The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 1

📖 The Story Continues

The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 1

Morning light slipped through the hotel curtains and cut across Sophie’s face with merciless precision. She woke beneath a silk sheet, her head heavy and her mouth dry, with no idea why the ceiling above her looked unfamiliar. Then she became aware of the warmth beside her, and every blurred image from the night before rushed back at once.

Champagne. A stranger’s dark eyes. Her own reckless laughter after discovering that Derek, the man she was supposed to marry, had betrayed her. Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made the memories sharper: a crowded Paris bar, a handsome man listening while she poured out her humiliation, and the dangerous comfort of following him upstairs.

What the heck happened last night? The question pounded in time with her headache. She lifted the sheet just enough to confirm what she already feared, then dropped it as if the fabric had burned her fingers. “Oh, God,” she whispered, pressing both hands over her face.

The man beside her remained asleep, one arm resting on the pillow and his bare shoulders catching the pale gold light. Even unconscious, he looked far too composed for someone who had helped her destroy the last scraps of her sensible life. Sophie studied him, searching for some clue to explain why a stranger like him had been at that particular bar and so willing to spend the night with her.

Her gaze landed on the expensive room, the discarded clothes, and the faint air of practiced confidence he had carried the night before. A mortifying explanation assembled itself in her mind. Paris was full of luxuries sold to lonely people, and apparently she had purchased one of them while furious, drunk, and heartbroken.

“Did I really sleep with a call boy?” she breathed. The label made the situation feel both more comprehensible and infinitely worse. She could not remember discussing money, but she also could not imagine a man who looked like him choosing her on the worst night of her life without expecting something in return.

There was no time to untangle it. Sophie had a life waiting outside the hotel, including a cheating fiancé, a family that cared more about appearances than her feelings, and a deadline tied to the company her mother had left behind. If anyone discovered where she had spent the night, her private disaster would become ammunition.

Moving as quietly as she could, she slipped from the bed and gathered her dress from the floor. Every rustle sounded unnaturally loud. She pulled the wrinkled fabric over her head, found one shoe beneath a chair, and crawled halfway under a table for the other while silently promising never to drink champagne again.

Her phone showed missed calls she did not have the courage to open. Sophie stuffed it into her purse and checked her reflection in the mirror, wincing at her tangled hair and smudged makeup. She looked exactly like a woman fleeing a scandal, which was unfortunate because that was precisely what she was.

Behind her, the mattress shifted. Sophie froze with one hand on the door, hoping she had imagined the sound. When she glanced back, the stranger was awake and watching her with an expression that was far too amused for the circumstances.

Justin had recognized her long before she recognized him. The name Sophie Swift had stayed with him for seven years, attached to the memory of a young American woman in Paris who had offered kindness when he needed it most. Last night, fate had placed her before him again, older and wounded, yet still entirely unaware of who he was.

He had expected surprise when she woke, perhaps embarrassment, but not a silent escape. Propping himself against the headboard, he let his gaze settle on the woman attempting to disappear with her dignity. “You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asked.

Sophie’s fingers tightened around the door handle. The smooth confidence in his voice only confirmed her mistaken conclusion. Of course he was used to mornings like this; of course he knew how to manage clients too ashamed to look him in the eye.

“Oh.” She turned reluctantly and avoided looking anywhere below his shoulders. “I forgot to pay you.” Saying it aloud made heat climb all the way to her ears, but she forced herself to open her purse as if this were a perfectly ordinary transaction.

Justin’s amusement vanished beneath genuine disbelief. “Of course,” he said slowly, waiting for her to laugh or reveal that she was joking. Instead, Sophie began counting bills with the grim concentration of someone settling an overdue invoice.

She placed the money on the table between them and straightened the edges. “Two grand should cover it?” The upward turn at the end betrayed her uncertainty. She had no idea what a night with a man like him cost, and she refused to ask.

Justin looked from the cash to her guarded face. He owned the hotel, along with more businesses than she could have guessed, and the sum on the table meant nothing to him. Yet the misunderstanding was so astonishing that for a moment even he could find no response.

Sophie mistook his silence for acceptance. “Goodbye,” she said, drawing the word out with brittle politeness. Her hand found the door again, and relief stirred in her chest as the lock clicked open.

“And we’ll see each other…” Justin began, still trying to decide whether to correct her before she escaped. Some part of him wanted to say her name and remind her of a rainy Paris street seven years earlier, but another part wanted to know how long this impossible mistake could last.

“Never,” Sophie finished. She stepped into the corridor and pulled the door shut, leaving Justin alone with two thousand dollars, seven years of memories, and the stunning realization that the woman he had never forgotten believed he was a man she had hired for one night.