Etoile (The Mannequin Series) (13 page)

"I was wondering when you'd finally come," Tyler drawled out as he pulled her in through the front door.

Seventeen

Elodie tapped her Chanel espadrille-clad foot impatiently against the curb as she waited for the next Roissybus to arrive. She was not in a good mood, and was definitely dressed the part in black Rag & Bone Jean leggings and a thin black Alexander Wang tee. Her hair was a mess, but she didn't have anything to tie it up with, so it hung in wavy knots. Her Céline Trapeze bag dangled limply from her wrist, and giant Tom Ford sunglasses shielded half of her face. That is, she looked impeccably like the cranky French girl that she was.

Having landed at Charles de Gaulle a mere forty minutes earlier, she was still gathering her senses as her groggy Ambien-induced fog sorted itself out. Getting through baggage claim and immigration had been hell, but she had finally managed to make her way outside of the terminal. With a frustrated groan, she checked her useless phone for the fiftieth time. Six more minutes.

Despite the fact that the Ero campaign that she (or Tyler?) had managed to book would be fairly lucrative, the looming threat of past agency debts still weighed heavily on her shoulders. The ludicrous price of the last-minute Economy class plane ticket to Paris was, in itself, enough to make her think twice before hailing an expensive cab into the city. The 10 euro bus would have to do, she thought to herself bitterly, especially since she was not in the mood to take the RER and make transfers. Plus, the bus would get her to the corner of rue Scribe and rue Auber, across the street from Opéra station, in about an hour's time. Her agency's Paris office was only a few blocks from there.

As the bus noisily pulled up to the curb, Elodie waited behind the line of pushy tourists until it was her turn to climb aboard. “Bonjour,” she greeted the unhappy driver, who gave her a curt nod as she passed him her fare. After strenuously lifting and haphazardly tossing her battered Heys roller onto the top of the growing luggage pile, she slumped into a nearby seat behind an Italian couple who smelled lightly of cabbage. Was she really an in-demand model who was about to be featured in a prestigious high fashion campaign?

Elodie pushed her tired face against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sudden jerking motions that rattled the bus as it stopped at every terminal to pick up more passengers. At the end of Terminal 3, a group of young French men climbed aboard, loudly chatting about their recent trip to Ibiza and nonsense. She could feel their eyes on her, but she chose to ignore them and stare at the signal-less screen of her phone. Maybe she
should
have just splurged on a cab.

It felt odd to hear and speak French, as she had not done so in quite some time. The reality of being in her home country had not yet hit her, as her mind was fixated on other matters. Speaking of which, what the hell was wrong with her?

It's not like she had done it on purpose—she hadn't been able to think properly after hastily leaving James' apartment like that. Adding alcohol into the mix had been a grievous mistake. Cheap Russian vodka, at that. And she had been so good up until that point, too! She hadn't intended to see or speak to Tyler after that willpower-taxing incident at the showroom. Why or how she had ended up at his front door, she had no idea.

Thinking back on that disastrous night at Tyler's made her even more confused. Truth be told, she barely recalled the majority of the evening, but the bits and pieces that she did remember made her cringe.

Upon letting her into his house, the pleased smile on Tyler's sleepy face had morphed into a look of worry once he had the chance to see just how drunk she was. “Whoa. Are you okay?” he had asked as he steadied the heavily inebriated, and highly uncoordinated, beauty who was batting her eyelashes furiously at him.

“Of
course
I am,” she slurred back as she dropped her poor, innocent Bottega Veneta clutch with a loud clatter and tried her best to shoot him a nonchalant smile. Inside, her heart was pounding and her body was reeling at the sight of how cute he looked with his rumpled bed hair. “I got myself here, did I not?” she asked proudly as she proceeded to trip over her heels, slamming her shoulder into the nearby wall.

Tyler had then lunged forward to catch the lanky mess before she fell and broke her ankles. “Yea, and I'm not sure how,” he had muttered as he slowly led her to the nearby sofa. After sitting her down, he bent down to unbuckle her hazardous Miu Miu platforms. “How did you even get these on...”

Elodie had tittered like a schoolgirl as she watched Tyler fumble with the thin ankle straps of her towering shoes. “Because I am a
model
. Models wear
heels
. You are also a model... do you wear heels? You can borrow them, but I need them back by midnight. What time is it? Are my shoes pretty? I am like Cinderella,
non
?”

After tossing the shoes aside, he looked up at her and laughed. “Yes, very pretty. How much did you drink?”

“Enough,” she had replied with what was meant to be a seductive smile as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Tyler looked at her in amusement as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, I think you had way more than enough. We should get you to sleep.”

“Sleep? You are not going to play with me?” Elodie had asked with a tiny pout after he led her by the hand into the bedroom like a child and handed her a tee shirt. She stood still, confused as to what was happening. Was she being rejected
again
?

“Not tonight, kid,” Tyler replied with a soft smile as he lightly touched her cheek. “I have to leave for Paris tomorrow morning. I'm shooting an editorial before we start all of that Ero shit. Need to be at the airport in a few hours.” He gestured to the packed suitcase at the foot of his bed before he climbed in.

After Tyler pulled the blanket over himself, Elodie tossed aside his unflattering offering and wriggled out of her dress, revealing her flimsy lingerie. Much to her dismay, his eyes were already closed. With a huff, she lifted up the covers and climbed in as gracefully as she could. Which, in her drunken state, meant that she clambered in clumsily. After slinking up next to him and pushing her body against his, she whispered, “I thought this is what you wanted.”

