The Call Boy I Met in Paris — Episode 30
Justin’s first full morning at Swift Architecture began with a crowded desk and a glowing monitor. Sophie had assigned him a stack of digital files, revision notes, and project schedules before hurrying into a meeting. He had approved towers, hotels, and entire urban developments, yet the firm’s internal software seemed determined to defeat him.
He clicked through three overlapping windows and muttered, “I have no idea what any of this shit means.” The problem was not the architecture. Swift’s labeling system relied on abbreviations no sane designer would have chosen, and no one had bothered to explain which version of the drawings Sophie wanted him to review.
An employee at the next desk glanced over. News of Justin’s extraordinary résumé had traveled through the office before he had received his badge. A man who had studied at LISAA and led prestigious Paris projects was not supposed to look baffled by an assistant’s task.
Justin ignored the stare and opened another file. The program promptly buried the floor plan beneath a schedule, two comment panels, and an expense form. Running Lake Enterprises suddenly seemed simpler than finding the correct button.
He considered calling Patrick. His assistant could organize an international acquisition before breakfast and would probably solve the software in seconds, but asking for help risked another conversation Sophie might overhear. Tommy the goldfish could not plausibly explain every executive emergency.
Sophie returned carrying two coffees and stopped behind his chair. The chaos on the screen made her press her lips together, though amusement still brightened her eyes. “How is my brilliant new assistant doing?”
“Perfectly,” Justin said. He tried to close one window and accidentally enlarged it. “Your system and I are establishing boundaries.”
She set a cup beside him. “It looks like the system is winning.” Her teasing lacked cruelty. She seemed relieved to find one part of the job he did not perform like an industry veteran.
“I was hired for my eye, not my relationship with terrible software,” he replied. “Who decided that six different files should all be called final?”
“My father,” Sophie said, and her expression changed before she covered it. The firm’s disorder was another remnant of the control he had exercised while she remained outside its leadership.
Justin noticed the shadow but did not force her to explain. “Then I officially disagree with management,” he said lightly. “Show me which final is actually final, boss.”
Sophie leaned over his shoulder and reached for the mouse. Her perfume surrounded him as she navigated through the folders, close enough that his attention shifted from the screen to the warmth of her arm beside his.
“This one,” she explained. “The date appears at the end of the code, and the blue mark means the client reviewed it.” She opened the correct plan and found Justin watching her instead of the drawing. “Are you listening?”
“Very carefully.” His gaze made the answer sound like a lie. Color touched Sophie’s cheeks, but she refused to move away first.
“You’re impossible,” she murmured. She straightened and tapped the plan. “Review the circulation and prepare three observations before lunch. Think you can manage that?”
Justin studied the drawing for several seconds. Once freed from the software, the building revealed itself to him immediately—beautiful public areas weakened by an awkward service route and wasted natural light. “I already have five.”
Sophie stared at him, then pulled the spare chair closer. He explained the first change, tracing a cleaner path across the screen. Her amusement gave way to concentration as she realized his suggestion solved a problem her team had debated for days.
They worked side by side until the rest of the office faded around them. Justin admired how quickly Sophie understood each idea, while she began to see that his Paris credentials were not merely impressive names on paper. For the first time, their invented professional partnership felt entirely real.
His phone vibrated against the desk. A message preview from Patrick appeared before Justin could turn it over: BOARD WAITING. LAKE ENTERPRISES CONTRACT REQUIRES YOUR SIGNATURE. Sophie glanced toward the screen, and Justin covered it with his hand.
“Who keeps messaging you about Lake Enterprises?” she asked. The humor vanished from her face as the restaurant greeting, the housing discount, and his improbable résumé aligned in her mind. Justin searched for another harmless explanation, but Sophie held out her hand for the phone and said, “This time, don’t tell me it’s your goldfish.”
