The echo of designer heels clicking across polished granite tiles pierced the silence of the building lobby. It was the confident stride of a young woman who to look at her, exuded contemporary class and an urban sophistication. She stepped into the elevator as the doors slid open and with a perfectly manicured finger, pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
Everyone in the open-plan office greeted her as she sauntered past countless bays of fashionably clad employees. Amy in turn wished each of them a good morning, never once forgetting any of their names. The women wore skirts and heels, the men, shirts and brogues. Looking good wasn't a requirement here, but it was expected of them.
"Good morning, Clarissa," said Amy as she arrived at the imposing oak door of the corner office.
"Good morning, miss Faye," chirped Clarissa. "You can go straight in, she's expecting you."
Emelia looked up from her laptop as the door to her office opened and Amy slipped inside. She raised her hand and motioned for her to come in and sit down as she continued her phone call.
"No, he didn't get an invite. He's a pompous, opinionated prick who doesn't know the difference between couture and cardigan."
Amy loved the sassy attitude of her boss, there was a reason why everyone in the fashion industry both loved, and at the same time feared her. She smiled to herself as she placed her sky blue Saint Laurent handbag on a chair next to a samples clothing rack. Working at Moda had its perks, the samples alone were worth more than a fifth avenue condo.
"Listen, I have to go, darling, someone important has just walked in," replied Emelia in a dismissive tone into the handset. An amused Amy raised an eyebrow as she settled into the seat. Her boss sighed as she replaced the phone and slumped back into her plush office chair.
A smirk spread across Amy's lips as the most impressive list of curse words she'd ever heard, flowed effortlessly from Emelia's mouth. She was astonished at the truly magnificent feat of verbal filth. Experience had taught her that Em only swore when she was really angry, or particularly stressed out about something.
"I think you might have missed one," Amy said quietly to try and lighten the mood. "Bad morning?"
"Oh, don't get me started," Emelia replied, as she held up a finger.
"Clarissa, sweetie," she said into the intercom unit on her desk. "Could you bring us two espressos please? Thank you." She turned back to her assistant editor and just smiled.
"You okay, Em?"
"I'm fine, sweetie. How are you?" she replied cheerfully. "How did your date go on Saturday?"
"Who told you about that?" Amy was shocked that her boss was privy to that particular piece of information, but she shouldn't really be surprised. Every scrap of gossip made it's way through this office at some point.
"Grapevine, darling. You know how it is." Emelia picked up her Mont Blanc pen and started to nibble on the glossy black lid. "Well? Did you do the deed of darkness?"
"Jesus, Em," Amy mumbled, embarrassed. "If you must know, we didn't even make it back to my place. He also conveniently forgot to pick up his wallet when he left the house. I feel like a right idiot, I went to a lot of trouble to get a booking for that restaurant."
"Urgh. Men are pigs!" Emelia spat out, before looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know it's not been that long since you and Lincoln broke up."
"It's fine," Amy sighed. "I'm giving up on men. I think I'll just become a lesbian instead."
Emelia was still laughing when the door to the office flew open and Clarissa tottered in carrying two small coffees on a silver tray.
"Here you go, miss Lake. I'll just leave these here for you," she said cheerfully as she placed the tray down on the mahogany side table and made a sharp exit.
"I'll have you know that seventy-two percent of men try harder in the bedroom because of small romantic gestures, it's a fact. Three hundred dollars that meal cost!"
"Amy, that was printed in our magazine, and we made it up." Emelia took off her rimless glasses and placed them softly on the desk. "Listen, darling, I need to ask you a favour."
Amy knew that meant trouble. It was probably the reason for the small talk, to try and soften her up. She grimaced in anticipation of the question as she gazed out of the high-rise windows across the corner of 8th avenue and west 57th street. The February rain streaked the tall panes of glass and blurred the view of the monochromatic concrete metropolis.
"I'm really not in the mood, Em."
"Sweetie, it's a dire emergency. I need you to head home and pack a bag." As the words sank in, Amy's eyes widened and she sat bolt up right in her seat.
"Don't you dare!" she gasped. "This is the first vacation I've had in three years, it's all booked. My mum is expecting me, it's her birthday. The whole family will be there."
"I know, I know. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. There's been a major cock-up and Jenny is stuck in Rio, I need you to do the Tom Ford interview."
