Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
theo
We said goodbye under the shimmer of the Eiffel Tower.
She didn’t make it something bigger than it needed to be. Neither did I.
Just a warm smile, a thank-you-for-tonight kind of look, and then I walked her back to her hotel. When we turned the corner, I realized hers was just across from mine. But I didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to know.
She slipped inside with a wave and a, “Good night, 1A.”
And that was the end of it.
I turned toward my own hotel, my hands in my coat pockets. I pulled out my phone and the napkin the bartender had given me earlier.
You still up?
I typed, stared at it, then deleted it. Almost
I don’t know why I did that. She was a good-looking woman, she had a great sense of humor, and she wanted me. Well, she wanted both of us, but I know that if I showed up alone, it wasn’t going to be a problem.
Who am I kidding?
I know why I didn’t text her.
When I finally got to my room, I took a quick shower.
It was meant to be functional, just enough to rinse off the city and the night. But it didn’t work the way I wanted. Because while the water hit my back and steam fogged the glass, she hit me harder.
The way she laughed, the way she leaned into her wine glass when she asked questions, as if she already knew the answers. Her ocean blue eyes were sharp and soft all at once. That damn uniform didn’t do her body justice at all.
Do you want me to invite you to my bed, Sam? I'm flattered, but I don't sleep with my passengers.
Fuck. I was getting hard, just remembering her. I changed the water to cold, even though that barely helped.
I don’t want to think about her like that.
I don’t know why, but she doesn’t seem like the type of woman you sleep with and forget about. For a one night stand, I could just text the bartender, have some fun, and go to bed.
I got out of the shower, threw on joggers, checked a few emails, and told myself to be productive. The Hayes board wanted updates on the transition timeline. Max had sent over a polite, “When you’re ready, I’d like to introduce you to a few key folks in Paris. No rush.”
No rush. Right.
I tossed the phone on the nightstand, stared at the ceiling for a while, and finally let sleep win.
It was barely 6 a.m., and I was wide awake.
I rarely slept past six anyway, and this bed, while wrapped in overpriced sheets and comfy pillows, wasn’t mine.
I laced up my sneakers and headed downstairs to the gym. No music. Just the hum of treadmills, the clink of weights, and my own thoughts looping on a track of their own. I picked up my pace and ran faster than usual.
I needed this.
By the time I got back to the room, I was still dripping in sweat, but my mind was clearer.
When I stepped out of the shower, my phone was lighting up with emails and missed alerts. Mostly junk, one flagged as High Priority, from Harper. I pressed call instead of replying. “Good morning, Theodore.” She picked up after the first ring.
“Good morning, what’s going on?”
“Wanted to run through your day,” I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel through my hair. “Okay, hit me.”
“You’ve got lunch at Maison with Max Hayes and one of the senior VPs. He wants it to be casual, a small table, outdoor seating, no pitch deck.”
“No pitch deck, yeah, right.” I echoed.
Harper laughed softly. “He’s easing you in. This is about optics. Getting the ‘new guy’ visible without being threatening.”
“Great.”
“You also got your contract approved. I’m officially back on your payroll as of today.” A small grin tugged at my mouth. “Would’ve walked away if they said no.”
“I know, and they knew it too,” she replied.
Harper had been with me since year two of my previous company. She can manage three calendars, negotiate with half of my board, and tell when I haven’t slept, all in a single call. “Anything else?”
She paused. “Just that Paris restaurants late at night looked good on your schedule,” I smirked. “Are you spying on my location?”
“I’m managing your life. It's part of the job description.” We hung up after a few more logistics were discussed.
I threw on a tee and dark jeans, grabbed my blazer just in case the weather got colder later on.
I decided to skip the hotel breakfast. I need air and distractions before my lunch meeting.
But while I crave all of that, my mind wandered on the possibility of running into her again. I haven’t even left the lobby yet, and I was already trying to lurk into the hotel across the street.
I found a café tucked just off Rue des Archives, the sun catching in the windows, the scent of espresso already cutting through the morning air.
I liked places like this, places with chipped mugs and waiters who didn’t try too hard. I had just placed my order, black coffee, a pain au chocolat, and a bottle of sparkling water, when a familiar voice cut through the hum.
“Do I need to file a restraining order?” I turned with a smile already on my face.
