The private jet touched down on the tarmac in Paris as smoothly as a whisper. Jade glanced out the window, her eyes widening at the sight of the city stretching out in the distance. Even though she had just spent hours in the air, there was something magical about the moment the wheels hit French soil. Paris, she thought, almost unable to believe she was actually here.
As the cabin door opened, the faint chill of the Parisian morning air drifted in, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked pavement. Enzo was the first to step out, his polished black boots hitting the steps with effortless grace, followed by Thiago, who stretched lazily like they’d just finished a road trip instead of a luxury flight. Milan descended last, impeccably composed as always, his sharp navy suit still as crisp as when they’d boarded.
Jade followed behind them, clutching her small bag tightly. The men didn’t say much—business was clearly on their minds—but as they reached the black town car waiting on the tarmac, Milan turned to her briefly.
“You’ll be staying at the hotel we booked for you,” he said, his tone cool and authoritative. “The driver will take you there.”
“While we handle the meeting,” Enzo added, smirking slightly as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, “try not to get lost.”
“Or spend all our money shopping,” Thiago chimed in, shooting her a playful wink before climbing into the car.
Jade rolled her eyes as she watched them settle into the vehicle. “I’ll do my best not to cause international chaos,” she muttered under her breath, earning an amused glance from Milan before he stepped inside.
The car pulled away, leaving her on the curb with another driver who gestured toward a sleek black car waiting just for her. “Mademoiselle Nguyen, to your hotel?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, sliding into the back seat.
The hotel they’d booked was nothing short of luxurious. Jade stepped into the marble-floored lobby with its gilded accents and crystal chandeliers, feeling painfully out of place as she approached the reception desk. A smiling concierge handed her a key card with the ease of someone used to high-profile guests.
“Your room is ready, mademoiselle. Top floor, suite 1201. Welcome to Paris.”
The elevator ride up felt surreal, the hum of its quiet motion allowing her a moment to process everything. When the doors opened, Jade stepped into a sprawling suite that made her jaw drop. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, its wrought iron structure shimmering in the afternoon light. The living space boasted plush sofas, a dining table, and soft cream-colored decor accented with gold.
“Wow,” Jade breathed, setting her bag on a side table. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. I could live here forever.
But after a few minutes of staring out the window, Jade realized something—she had the whole afternoon to herself. The men were off at their meeting, and Paris was right there, waiting to be explored.
With newfound excitement, she grabbed her smaller purse and headed to the suite’s bedroom to freshen up. She picked out an outfit she’d been saving for a special occasion: a fitted cream turtleneck sweater that hugged her figure comfortably, paired with high-waisted black wide-leg trousers that gave her a sophisticated silhouette. She added a chic beige trench coat over the ensemble, its belt cinched at the waist to highlight her shape. Her black leather ankle boots with a slight heel completed the look.
She pulled her hair into a low, elegant bun and dabbed on a touch of makeup—just enough to feel polished. She admired herself briefly in the mirror. “Not bad, Jade. Not bad.”
Slipping her phone and wallet into her purse, she headed out, determined to take in as much of the city as possible.
Paris was everything she imagined and more.
Jade wandered through cobblestone streets lined with quaint cafés, bakeries, and boutiques. She bought a croissant from a small boulangerie, savoring its buttery, flaky layers as she walked. She strolled along the Seine, where couples lingered on bridges and artists sketched portraits on the riverbanks.
When she stumbled upon a small antique shop tucked between two larger stores, curiosity got the best of her. Inside, she browsed through trinkets and vintage postcards, her fingers brushing over delicate jewelry boxes and faded photographs.
By the time the sun started to dip low on the horizon, painting the sky in pink and gold, Jade had managed to take dozens of photos and buy a small keychain shaped like the Eiffel Tower—a souvenir she felt was obligatory.
Content but tired, she headed back to the hotel, feeling lighter than she had in days.
As soon as Jade re-entered the suite, she kicked off her boots and flopped onto the large, plush sofa in the living room.
“This has been the best day,” she sighed, stretching out her arms and closing her eyes.
The sound of the suite door opening startled her. She sat up quickly, her heart leaping into her throat as Milan, Enzo, and Thiago walked into the room. All three men looked sharp but slightly less composed than before, as if the meeting had been both successful and exhausting.
“Wait—you’re back already?” Jade asked, looking between them.
Milan raised an eyebrow, loosening his tie as he dropped onto one of the armchairs. “We didn’t think you’d miss us, Jade.”
“I thought you had your own rooms,” Jade blurted out, panic creeping into her voice.
Thiago flopped onto the sofa across from her, grinning. “We do. This is our room. You’re sharing it with us.”
Jade’s jaw dropped. “What?!”
Enzo smirked as he set his phone down on the table and leaned against the arm of the sofa. “You didn’t think we’d leave you completely unsupervised, did you?”
“You—You can’t be serious,” she stammered, her cheeks burning.
Milan glanced at her, his lips curving slightly. “Relax, Jade. You’ll survive.”
She stared at them, completely flustered as the realization set in. “I… I can’t believe this.”
Thiago kicked his feet up onto the table, looking completely at ease. “Better get comfortable. We’re all here for the night.”
Jade let out a soft groan, slumping back into the couch. Sharing a suite with them? This job was going to be the death of her.