"In Paris? Em, don't do this to me!" she pleaded. "There must be someone else who can do it."
"There's not, I've tried everyone. Sally is in Fiji on her honeymoon to whatshisface, and Joanna is having her appendix out. Don't make me beg, sweetie. I'll get down on my knees."
"You should be used to it," Amy mumbled.
"I heard that," her boss replied. "Come on, it'll be two days, tops. It's the feature piece for our Spring special edition, we need it."
Amy huffed dejectedly, before caving into the comically large grin plastered across Emelia's face. "All right, but I'm flying first class."
"Fine, fine. Whatever you want, darling."
"And I'm staying in a posh hotel."
"I don't care if you stay in the Palace of Versailles as long as you get the interview done."
"Fine," Amy replied as she stood and walked over to collect her handbag from the chair, "but you owe me one."
Emelia made a 'mwah' kissing sound from behind her, "Thank you, sweetie! I'll email you all the details now."
Amy stepped out of the office, clicked the door closed behind her and slumped back against it, "My mum's going to kill me."
***
The hypnotic drone of the engines prevented Amy from sleeping. Even in the luxurious first class of the Boeing 767, the dull rumble was enough to keep her awake. All of the ambient lighting had been dimmed to allow the passengers to sleep, so Amy flicked on the overhead reading light and reached into her bag for her book. The flight had been delayed an hour due to bad weather, and that had given her some time to peruse the shops at JFK departures lounge. She'd picked up a travel guide to Paris in Borders and was now flicking through the introduction.
"Paris has many nicknames," she read quietly to herself, "such as 'The City of Love', but its most famous is 'La Ville-Lumière' meaning 'The City of Light'."
Amy had never been to Paris before, so although she felt terrible about having to let her mother down, it was still an exciting adventure. As she skimmed through a section on the best shopping districts in the city, she became distracted by a young honeymoon couple making out on the other side of the isle. The cabin was dimly lit and very quiet, she wondered if anyone else was watching the little show that these two were putting on. Just as they started to get a little too amorous for discretion, they stood up, straightened their clothing, and sheepishly made their way to the bathroom at the front of the galley. Amy puffed her cheeks and blew out a frustrated sigh as she returned to her book. Sometimes it felt like everyone was having sex but her.
The plane landed at Charles de Gaulle airport on time, and she made her way through customs, then luggage collection, and finally out onto the street. Outside the air was biting cold, sharp even. The sky overcast, but flawless. It took her barely a minute to hail a taxi down, and as she settled into the warm back seat of the Mercedes C-Class, the driver loaded her suitcase into the trunk.
"Hotel Le Meurice, s'il vous plait," she said, as he climbed back into the car. She'd been practicing that line for the last twenty minutes and was pleased with herself for totally nailing it.
"Oui, madame," replied the driver as they pulled away from the curb.
***
The quiet tap of keys on a laptop keyboard was the only sound that could be heard, everything else was silent and peaceful. Amy was sat in her hotel room at a large mahogany writing desk, typing up the last section of the article for the magazine. The interview had gone much better than she had expected. Tom had been very receptive to her questions and the material for the feature piece was outstanding. Amy smiled as she glided her finger across the trackpad to the 'Send' button and clicked it with relish. She knew Emelia would be pleased, hell, she'd be over the moon with it.
As Amy absentmindedly nibbled on the lid of her pen, she turned in her chair and glanced around the room. To say it was luxurious would be an understatement, this place could put The Plaza to shame. At nearly seven-hundred euros per night, Amy knew she'd pushed it a little, but you have to treat yourself every once in a while. Especially when someone else is paying.
The room looked like the fantasy of an interior decorator with an unlimited budget. Every colour and material used exuded the charm of classic French Louis XVI style. Antique furniture was draped luxuriously with expensive, elegant fabrics. It captured the essence of what she had always perceived to be Parisian luxury at its finest. Even the antique brass wall lanterns were so ornate and elaborate, that she wished she could fit one of them into her suitcase for the flight back. Time just seemed to stop amid the tranquil atmosphere and elegantly muted palette winter colours. Unfortunately, Amy's daydream of eighteenth century opulence was interrupted by the electronic chirping of her mobile phone sat on the coffee table.
"Hello?"
