Chapter 128 Leblanc & Associates
Mia’s POV
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Dinner was at a Michelin–starred restaurant overlooking the Eiffel Tower, the kind of place where the menu didn’t list prices and the wine list was thicker than most novels. Morton was already seated when we arrived, rising with impeccable manners as. we approached.
“Scarlett. Mia.” He nodded to each of us in turn, pulling out my clir first with old–world gallantry. “You both look lovely.”
Scarlett didn’t say anything. That’s very unscarlett of her. I felt a little strange.
Morton either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it, signaling for the sommelier before turning to me. “How was the museum this morning? Scarlett mentioned a private viewing.”
“It was amazing,” I said sincerely.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He nodded. “And your meeting with Leblanc is tomorrow?”
“Yes, at ten.” I said..
“Bernard Leblanc has a reputation for innovation,” Morton agreed
The conversation flowed easily enough through the extravagant meal. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was strained between Scarlett and Morton. When Morton excused himself to take a business call between the main course and dessert, I raised an eyebrow at Scarlett.
“Everything okay with you two?” I asked quietly.
She focused intently on her water glass, avoiding my gaze. “Fine. Why?”
“Because you’re being weird. And Morton looks like someone stole his favorite spreadsheet.”
A small laugh escaped her, but it lacked her usual carefree quality. That obvious, huh?”
“To me, yes. What’s going on?”
She sighed, finally meeting my eyes. “We had a… conversation last night. About the terms of our arrangement.”
My eyebrows rose of their own accord. “Terms? Like… the business side?”
“No. The…” she lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure we weren’t overheard, “personal side.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” She twisted her napkin. “He wants… more. And I’m not sure if I… if we…”
“If that’s what you signed up for,” I finished for her.
She nodded, looking relieved that I understood. “Exactly. This was supposed to be a business arrangement with benefits, you know? Convenient, mutually advantageous. But now there are… feelings involved. At least on his side.”
“And on your side?” I prompted gently.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was so small I almost didn’t recognize it. “I like him. More than I expected to. He’s not just some boring finance guy–he’s thoughtful and funny in this dry way, and he actually listens when I talk. But…”
“But feelings complicate things,” I supplied.
I know that phrase because Kyle once said so. How ironic.
“Exactly.” She exhaled heavily. “I didn’t go into this looking for love, Mia. I’m not built for it.”
“Says who?”
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“Says my extensive dating history?” she countered. “I’ve never made it past the three–month mark with anyone. I get bored, or they get clingy, or both.”
“This is different,” I pointed out. “You’re literally married to the guy.”
“On paper, sure. But we both knew what this was.” She chewed her lip, “There’s so much at stake–the business connections, the family dynamics. If we try for something real and it implodes…
“It could get messy,” I acknowledged. “But what if it doesn’t implode? What if it’s actually the real thing?”
She looked genuinely alarmed at the prospect. “That might be ever scarier.”
Morton returned before I could respond, impeccably composed as always. “Apologies for the interruption. Shall we order dessert?”
The tension lingered through dessert–a architectural marvel of chocolate and gold leaf that seemed almost too beautiful to eat –but Morton and Scarlett maintained their carefully polite facades.
By the time we returned to the suite, I excused myself quickly, leaving Scarlett and Morton to navigate their complicated new terrain without an audience.
Love seems to be a test for everyone. Even Scarlett is no exception
In the sanctuary of my room, I changed into comfortable pajamas and settled onto the window seat, looking out at the Paris _skyline. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, its hourly light show casting a magical glow over the city.
My phone buzzed with a text from Thomas:
Sorry to miss dinner. How was your day? Ready for tomorrow’s meeting?
I smiled at his thoughtfulness, typing back:
Day was good. Museum in morning, research all afternoon. Nervous but excited for tomorrow.
His response came quickly:
You’ll impress them. Let me know if you need anything before the meeting.
Thanks, Thomas. Goodnight.
Setting my phone aside, I pulled out my laptop again, drawn back to that house in the 16th arrondissement. Something about it had captured my imagination, sparked a professional curiosity I hadn’t felt in too long.
I scrolled through the images again, studying the elegant lines and innovative use of space. The description mentioned that it had been a collaboration between Bernard Leblanc himself and an unnamed client with very specific ideas about what a home
should be.
If that was the quality of work they did with involved clients, I could only imagine what they might do with full creative freedom. Even more reason to make a good impression tomorrow.
I closed my laptop and moved to the bed, my body craving rest ever as my mind continued to whirl with architectural possibilities and personal complications. The twins were quieter now, perhaps sensing my need for sleep.
“Big day tomorrow,” I murmured to them, rubbing small circles over my bump. “Time to rest up.”
As I drifted toward sleep, my last conscious thought was a strange mix of determination and hope–for my career, for my sons, for the future I was starting to envision more clearly with each passing day.
Morning arrived with a flurry of activity. Scarlett, apparently having resolved or at least temporarily shelved her emotional turmoil, was in full efficiency mode, ensuring I had everything I needed for the meeting.
“Portfolio?” she asked, pacing the living area while I finished my breakfast.
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Chapter 128 Leblanc & Associates
“On my tablet,” I confirmed, taking another bite of croissant.
“Business cards?”
“In my purse.”
“Outfit?”
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“Already laid out.” The navy shift dress was professional but comfortable, with a subtle pattern that flattered my changing shape without emphasizing it.
“Water bottle?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, mom.”
“Someone has to make sure you stay hydrated,” she replied primly “Those twins are stealing all your brain cells.”
“Pregnancy brain is a myth,” I protested, though I had indeed forgotten my room key twice this week alone.
“Mmm–hmm.” Her skepticism was palpable. “Henri will drive you to the meeting and wait to bring you back. I’ve scheduled a light lunch here afterward, and then we can go exploring if you’re up for it.”
“That sounds perfect.” I checked my watch—still almost two hours until the meeting. “You’re really on top of things this morning.”
A shadow passed over her face briefly. “Just want to make sure everything goes smoothly for you.”
“And you’re using excessive planning to avoid thinking about your conversation with Morton?” I guessed.
She sighed, dropping onto the sofa beside me. “Maybe. Is it working?”
“Not really.” I squeezed her hand. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re overthinking this. Morton is a good guy. And he clearly cares about you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve never been good at… reciprocating. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“You might surprise yourself,” I suggested. “People can change when the right person comes along.”
“Now you sound like my mother,” she groaned, but there was a hint of a smile beneath the complaint.
I finished my breakfast and went to get ready, the nervous anticipation about the meeting finally kicking in properly. By the time Henri arrived to drive me, I’d changed outfits twice before returning to my original choice, reorganized my portfolio three times, and practiced my introduction in the mirror until I was sick of the sound of my own voice.
“You look perfect,” Scarlett assured me, adjusting my necklace slightly. “Professional, creative, confident. They’re going to love you.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I murmured, grabbing my purse and tablet.
The drive to Leblanc & Associates‘ offices took about twenty minutes, giving me time to center myself and review my notes one last time. The firm was housed in a beautifully restored 19th–century building in the 8th arrondissement, its classic Haussmannian exterior concealing what I knew from photos to be a thoroughly modern interior.
Henri pulled up to the elegant entrance precisely at 9:45. “Good luck, Madame,” he said warmly as he open my door. “I will wait here for you.”
“Thank you, Henri.” I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I approached the entrance.
The lobby was a study in contrasts–the original architectural details preserved and highlighted against sleek, contemporary furnishings. A receptionist greeted me with a warm smile.
“Madame Williams? Monsieur Leblanc is expecting you. Please, this way.”
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Chapter 129 Happy foot
