Filthy Beautiful Forever(Filthy Beautiful Lies, #4)

When I emerge from the bathroom with a white towel secured around my hips, Mia is sitting in the center of the bed with a map of Paris unfolded in front of her.

“Plotting out your route?” I ask, grabbing my suitcase.

She looks up, sees my undressed state, and her eyes widen in surprise. “Uh-huh,” she mumbles.

“Sorry, I’ll get dressed in the bathroom, I just need to grab my clothes.”

After I’m changed, we head out into the sunlight, Mia snapping photos of every cathedral and fountain with her camera phone, and talking excitedly about how cute the quaint cobblestone streets and cafes are. I’m at ease in her presence, and I’m able to just relax before the big meeting tonight.

We stop at a patisserie, and I buy her a coffee and a chocolate croissant, ordering in French, something I’ve done a million times before, but the way Mia’s raises both eyebrows, you’d think I’d just flown to the moon.

“Why didn’t I take French in school?” she says. “It sounds so elegant.”

Then she sinks her teeth into the flaky pastry crust and moans as she chews. There’s something Tatianna would never do.

“Dear God, taste this!” she says shoving the pastry toward me.

I chuckle, but decide to humor her, biting into the other side of the treat. “Damn, that is good.”

After our little outing, we don’t have much time before dinner, so we head back to the hotel. We change into our eveningwear, and when Mia emerges from the bathroom, I almost swallow my damn tongue.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

She’s in a strapless black gown that falls all the way to the floor. The bottom half is loose and swishy, but the top is form fitting and the modest peek of cleavage makes me want to see more.

“That’s fine,” I bark out. I clench my jaw and fight the urge to adjust myself.

She frowns and runs her hand over the fabric. “I could change…”

I stand in front of her and place my hands on her bare shoulders. “You look beautiful,” I say, my tone softening. “Don’t change. You’re perfect.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes latched onto mine. “You look amazing too.”

Without my consent, my thumb begins skittering back and forth along her skin, rubbing little circles along her collarbone. “You’re so soft.”

She offers me a small smile. “I’m kind of obsessed with body lotion.”

I smile down at her. “Are you ready for tonight? You remember everything I told you about Pierre and his wife?”

She nods. “Of course. It’s going to go great, don’t worry, Coll.”

She grabs her handbag and we head toward the elevator. All I want to do is cop a feel and attack her in the hotel suite, but I’m trying to be on my best behavior. I’m technically still with Tatianna and I won’t betray that. I’m not a cheater, and I wouldn’t want to start a relationship with Mia that way anyway. The look in her eyes tells me that if I did make a move, she wouldn’t stop me. That information is dangerous.

We arrive at the restaurant early, so I guide Mia toward the bar. “Would you like to grab a drink first?”

“Sure,” she says, lifting up on her toes to slide onto the bar stool gracefully.

She’s so easy going and up for anything, it calms me, even though I’m about to negotiate a thirty million dollar deal with a man whose first language isn’t English.

When I’d discovered her packing up her suitcase two days ago, ready to flee for home, something inside me snapped. I knew I couldn’t let her go. I realized in that moment that if I lost Mia again, I lost my connection to the past. And I don’t want that. I’ve barely been living these past few years. Sure, I’ve been going through the motions, but there’s been no real joy in it. Sitting here with her, watching her swirl the ruby-colored wine in her glass, I know I’ve made the right call bringing her with me.

We enjoy a glass of wine together, Mia’s eyes floating over the bar and restaurant.

“Collins?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“Will you help me order if the menu is in French?”

“Of course,” I say, taking her hand.

She smiles up at me. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

I smile, despite my nerves. On the outside no one would know I’m tense and anxious. I always get this way before a big deal, but my colleagues have always applauded my ability to remain calm and collected. Only Mia knows me too well. She sees straight through me, to the man inside and somehow she knows tonight is important to me.

We finish our wine and head back to the hostess stand. Pierre has just arrived. I recognize him from the headshot on his company’s website.

“It’s show time, baby,” I say to Mia, taking her hand and guiding her to the front of the restaurant.

“Monsieur Ducharme,” I say, stopping directly in front of him.

“Ah, Collins Drake,” he says, his voice deep and heavily accented. “Please call me Pierre.”

We shake hands, our grips firm and our eyes centered on each other’s. There are a million nuisances that pass between us at the seemingly innocuous handshake. His eyes implore mine, as if to inquire if I’m as good as he’s heard. And I give an imperceptible nod, as if to say fuck yeah I am.

We release hands, and Mia surprises me by lifting up on her toes and air kissing each of Pierre’s cheeks, as is the French custom.

“Pierre, I’m Mia. Collins has told me many wonderful things about the success of your company. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

He looks down at Mia, and his mouth curls into a grin. “Mia, c’est tres jolie. Beautiful name,” he says. He introduces us to Adele and Mia treats her to the same greeting and compliments her dress. They are soon chatting happily as the hostess leads us further into the restaurant and seats us at a table in the back.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

There’s a moment of stillness, as a quiet hesitation falls over our group. The four of us are relative strangers. As I regroup and gather my thoughts, Mia, the sweet and thoughtful girl that she is, pays a compliment to their beautiful home country. This seems to break the ice. I listen as Mia asks thoughtful questions about art, history, local customs and the French parliament. She is hungry for knowledge and a great conversationalist. Pierre leans forward on his elbows, immediately riveted with this beautiful, intelligent woman. Adele and I exchange polite smiles, and I ask about her work. She teaches at the university-finance. I smile, knowing her and Mia will also have much to discuss when Pierre and I retreat to the lounge with a cigar later to talk business.

Throughout dinner Mia continues to impress me. Not only is she stunning in that floor-length dress, but she’s professional, polished, excellent at making small talk, and sets everyone at ease. It’s very unlike taking Tatianna to events like this. Being in the presence of a supermodel makes everyone uncomfortable-from the women wanting to drive a pitchfork through her skinny body to the men eye-fucking her all night. It was always a headache. This is refreshing and nice.

Polishing off the last bite of my meal, I realize this has been fun. In a way that most business dinners are not. We argued over the absurd trends in American music and laughed at the silly childhood stories Mia told. The wine flowed easily throughout dinner, though I limited myself to two glasses so I’m clear-headed, and I noticed Mia doing the same. Politely accepting each glass Pierre offered her, but taking small sips of water in between.

I don’t know what will happen tonight when we’re alone and slightly tipsy from the wine. All I know is that I want to be alone with her. I can’t help my eyes watching her mouth when she speaks, or from falling down to the front of her dress where her breasts are nestled so enticingly. There is only one thing standing in the way of me and Mia heading back to our hotel-the business I need to settle with Pierre.

“Shall we.” I meet his eyes and gesture toward the back rooms.

He nods. “Yes, let’s.”

I lean down and my lips brush past Mia’s cheek. “You are amazing,” I whisper. “Will you be okay?”

She glances up at me, playfully. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

I laugh, despite myself. Confidence surges through me and I give a tight nod.

As I lead Pierre away to the lounge, I can feel Mia’s eyes on me the entire time, sending warm darts of pleasure zipping through me.