Chasing Heartbreak by Kat T. Masen
KATE
Present
There’s something to be said about the change of seasons in France.
It was only a few weeks ago when I walked the streets, admiring the pretty pastel blossoms and the lush green parks while over-indulging in chocolate during Easter celebrations. People are much more pleasant, welcoming the sunshine after a dreary winter.
But time flew by quickly, and we all found ourselves in a much more uncomfortable predicament—summer.
Our skin burned from the summer sun, and our clothes clung to us mixed with an uncomfortable sweat while we fanned ourselves relentlessly for some sort of relief. Many people are flocking to the south to bathe in the ocean, fortunate enough to vacation and not be chained to the office like me.
I shouldn’t complain though, the air conditioning is my best friend during the sweltering heat outside.
Back in the States, the Americans will mock us English folk for our constant complaining of the tiresome heat and dragging summers. I’m no different. My pale skin doesn’t care to get sunburned, which happens way too quickly when I spend any moment unprotected under the harsh summer rays.
This is why fall is, by far, my favorite season. The air is more relaxed and bearable, yet the sun still shines through the day. At night, there’s a slight crisp in the air with a promise of winter on the horizon. It’s the perfect time to explore the outside nightlife without being stripped to barely any clothing or, in reverse, wearing a bulk load to protect yourself from the cold.
It’s been three years since I moved to Paris with absolutely no regrets. My job, stressful with its demands, has become my sole focus. I’ve pushed myself in ways I never imagined possible, purposely threw myself into learning mode as Lex did his best to mentor me, given our geographical distance.
I created this routine, thriving in my purposely-organized schedule. The mornings start at four o’clock. A run around the park followed by yoga in my living room while I listen to audiobooks by well-known entrepreneurs from around the world. I ditched the romance novels a year or so ago, my guilty pleasure since becoming a blooming teen. Frankly, I don’t need to read about the so-called happily-ever-after nonsense. Being single is the new black, and I refuse to be sucked into the emotional heartbreak authors often write about.
Without too much difficulty, I changed my eating habits. My diet consists of high-energizing food to give me stamina until the official workday ends. Coffee, being that I’m in Europe, is almost mandatory. My addiction is one I’ll proudly own, and let’s be honest, survival without it is practically impossible.
As France is surrounded by so many other beautiful countries, I have traveled more than I anticipated around Europe. Many nights in Rome and Venice, a quick flight to Berlin. Switzerland had been one of my favorites, such a beautiful country, and the lifestyle is so relaxed.
But Paris ultimately won my heart over and over again. I’ve heard it from many people, though never truly understood the meaning until I experienced it for myself. Paris has a charm and allure beyond most other cities, and I’ve visited quite a few through my adult years while working beside Lex.
Having left all my friends behind in the States, there’s never a dull moment when I have the time to explore museums and architecture, high-end fashion boutiques, cafés, and quaint restaurants, all of which align the beautifully paved streets.
I never grow tired of the scenery as each season showcases the city so differently. Each architectural masterpiece becomes mesmerizing amongst the sun, the autumn leaves, and the beautiful blanketed snow. Everything feels grand in its presence, making me stop and appreciate its beauty amongst the chaos of everything around it. The Parisians rarely give the Eiffel Tower a second thought, something I learned very early on. Yet every cab ride past the iconic treasure, I reflect on my life and the beauty of being alive. It inspires me to follow my dreams and ambitions, and raise the bar in my so-called life. Paris is nothing like Manhattan, and the truth be told, I have no desire to go back to the city that never sleeps.
Eric often questions my sanity, telling me I need to get laid pronto because I’m this close to joining a nunnery. However, he’s quick to say that even nuns get their happily ever after, remembering the conversation word by word.
“Captain Vontrapp has been my fantasy ever since my mother made me watch The Sound of Music at the age of seven.” Eric sighed.
“The dad?” I questioned, slightly disturbed by his admission.
“A powerful man falls in love with a nun. I mean, how romantic is that?”
“Yes, it’s romantic,” I agreed. “You fantasizing about him is not.”
“Maybe you’ll meet your captain in Paris. You can live happily ever after in his castle with his seven children while you sing songs of joy.”
“I couldn’t think of anything worse,” I mumbled under my breath.
Even from across the globe, Eric still weighs in on my personal life, but I ignore him for the most part. There’s no time to worry about relationships or men as my interests have shifted to museum visits and French culture. My fascination with France’s history only grows as I delve deep into the genetics of what makes this city and country a worldwide attraction. If only I had been so studious in school, surprising even myself on how educated I have become as an adult.
The only thing Eric welcomes is my change in wardrobe. My tastes have become sophisticated. Unlike Charlie and Eric, I was never into designer labels, but Paris awakens that part of me. People are pursuing the streets dressed like runway models to the events I attend with no end of couture in sight. Women in Paris aren’t afraid of fashion, especially the older generation. They stay in the decade, confident and fearless with their fashion choices. I’ve become bolder with some of my latest ensembles. With my rigorous exercise routine and healthy eating, I finally have the body I’ve always dreamed of without the plastic surgery society pressures women into. It gives me the confidence to wear things outside of my typical attire, and I never expected to be so in love with fashion in general.
