Honeymoon in Paris by Juliette Sobanet

Author:Juliette Sobanet [Sobanet, Juliette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781477809815
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 17974647
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2012-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The new offices of Bella France were located in the only skyscraper in Lyon, nicknamed le crayon, or the pencil, because of its sharp pencil-like point at the top. This was my first time inside le crayon, and as the elevator shot me up to the eighteenth floor, I hoped I would be spending a lot more time here.

Inside the lobby, a glossy black sign reading Bella France hung high above the receptionist’s smooth white desk.

“Mademoiselle Summers, I presume?” she asked in French.

“Yes, I’m here to see Beth Harding and Mireille Charbonneau,” I responded, noting the strong scent of perfume wafting from her side of the desk.

She nodded, giving me a curt smile. “Beth is in a meeting at the moment, but Mireille is expecting you. Follow me, please.” Standing, she revealed a lanky, rail-thin body propped up on the tallest set of black stilettos I’d ever seen. I wondered if she modeled for the magazine on the side.

I also wondered if she had ever eaten in her life.

I followed the thinnest girl alive through a set of glass double doors, the scent of fresh paint swirling underneath my nose as we walked down a long hallway. Two women dressed in chic black dresses and four-inch heels showed off their perfectly accessorized outfits as they rolled a rack of wispy scarves, short skirts, and skimpy tops toward us.

A man dressed in skinny jeans and pointy black boots trailed the girls. “Move it,” he squealed in French. “She’ll be here in ten minutes!”

I smashed myself against the wall as the girls broke into a wobbly stiletto jog and Monsieur Skinny Jeans snapped at them to move even faster.

If I landed this job, I would definitely need to spice up my wardrobe—and practice running in four-inch heels.

We passed by the art department and several smaller, bustling offices where writers were tapping away on their computers, making calls, and prepping for Bella France’s first issue.

Squeezing past two more sets of moving racks of designer clothing being hurled down the hallway, we finally reached the editor-in-chief’s office.

My heart sped up as I took in the excitement buzzing in the air. The receptionist-slash-model who led the way knocked on Mireille Charbonneau’s door. She waited a moment, then knocked a second time, and finally a third.

A shrill voice sounded from inside the office, prompting her to open the door and announce my arrival. “Charlotte Summers is here for her ten o’clock appointment.”

“Send her in.”

The girl ushered me ahead of her, then swiftly closed the door at my back.

Mireille Charbonneau sat at a long glass desk in the center of her pristine, chicly decorated office. The impressive floor-to-ceiling windows behind her looked out over the entire city, while colorful Bella Magazine covers splashed the other three walls.

Mireille sat back in her chair, crossed her thin legs, and lowered her stylish black glasses as she gave me the once-over. Her dirty blond hair was pulled up halfway, creating that disheveled but sexy look only French women could pull off.

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