3 3 | Paris: The First Meet

[FIVE YEARS AGO]

VINCE

I was eager to get out of the office doors, the white walls and the cream marble floors stinging my eyes. So, when my childhood friend offered to take me up for some drinks, I couldn’t say no.

"Man, you have no fucking idea what you’ve just saved me from," I said as we walked past the massive line outside the club.

"Humour me." Cole ran a hand through his coffee-coloured hair. "On second thoughts, please don't. Your job is the very reason I ran from home."

"Not everyone's as lucky as you. I had no option," I huffed.

Cole shook his head, raising a brow at me. "That's where you're wrong, bro. You had a choice. It's your fault you didn't take it. You were too busy mending what your mother had broken off."

I knew damn well that Cole was right. There's always an option. But if someone was as practical as me they'd know, no matter which option one chooses, someone gets hurt.

The streets of Paris had something about them I couldn’t understand. I wanted to know why this place was called the city of love, not that I believed in such nonsense. It was to feed my curious mind.

Exchanging some small talks with the bouncer, we both walked in. The club was cosy with a small dance floor on one side and a sitting area on the other. The lights were dim, but even through it, I could make up almost every face in the room.

"You seem to know these people well," I yelled, trying to reach over the sound of the loud music.

Cole smiled at the bartenders and nodded. "This is where I landed my first job. I had low cash on me. No bungalow to crash in. Turns out the school we studied in had rich idiots like me, minus the brain and self-esteem."

"Really? I asked you to stay at my place."

"And I said no because your uncle knows my dad." I pushed my palms out in defeat, and Cole smiled. "Besides, this place needed bartenders and came with a package of free food and stay."

"Things were tough, I assume."

"I underestimated the pressure." Cole began laughing, watching me give my favourite I-warned-you nod. "Yes, you get the satisfaction of saying I told you so."

Cole pointed at the sitting area, and I followed him, looking around. Plopping down on the round couch, I exhaled a heavy sigh. The dance floor was full of drunkards dancing their butts off. Many women sitting at the bar were staring at us . . . something that wasn't new to either of us.

"Just like college, isn't it?" He laughed. "No wonder we had big egos."

“And big dicks to add to that.” My attention trailed off as my eyes paused at the blonde by the bar.

She was sitting with her friend, laughing, and ran a hand through her curved short hair that fell on her shoulders. Her red body-con dress hugged her body in all the right places. Something about her was luring me toward her. Maybe it was the way she was laughing, or perhaps the way she was ignoring all the advancements and lusty stares at her.

"Bonjour!"

A shrill voice said, making us look. Standing before us were two brunettes. The taller one wore a tight mini dress, tight especially around her breast, while the other was in a knee-length dress and seemed a little shy.

"Voulez-vous prendre un verre avec nous?" (Would you like to have a drink with us?)

I glanced at Cole, who nodded back with pleading eyes. Turning back to the girls, he said, "Pourquoi pas? Asseyez-vous." (Why not? Have a seat.)

"Êtes-vous américain?" the taller one asked. (Are you American?)

They looked barely over twenty, which if I hadn't used fake IDs myself, I wouldn't have guessed. But they surely weren't old enough.

"Non, je suis américain. Mon ami est britannique," Cole said. (No. I'm American. My friend is British.)

Cole leaned toward me and murmured, “Do you think they have a kink? Like for American men or something?”

“Have you watched Hostel?”

Cole's mouth pressed into a fine line and he gave me a judgemental glare before turning back to the girls.

"Attendez. Quel âge avez-vous les filles?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at them, to which Cole stomped on my boot. I shrieked, "What the fuck was that for?"

(Wait. How old are you girls?)

"For being an arse!" Cole whisper-shouted while the girls stared at me, uncomfortably. "Look, man, I haven't slept with anyone in months. Don't ruin that chance for me."

I rolled my eyes. "Can't you see? These are kids and I don’t do kids."