But perhaps my greatest joy isn’t the fashion, nor my new body. It’s becoming a local and finally feeling like this could be home, immersing myself into life as a Parisian. I was forced to learn French, given it’s the native tongue of almost all of my employees. While I still prefer to speak English, I know enough to have a simple conversation.
My love affair with Paris runs deep, and one I can talk about for hours. Eric and Charlie are very vocal in expressing their jealousy on almost every phone call we have.
As I sit in a local café enjoying this lazy Sunday morning which is a rare occurrence of late, my phone begins to ring in my pocket. Pulling it out to answer, I mouth ‘thank you’ to the waiter who serves my coffee along with a pastry I’ve been eager to try. I call it Sunday’s guilty pleasure.
“Hello, Lex,” I greet, noting the time back in Los Angeles. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
“I thought I’d try to catch you at a reasonable time,” Lex strains, his voice stiff and unwelcoming.
“I was just served a triple shot of coffee, so shoot.”
“We have a problem with Jefferson. I’ve had my suspicions, but we’re talking big concerns.”
I cross my legs, paying attention. “Please don’t tell me we’re talking insider trading?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I let out a long-winded breath, also suspecting something of late. A few weeks ago, when things surfaced, I’d done a little digging but didn’t have anything concrete to hold him accountable.
“We’ve invested too much money to have it fall apart now,” I express, firmly. “This could be disastrous.”
“You’re telling me,” he almost grits. “I’ve got legal on this and need you to be on standby this week. I know you are flying back to London on Thursday, but you may need to fly to Geneva to sort this out.”
“Of course,” I tell him, making a mental list of what I need to do. “I’ll rearrange and shift some projects to make sure we don’t fall behind on anything.”
“Thank you. Fucking asshole.”
“Listen, Lex, it’s just after midnight for you. Get some sleep, and when you’re back in the office on Monday, I’ll have a contingency plan drawn up.”
“Sleep?” His soft laugh echoes through the phone. “What’s that foreign concept?”
“Charlie told me Addison has been a terror of late. Climbing into your bed in the middle of the night.”
“There’s nothing more terrifying than waking up in the middle of the night with your child standing next to you, just staring.”
I laugh at the thought. “I guess those horror movies have worked against you. I’m sorry to hear it. Hopefully, she’ll outgrow it soon.”
“Either that or we’re adopting her out… how about you take her?” he jokes half-heartedly.
“Hey, I’m good for short-time babysitting. You know my stance on having kids.”
We say goodbye but not before Lex unloads other concerns that need my attention. It isn’t unusual for him to contact me at all hours, or more specifically—the weekend. Together, we’re a well-oiled machine. Despite his attempt to slow down, Lex is and will always be a workaholic.
The European market is entirely different than back in the States. More money to play with, therefore, more greedy assholes trying to fuck us over.
I finish my coffee and chouquette, then decide to take the more extended route home to clear my head before heading into the office despite it being Sunday.
Five hours later, I’ve drunk way too much caffeine and completely missed eating lunch. My nerves have become jittery, but I manage to get things sorted so Lex can breathe easier. When I look at the clock, I notice the time and reminder on my phone.
Reminder: Blind Date—Gustave.
I let out a frustrated groan, cursing at myself as to why I agreed to this in the first place. Just when I think of an excuse to bail, my phone rings, and it’s the devil herself—Mrs. Matchmaker.
“Don’t bail on this,” Charlie scolds without a greeting.
“What are you? A clairvoyant now?” I answer abruptly, straightening my posture to stretch my tense muscles. “In case you don’t know, something has come up with work.”
“Not an excuse. I know for a fact you’ve been emailing Lex documents, therefore, you’re on top of your work, and it’s Sunday night. You owe me this.”
Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes to calm my irritation. I agreed that once a year, Charlie is allowed to set me up on a blind date. When I consented to this, I recall being drunk on rum and Coke, combined with being sexually charged. But, of course, Charlie, with her overbearing ways, has held me to it.
The only reason I agreed to this date tonight is that last year’s blind date wasn’t too bad. Maxim was lovely and very good-looking. We went on four dates until he dropped the ball mid-dinner—he’s bisexual and was looking to have an open relationship. We remained friends and still catch up for drinks every few months. On our last catchup, he introduced me to his new boyfriend, Youssef. The two of them are a match made in heaven and are fun to unwind with.
Charlie apparently met Maxim back in LA at some fashion event. When she found out he lived in Paris, and knowing I have been single forever, she put two and two together.
“Fine,” I complain, opening my eyes. “Can you tell me more about Gustave?”
“No, because every time I tell you something, you forget anyway or use it as an excuse not to go.”
