’d studied the vintage pieces she’d discovered at flea markets. She toured department stores so often she could name every single designer they stocked. It had done wonders for her creativity, and now was her chance to shine.

The polished black and white facade of the fashion house loomed. She adjusted her jacket and smoothed the wrinkles out of a skirt of her own design. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to her future.

A fashionably dressed girl raised her eyebrows expectantly at her.

“Sidney Roux. I have an interview. Monsieur Charbonneau, the Creative Director.”

The girl consulted a calendar. “Roux. Yes, right. I’ll page him. You can wait over there.”

Sidney took a seat but her adrenaline kept her sat bolt upright and smiling. It was so hard to take everything in. It was only five weeks since she’d run away from her crumbling country, but it seemed like forever. She missed her friends and family, of course, but not the secret police. She didn’t miss her miserable rat of a boyfriend—who’d turned out to be very married—either.

The receptionist led her to a conference room and the Creative Director arrived. Sidney had to force herself not to wrinkle her nose at the man’s exuberantly applied cologne. After a moment’s small talk, he asked for her portfolio. Her heart thumped in her throat as she handed it over.

He flipped through the pages and smiled, actually smiled.

He tapped a drawing with his fingers. “This tightly-structured suit jacket is very cutting edge.” He flipped another page. “And these fabrics. Very eclectic mix. Very nice.”

She dared to relax a fraction and images of Fashion Week tumbled into her mind. She saw herself on the runway, being named the next big thing by Vogue, and her collections gracing the covers of magazines all over the world. She felt her skin tingle with excitement.

The man flipped another page to what she was most proud of, her boudoir collection. The lingerie was in the most pastel colors, the designs would flatter any woman’s body type, and she had spent every penny she could afford on the finest silks. They were gorgeous to look at, and made her feel like a goddess when they slid across her skin. When a photographer friend of hers had offered to photograph her in them, she had jumped at the chance.

The man stopped flipping and started studying. She held her breath. Surely he would like them?

He looked up at her and back to the pictures. What was wrong? He looked back up at her, and his eyes wandered down her suit.

Her skin prickled and she flushed hot. Modeling them herself had been a mistake.

The man closed the portfolio. “Perfectly delightful. Exquisite. In fact, just what I was looking for.”

Sidney nodded, her heart pounding so hard she didn’t dare speak.

The man smiled. “I think you may have a great career ahead of you, mademoiselle, if you are prepared to work for it. Perhaps we should discuss this in a more … agreeable setting. If you are available this evening?”

Sidney swallowed. “Can’t we discuss it now?”

He gave a broad, benign smile, and placed one hand delicately on her knee. “I was thinking over a glass of Bordeaux, in private, at my place, seven-thirty? This fabric looks sensational. I would love to feel it … on you.”

She moved her knee away from his hand. “I can’t. I could bring samples tomorrow and—”

He leaned forward and placed both hands on her knees. “I can launch your career. You do want that, don’t you?”

She stood up and he followed, slipping his arms around her waist. She rammed her knee into his groin and he folded over. He was still groaning on the floor as she slammed the door and stormed out of the building.

She stepped out into the early morning air, wrapped her jacket around herself, and ground her teeth. The bastard. What was it with men that made them think they had the right to drag her to their beds? Smarmy, blackmailing jerk. And that had been her big chance. Her only chance. Bastard.

She blew out a long breath and walked toward the Seine. The morning air took the edge from the emotions that fizzed in her blood.

Raindrops splashed on the sidewalk as she rounded a corner and faced Notre Dame cathedral. The square in front was the usual heaving mass of tourists and trinket sellers. She spotted a taxi cruising for passengers. She had nine euros left in her pocket, maybe enough for a ride, and to keep her outfit dry. She worked her way through the crowd as she waved at the driver.

On the opposite side of the road she noticed a tall, angular guy with tightly cropped dark hair. His clothes had the square, shapeless fit that only discount chains could achieve and, without looking, she already knew the hem of his jeans would be a half-inch too short.

He placed his hand on the taxi’s door handle.

Damn it, another man was going to ruin her day. “No!” she shouted as she dived for the taxi.