"Nous avons vingt," the same girl added, smiling. At this point, I was sure the other girl wasn’t just shy, she was bloody mute. “I’m Jessica.” (We are twenty.)

"Cole," Cole quickly added, shaking his hand with her.

“I’m Sonia,” the other girl finally said, staring at me from top to bottom as if she was planning something sinistrous. Not so shy after all. This was how the girls—the ones I usually kicked out of my house after a one-night stand—looked at me.

"Whatever." I stood up, shaking my head. “I'm out of here.”

"Why?" Cole asked, his blue eyes filling with doubt. "Fine, go! At least don't go back to your hotel. I might take one of these fine ladies there. . . or maybe two."

“Why my hotel?”

“Bigger space, Vi, bigger space. My living accommodations aren’t as luxurious as they used to be,” Cole cooed, and I mentally groaned before walking toward the bar.

I had no intention of staying anymore, yet I couldn’t stop from nearing her, the blonde who’d had all my attention since the moment I stepped into this club. My preference for blondes was known in my friends' circle and I couldn’t even deny it.

I stood behind her and watched. She was sipping the drink in her hand with her friend nowhere in sight. But she seemed to enjoy herself either way.

I knew this was the perfect opportunity to introduce myself to her.

***

JOY

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Julia’s voice pulled my attention toward her. I had been zoning out since the last twenty minutes of our conversation and when caught, I just nodded. But this time, Julia asked, “Are you, in any way, worried about the company inheritance?”

I couldn’t lie now. Julia knew me better than that. She was Dad’s assistant and giving her intuitions way was only going to prove a problem for me though.

I shook my head, raking my hand through my hair. “I’m just worried about the project. It seemed too easy. Development projects are based on trust, and Dad seemed to have hurried on his decision to work with this set of investors.”

“I tried to talk to Mr Gale, but he just seemed off. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” She sighed. “With the rising competitors, he fears staying behind. But yes, I agree with you. These investors seemed shady as fuck. I mean, who offers billions of dollars for a project this small.”

“We will not be taking any more amount than the one written in our contract.”

I could hear the enthusiasm building in my own voice, but I knew it was not real. I worried about Dad’s company and Dad, of course. But I was more worried about my dreams that were drifting away because I was too busy pleasing Dad.

“We won’t.” Julia nodded and looked at her golden-coloured wristwatch. “Shit, I’m getting late.”

“Where are you going?”

She got down from the barstool and adjusted her dress over her knees. “I have a meeting.”

“Meeting?” I frowned. I had thought all the meetings for the project were over and I could at least rest a day before I left back for New York. “Am I not supposed to accompany you?”

Julia shook her head. “It’s more of a personal . . . meeting.”

By the smile on her lips, I could understand what she meant and nodded. “Then I’ll see you back at the hotel. Have a delightful night.” I grinned.

Her cheeks turned red, and she said, “Thank you. Tomorrow, we’ll go on a tour. I know some great places.” Pressing her hand on my shoulder, she hovered up the stairs and out of the bar.

I felt a lot lighter with Julia gone. I didn’t particularly hate her presence or her efforts at pleasing me, but the fact that she reported everything back to Dad, claiming it was for my sake, disturbed me. Dad was already upset at me for sending my resumes to the publishing houses. On top of that, he was beyond pissed at my brother, Mason, for sneaking out of our home to pursue his passion as a travel journalist, which, according to Dad, was a waste of valuable time.

Seeing the glass in my hand empty, I ordered another. My muscles were already loosening and the sound of the bass was making my head throb.

"Les Ville de l'amour," a raspy voice called from behind.

I turned to glance, coming to face the brawny man with hair dark as anthracite and aluminium eyes that had me going speechless almost instantly. I didn't know an eye colour like that existed and he had the most beautiful pair I’d seen. He had a clean-shaved face, his jaw sharp and nose pointed.