She was in jeans and a cropped sweater, her hair up in a loose bun, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Rose was beside her, carrying enough energy for both of them.
She grinned as she stepped closer. “Twice in twelve hours, 1A?” she teased.
“I was here first,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’ve got receipts.” Rose leaned in, peering at my table. “We’ll try not to ruin your brooding breakfast.”
“You’re welcome to join,” I said, gesturing to the empty chairs.
Rose lit up. “I’ll grab us some coffee.” Sam glanced at her, then sat across from me without hesitation. She crossed one leg over the other and stared at me. “Big plans for the day?”
“Lunch meeting with my new bosses,” I said, “After that, the day’s all mine. And you two?” Something in her face shifted. I couldn’t tell what it was, or why. But I did notice.
“Rose and I are doing some light shopping. Maybe hit the museum later. It’s a lazy day.” Her voice was lighter than her expression. But I didn’t push. Rose returned just in time. Two coffees balanced precariously in her hands. “Caffeine delivery,” she said, sliding one toward Sam.
“Actually, we should probably head out and enjoy the museum before it gets too crowded.” Sam stood and turned to me, the playful glint from earlier softening into something else, something I’m not sure I understood yet.
Before she could walk away, I asked, “Will I see you again?”
She paused, then looked over her shoulder.
“I don’t know, but I hope so.” She said with a smile, and then she was gone.
Maison was in a quiet corner near the Seine, the kind of place where old money met modern plates. White tablecloths, polished silver, staff who never hovered but always appeared exactly when needed.
Max Hayes’ type of place. He was already seated when I arrived, in a gray suit, no tie, and a drink in hand. His expression said Paris vacation, but his eyes said quarterly earnings. “Jones,” he said, standing up and offering a firm handshake. “Glad you made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Have a seat. Louis is running a few minutes behind. Typical.” I slid into the chair across from him, adjusting my blazer as a waiter poured still water into glasses that probably cost more than my watch.
“Paris treating you well?” Max asked, gesturing for me to look at the menu.
“It’s been good,” I said. “Got some rest, caught up on emails. It almost feels like a real vacation.” He laughed lightly.
“You haven’t been CEO long enough to forget what rest feels like. That’ll change.”
“Looking forward to it.” I joke as he leaned back.
This lunch is unofficial, but I want you to meet Louis Dubois.
He is our main point of contact here in France.
He’s old-school and worked under my father, so he’s seen more mergers and restructurings than I can count.
He will manage our accounts across Europe, but obviously following directly what happens at Hayes HQ back in NYC.
He is not a bad guy to have in your corner. ”
“Understood.”
“Also,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink, “we’ll need you back in New York early next week. I’ve scheduled a formal announcement for the press, internal teams, and the board. You’ll be officially introduced as CEO. Nothing major, just a few hundred people and a dozen reporters.”
“Nothing I haven’t done before,” I said calmly, though my mind was already sketching logistics. Flights. Prep. Talking points. “Harper’s your assistant, right?”
“Yes, sir. She is.”
“Good. We’ll get her squared away.” Louis arrived just then, all warmth and crisp cologne, shaking my hand with a grip that tested something unspoken.
“Bienvenue à bord,” he said, smiling. “Welcome aboard.”
“Merci,” I replied, matching his ease. We got down to business over duck confit and truffle risotto.
They talked numbers, subsidiaries, brand reputation in Europe versus North America, our supply chain partners in Hong Kong, and upcoming ESG commitments.
I kept pace easily. I’d run three companies by thirty-five. This wasn’t new.
But the stakes felt different. This wasn’t mine, not entirely. Not yet. Max leaned in after the waiter cleared our plates. “We’ll give you a few weeks in transition, then it’s go-time. I want this to be seamless.”
“It will be.” Louis nodded. “Hayes International is ready for new blood. Just don’t bleed us dry, hm?” I smiled.
“Only if you deserve it.” They laughed.
Deals like this were always made in places like Maison, under the glow of gold chandeliers, with the clink of wine glasses to soften the blow of what was really being said.
You’re in, but you're being watched. You’re trusted, but not yet proven.
You’re wearing the title, but the crown’s still warming.
By the end of lunch, we’d agreed on a working timeline, press talking points, and a follow-up dinner with the European directors two weeks out.
When I left, I didn’t feel overwhelmed, but not entirely comfortable.