Tyler turned over to look her in the eyes and let out a small laugh. She peered at him with a challenging expression, but he merely cupped her chin in his hand and leaned in to give her a gentle kiss. Her entire body buzzed lightly at his touch, though she was unsure of if it was due to the alcohol coursing through her veins. Elodie tried to kiss him more deeply, but he pulled away slightly before adding, “You're wasted. And I need my beauty sleep.”

After placing a soft kiss on her forehead, Tyler turned onto his back and slid his arm around the defeated girl. With the room spinning and her ears ringing, she glared at him in the dark until her eyes fluttered closed. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the crook of his arm before waking up to an empty bed, a glass of water and a taunting note the following morning.

Cinderella,

didn't want to wake you but I'll see you soon

try not to miss me too much

P.S. you snored

- Prince Charming

Replaying the events in her head was excruciating, and the thought of having to spend the next five days with Tyler made her want to ride the bus back to the airport and fly back to New York. Her cheeks burned with shame as she tried to erase the embarrassment that had transpired. Was she that unlikable to be rejected twice in one night?

Speaking of which, she had no idea how she would face James, despite the fact that he had no idea about her late-night visit to Tyler's. Even though nothing had happened, she couldn't help but feel terrible. It also didn't help that James had sent her very sweet text messages in the past couple of days, despite his being swamped at work.

Sorry for letting things get out of hand last night. I'll make it up to you!

Wish I could see you tonight

Heading home now. Hope you're sleeping well

I'll be waiting in Arrivals when you land!

Each message made her feel like shit, as he obviously felt bad about what had happened and wanted to make it up to her. Still, she tried her best to sound upbeat and positive when carefully crafting her responses. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she scolded herself for the hundredth time. As the bus shook violently as it neared its destination, Elodie shut her eyes tightly and banged her head lightly against the window.

Once the bus slammed to a halt, everyone began to busily gather their belongings and the chaos broke her pensive trance. Elodie waited impatiently as the people around her pushed towards the door to escape the stuffy environment, as she had no energy to join them in the pointless race to disembark first. After finally grabbing her luggage, she trudged down the steps and onto the street, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the bustling scene around her.

Catching a glimpse of the majestic InterContinental Le Grand Hotel brought a tiny smile to her face as she thought back on all of the fancy lunches that Janet, the agent from London who had scouted her as a teenager, had taken her to at Café de la Paix during her first few Paris Fashion Weeks. Elodie had even walked in two shows that had been set up in the grand ballroom there.

Thinking back on her rookie years made her feel sad, for she felt like she had not accomplished nearly enough during her time in Manhattan. Though she had only been modelling for three years, it felt like eternity. An eternity during which she had accomplished barely anything. But at least she had the Ero campaign, she mused as she shook the depressing thoughts out of her head. Now was her chance to make a name for herself.

“
Pardon
,” one of the rowdy boys from the bus called out after her as she pulled up the top handle of her luggage and began walking down rue Scribe and towards her agency's office. His friends snickered from a distance like a crowd of schoolboys. Elodie turned around to look at him as he walked towards her, all the while trying her best to hide her annoyance. “
Oui
?” she asked shortly. The boy gave her a smirk and asked, “
Vous êtes mannequin? T'es trop adorable
.”

There was a reason as to why she hated Parisian boys. They were cocky, forward and dressed as if they might be gay, what with the scarves and excessive amounts of hair product. This one in particular was dressed as if he were channeling a Zara mannequin, with pants almost as tight as hers. Come to think of it, she owned a pair of black leather boots similar to the ones that he was wearing. His blonde hair had been shellacked to meticulous perfection, and she feared that it would shatter if something were to touch it.

Elodie gave him a tight smile and lightly nodded before turning back ahead, quickening her pace so as to give him the hint that she didn't want to be bothered. She silently praised herself for having chosen a sensible pair of shoes for her long journey. “You are French, no?” he asked in a thick accent as he continued to walk alongside her, grinning from ear to ear.

She did not bother to respond, choosing instead to imagine that he were mute and invisible, as she began to make her way down the crowded Avenue de l'Opéra. It took all of the energy that she could muster to keep a straight face and not scream vulgar obscenities in French at him right then and there. She was not in the mood for this.

“American?” he continued with a lazy smile, seemingly encouraged by her cold demeanor. Elodie could hear his friends laughing and egging him on as they trailed behind them. “I love American girls,” he went on in his poor English as he adjusted the strap of his leather carryall on his shoulder. “But I know you are no American. I hear you speak French to driver. But I will talk English if you like. Just for you.”

Elodie could see that he wasn't going to leave her alone anytime soon. “It was very nice to meet you, but I am late,” she finally said, exaggerating her American accent in hopes that he might give up. No such luck.

The boy continued to walk with her as they turned onto the narrow street on which her agency's office was located. “Do not be so shy,” he joked as he drew closer. “It is okay. You are just my style.”

Just a little bit more, she comforted herself as she felt beads of sweat form on her forehead. Couldn't he get the hint and back off? They had been speed-walking for several blocks, and she was growing tired. The sound of the wheels on her suitcase clacking loudly against the narrow sidewalk echoed through the small alleyway as they passed a rack of Vélib' rental bikes and a small brasserie. She was only a few doors away from the safety of her agency.