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“Come out if you’d like. We can share dinner and talk about Paris.”
“I will.”
Laurence left, giving me the privacy I needed to take in all that was laid before me.
Oh, Paul…you and your gifts.
Seems like this is Paul’s final gift goodbye.
Tomas: We moved up the interns meet and greet. Our recent collaborator, Hayden Madsen, will be here today. Allons y!
A rush of adrenaline and excitement came over me as I read his message. Hayden Madsen was the most sought-after designer of the moment. I was wild about his bodycon dresses that fit like a glove, making all women look sexy, feminine, and beautiful. And I already couldn’t wait to see where Tomas’s direction would cross in Givenchy’s sleek sophistication and elegance. Their premiere show was coming up and all of fashion news was keen about it. However, I had an appointment for my new place.
I turned to Laurence and shared Tomas’s message. “Do you think the landlord will meet me this evening?”
“No, but don’t you worry. I’ll drop you off at Givenchy and keep your appointment.” I hugged him and he laughed, patting my back. “See? A ‘chaperone’ isn’t so bad after all.”
“You’re right. We’re friends.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail clip.
“We are,” Laurence affirmed and winked at me. He took my blazer and closed the trunk of the car while I texted Tomas.
Nadia: On my way
I hesitated at the door and gazed over the tarmac, thinking of Paul taking my hand when we first arrived in Paris. He was larger than life. Gorgeous. Formidable. Possessive. He’d been so attentive and passionate. I’d fallen so madly in love with him. How could I not?
A sharp pain pierced my chest as fear and utter loss spun inside me. He filled so much of my life that every moment without him felt like something was missing.
“Nadia, we should go,” Laurence said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nodded and climbed inside the car.
“How’s your French coming along?” Laurence asked in an upbeat tone.
“Comme ci, comme ca. I do know the phrase, je ne comprehends pas. I don’t understand.”
“That’s one you’ll definitely use,” Laurence joked, and I smiled. He rattled off a few more common French phrases as we drove into Paris, the city of love and beauty. I was instantly enraptured by the view. There were a myriad of people moving past the historic monuments, churches, modern shops, crowded cafés, and bars. The parks were filled with groups of tourists and locals relaxing under a blanket of summer sun.
Laurence pulled up in front of Givenchy, and I gazed over at the sign emblazoned along the intricately twisted wrought iron, and my pulse quickened. I’m at Givenchy in Paris!
“My phone number is on the list in your phone. You can text me anytime, and I’ll come for you. Now go blow them away.”
“Thank you, Laurence.” I squared my shoulders and walked inside the building. There, I was immediately approached by a woman with a blunt blonde bob and a wide grin.
“Nadia?”
“Yes.” I took her outstretched hand.
“I’m Josephine, Tomas’s assistant and supervisor of the internship. Tomas assured me you’d come right here when you arrived.” Her French accent was heavy.
I grinned. “There is nothing more I want to do right now than stay busy.”
She smiled. “Good. You’ll find here things come together fast, and to be included, you must be ready at all times. Most of your fellow interns are here.” She gave me a fob pass with my name on it. “Most doors are open during work hours; your key is for early access…we are giving you interns a chance to experience everything: design, styling, marketing, PR, even sustainability. We want you to immerse yourself in all that Givenchy delivers.”
“Thank you, Josephine.”
We walked into the fashion studio I recognized from my first visit. Tomas was standing at the front with a small group around him. He was impeccably dressed in a gray tailored suit, and he had removed his facial hair, which made him look younger. Hayden stood almost his opposite in a black leather shirt and pants that were so tight, they left nothing to the imagination—not that I was imagining anything. His blue-eyed gaze suddenly met mine with a laser intensity that had me turning away.
“Don’t look at him. He hates stares,” a rich French voice whispered next to me. I glimpsed at the lanky male in a stylish patchwork jumpsuit.