“I do not.”
“Just go on the date and report back later,” she coaxed, then quickly cheers, “Good luck.”
“Since you’re the one setting me up, I’m going to need it.”
***
I have to give it to Gustave. He chose a fine restaurant, which I know for a fact is difficult to get into and rather expensive.
He sits across from me, dressed nicely in a pale green shirt and gray trousers. Without asking his age, he appears more mature with dark brown hair with a few grays near his temple. When he smiles, several creases surround his blue eyes. I’d peg him for early forties, which doesn’t bother me so much these days.
Gustave peruses the wine list, keeping quiet and leaving an uncomfortable silence between us.
“Ça vous dérange si je parle anglais?” I ask him if we can speak English, given my exhaustion from working nonstop the last few hours. I can barely compute a sentence in English, let alone French. Clearly, the excess caffeine is wearing off.
“Oui.” He smiles, placing the menu down. “Do you like wine?”
“Who doesn’t?” I jest, welcoming the topic.
Gustave turns out to be a food critic. Our conversation steers to only that. He offers to choose our meals, which I agree to, but Gustave’s face looks less than pleased with the plate sitting in front of him when the waiter serves us.
We eat in silence, his face relatively blank with each bite he takes.
“Do you not like the food here?”
“It’s mediocre,” he responds flatly.
I start to wonder if people are watching us, trying to make sense of what the purpose is of us dining together since I can’t. Unlike Gustave, I immensely enjoy the French delicacy and can’t fault a single dish served tonight.
A plate of various cheeses is served, placed between us. In authentic French culture, cheese is consumed after the main dish but before dessert. Since I enjoy cheese, I don’t see a problem with this at all.
“Cheese is a delicacy. If done right, it’s the most satisfying meal,” he speaks, slicing a small piece for himself.
I have no clue what to say to that but need something quick. “Cheese is rather satisfying.”
Wow, Kate—electrifying.
“The smellier the cheese, the better.” He raises the cheese toward my face. “Here, smell this?”
Leaning in, I take a sniff, immediately scrunching my nose at the godawful stench. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“So, you like cheese?” I nod, quick to change subjects before I fall asleep. “Tell me about your family?”
“My father owned a delicatessen and curated his own cheese. My mother worked with him for over fifty years.
“And siblings?”
“No, just me.” He raises another piece of cheese, prompting me to sniff it. This one is even worse.
“And what about traveling? What do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Not much these days.” A smile graces his lips, and I wait with bated breath for a funny anecdote. “Comté vieux is aged over six months. By far exceeds the rest of the cheeses.”
This date is going downhill so fast, as I wait for anything that doesn’t involve cheese. By the end of the date, I probably could’ve gotten a degree in cheese. Hands down, this can officially top one of the worst dates in history.
“Thanks for tonight, Gustave.” I yawn forcefully, hoping he reads between the lines as he calls the waiter over and requests the bill. “I’ve learned a lot about cheese.”
“It was a pleasure, Kate.” Gustave kisses both my cheeks to say goodbye. “Shall I call you tomorrow?”
I pat his shoulder politely. “It’s probably best you don’t.”
Not wanting to watch his reaction, I turn around quickly and leave the restaurant, hailing a cab that happens to drive past.
As soon as I’m back in my apartment, I take off my heels and hit dial with a vengeance.
“Hello?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“What?” Charlie groans. “No good?”
“How about we talk about cheese for an hour?”
“Why?”
“Exactly!”
“I’m so sorry. Gustave seemed like a great guy. When he told me he was a food critic, I thought perfect! You like food, right?”
“I do like food, but what I don’t like is being forced to smell cheese and pretend it’s just great when really it smells like an asshole.”
“How do you even know what an asshole smells like?”
“No more. I can’t do this blind date thing anymore. In fact, dating itself is over. I’m happy to be celibate. The end.”
“Just calm down, okay?” Charlie sighs. “No one needs to be celibate. It sounds like you’ve had too much to drink or too much cheese.”
I’m about to defend my choice of being celibate when my phone vibrates. Removing the phone from my ear, I quickly glance at the text.
My heart begins to beat fast, excitement running through my veins. Every inch of my body reacts with a desperate thirst, heightened by the currents awakening every part of me. Charlie’s voice is lost in the background, and with desperation, I hurry to get her off the phone.
“Charlie, I have to go. I need to be in the office early.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
“It’s fine,” I rush. “Kiss the girls for me. Bye.”
I press ‘end call’ and re-read the text.
Dominic:I’ll be in Paris next Friday. Shall I book our usual?
I fall onto the sofa, re-reading his text again before my fingers type on their own accord.
Me:Our usual will be perfect. See you then.
Within mere moments, my idea of being celibate has sailed into the night.
Dominic Kennedy is back.
And my body suddenly craves everything I know he’ll give me.
Raw, animalistic sex.
No attachments.
No expectations.
The best kind.