“Real funny.”
He ran his teeth against her clit, and she gasped. Then he flattened his tongue against the swollen nub, starting a slow, intense roll that brought her skyrocketing to climax.
All she could do was grip his shoulders and scream. The pleasure ballooned and exploded in hot, unrelenting waves that coated her from head to toe and made her temporarily blind. Everything was bright white behind her eyelids, followed by fireworks and heat, and then the sticky sensation of ahhhhh.
When she could finally open her eyes, Amad had his chin propped on her inner thigh, wearing a smirk like he held all the secrets in the world.
10
The next day, Vanessa buzzed with anticipation and purpose from the second she woke up. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was related to that earth-shattering orgasm from the day before. Or maybe she was just jazzed about finally being involved with the fashion business.
Their plan was to attend a fashion show and then linger at the after-party to see which contacts Amad could tease out. Vanessa was more than happy to tag along—just witnessing rea
l Parisian fashion in action was thrilling all on its own—but she also wanted to see how much she could help.
Calla had made it clear that Vanessa could have a place in the company, and Vanessa wanted to prove that she could carve it out on her own. She was determined to make something happen today, even if it was just a small step in the right direction. All those years of high-end boutique management would be put to good use here in Paris, she was sure of it.
The fashion show itself came and went in a gorgeous blur. Vanessa tried to take pictures, but they mostly came out crappy due to the low lighting and the breakneck speed of the models. She could tell that Amad wasn’t totally invested—not the way she was, at least—and checked his phone way too often. But it was fine—clothes weren’t his thing, no matter how much he liked to play dress up on her.
It was the after-party where she could really tell that Amad was out of his element. He was a good negotiator and smooth as all get out. But he wanted to make a deal now. He had an energy that demanded results, and Vanessa wasn’t sure how to tell him to lay off.
She decided to nurse a cranberry juice at the bar while he hunted contacts. The fashion world demanded a certain finesse. It was primarily egos and divas, which meant talking things out and using tons of flattery. Amad was good at flattering her, but did he know how much he’d need to flatter his future business partners?
She got out her phone as ideas started coming to her; “Consulting Points,” she titled the note, jotting down all the things that cropped up as she thought back on her buying days for the boutique. All the things she’d overheard, the anecdotes. This would help Amad; it would help the business. He’d have to be open to that.
After a while, a lady sat down next to Vanessa. She glanced over, recognizing the newcomer from the fashion show. She offered a smile. The blonde had gray at the temples and a smart, elegant bun pulled tight against her head. A plaid dress coat hung off her shoulders, and high-waisted dress pants were complemented with a very skinny belt.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Vanessa tried in stilted French. The lady set her bag down, pausing before responding in English.
“I did. And I could tell you did too.”
Vanessa blushed. “I’m a freak for fashion, what can I say?”
The lady sent her a knowing smile as she flagged down a bartender. “What are you drinking? I’ll have the same.” The soft accents of her vowel told Vanessa that English wasn’t her first language
“Oh, this is just cranberry juice.” She gestured at her belly, which still betrayed nothing. “I’m pregnant, actually.”
“Ah!” The lady’s eyes lit up. “How delightful. Congratulations. Are you excited?”
“Very,” Vanessa admitted, feeling the truth of her words down to her bones. “It’s early yet, so there’s a lot more to go. But my husband and I are thrilled.”
“Children are a joy,” the lady said, reaching over to pat Vanessa’s hand. “And sometimes a curse. But mostly a joy.”
Vanessa laughed. “Well, in the fashion world, they seem like more of a curse. There are no high-end maternity lines. At least none that I’ve seen.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “In this, you’re correct. What is an expectant mother to do?”
“Wear a bedsheet, I suppose,” Vanessa cracked.
“Back in my day, when my children were younger, even less attention was paid to expectant women.” The woman sighed, suddenly full of melancholy. The bartender arrived, and she placed her order for a vodka cranberry.
“We will both be drinking cranberry, at least,” the lady said with a twinkle in her eye. “What is your name?”
“I’m Vanessa. And you?”
“Marie.” The way she pronounced her name almost sounded French, but it had a distinct lilt. “I’m Swiss. But I come here religiously for the fashion events.”
“This is my first time,” Vanessa admitted, sipping on her juice. “And it’s so much more amazing than I could have imagined. I’m just hesitant to buy anything because I know it won’t fit in a month.”