He was the man with the grand entrance; I remembered. People looked at him as if he was a big shot, maybe because of his God-like looks. I couldn't help but laugh at them at that time, but now, seeing him up this close, I could get what all the fuss was about.

"Beg your pardon?" For the first time, I was embarrassed at my negligence in brushing my lingual skills.

"The city of love,” He said. What brings you here to this big city alone?"

His British accent was very appealing, but it also reminded me of someone who used to be very close to me . . . someone who’d only given me painful memories to bear. I shook my head, trying not to let the befoul thoughts of my past ruin my mood.

"Who says I'm alone?" I asked, yelling back at him, my voice barely audible over the booming sound of the bass.

"I saw your friend leave a few minutes ago." He smirked, his tone confident.

"Quite observant, aren't you?" I mocked, suspiciously raising a brow at him before gulping the remaining drink and slamming the empty glass on the bar. I was way too drunk to be warming up to a hot stranger like him. "I better get going."

I was ready to leave, and handed my credit card to the bartender. The loud music with the insane beat hadn't bothered me all this time as much as this man’s presence was. He was insanely handsome, not to mention those silvery eyes and the mischievous smirk on his lips. He even had perfect, kissable lips.

"Well, I'm alone too. My friend got a tad busy." He shot an embarrassing glance, pointing at the sitting area.

I twisted my head toward a guy by the corner lounge, laughing and charming his way with two girls. Even his friend was handsome, like some sort of movie actor. Both of them. Who on earth were these people?

"Gross,” I snorted. “I don’t think you want anything less than what he does . . ." I smacked myself in the back of my mind, realising I was yet again talking to myself.

Since childhood, I'd had this weird habit of speaking to myself whenever I was excited, sad or anxious, which she was all the time. Some people got annoyed, and some even thought that it was creepy, but . . . who the fuck cared?

I sighed. "Well, you can be a trafficker, a kidnapper," I pouted, "or a murderer."

His jaw twitching and eyes widening and I couldn’t help but hold my laughter that was almost at the tip of my throat.

"Bollocks, I need to add these adjectives to my vocabulary too.” He laughed it off. “You better run for the hills right now, miss."

Everything about him was perfect—his aura and presence along with his accent, his physique that looked as if he were straight out of the television commercial, and his grey eyes that were beyond compare. All of this made him look unreal. Even his lips were pink and firm. I couldn’t stop imagining what his lips would feel against mine.

Am I that drunk? I asked myself. But, hey, a girl can fantasise, right?

But I reminded myself: men like him only looked good from a distance.

"Well. You are way too handsome to be real."

He smirked. "Does it bother you?"

It bothered me in ways I couldn’t explain and he had no idea to what extent. I didn't intend to stay. I had to run before it was too late but my mind had eventually stopped working and before I knew it, I voiced, "Well, if you're not a kidnapper and since I am leaving in two days, I guess I can stay."

"So what's your name?"

"I don't give my name to strangers." It was definitely the alcohol talking, not me.

"Is that so?" I bobbed my head to which he puckered his face. "Then let's go past the stage of strangers."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I've got a better idea. Let's remain strangers and see where the night takes us."

He remained quiet for a while, furrowing his brows while his gaze shuffled between me and his friend sitting by the lounges. Then he finally added, "It is fine by me."

"Then pick a name. Any name."

"Vince," he said as quickly as the words left my mouth.

"Vince . . .” I repeated after him. I couldn’t tell if it was his real name or not, but it sounded melodious on my lips. I gulped. “That's a nice name. I'm Joy."

"Your name suits you."

"It's the emotion I've been feeling today."

"I believe that."

“You do?” I raised a brow at which he smiled.

“It’s just the smile you’re giving.”

“What about it?”

There was a change in his expressions, and his gaze softened toward me. He leaned into my ears, my entire body stiffening with it. He whispered, “Well, that brought me here . . . to you.”