The Parisian Billionaire Sugar Daddy Agency_A Billionaire Age Play & Spanking Romance

by S. L. Finlay

  Contents

  Paperback Novel

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Parisian Billionaire Sugar Daddy Agency

  S. L. Finlay

  Copyright © 2018 S. L. Finlay

  All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In my town, I was always a little odd. A girl who wanted to work, who wanted independence and adventure was never widely appreciated around those parts.

  When the guy I had been dating since high school broke my heart - leaving me for another girl in our town - I was devastated. But, rather than spend days crying over it, I stomped out of the little diner where he'd decided to meet me to break the news as he called after me, "if you hadn't been so stubborn, I might be marrying you instead!"

  I knew then that I couldn't go home. I couldn't very well return to my fathers house, tell my parents they were right, that I wasn't cut out for this after all. I couldn't submit to the will of them – and everyone else in this town – and settle, I couldn't just say, oh, it's okay, I'll take the next guy that comes along and treat him like the center of my life. I didn't want a man to orbit around, I wanted a life of my own. It didn't matter how much everyone else thought that was odd or that I wasn't right in the head, it is what I wanted.

  At first, I considered leaving what I would years later refer to as 'fly-over-land' in the middle of America for one of the big cities on the coast. I thought about L.A. and New York, I even considered the more liberal but very expensive San Fransisco. I knew I would never fit in in those places though. I wasn't liberal enough for San Francisco. I wasn't hip enough for New York, and wasn't L.A. just full of actors anyway? I wasn't an actor. I wasn't quite sure what I was, but I knew I wasn't an actor at least.

  Not knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life made it hard to do anything at all. Without any clear direction in mind, even an idea of what kind of career I wanted, or what I was looking for to move towards, aside from 'the exit to my old life' wasn't helping. Running to these places wouldn't be constructive.

  Sighing, I pushed myself onward psychologically. I wouldn't tell my parents about the diner, I wouldn't tell anyone. I would simply book a ticket, and go, somewhere. Anywhere. Just out of here was enough. The need to escape had gripped me so strong, like the feeling of needing to run most people who grow up in a small town have, only worse because I had ignored it for so long while I submitted to a relationship that I didn't want to be in.

  When I arrived home that night after spending hours in the park avoiding my fathers' door while I thought about how I would get away, I didn't allow myself to cry. I just flipped open my laptop. I knew if I booked something before everyone else arrived home, I could get out of here. If I was too slow though, someone might come home and might do something to make me change my mind. I wouldn't be talked out of this.

  I wasn't going to change my mind. I was doing this. I was going.

  I found a cheap flight to Paris and booked it. I didn't know much about Paris, or about France or Europe aside from what I'd learned in school, but I had a bit of high school French still, I could do this. It wouldn't be so bad, right?

  Later, when my mother arrived home from work, I behaved as normally as I ever did. Then, my father and two brothers arrived home from their jobs at the local saw mill and we all sat down to dinner. My mother was a waitress, and despite serving food to people all day at work, she was perfectly happy to do so at home too. She would fuss about in the kitchen from the moment she walked in the door to make sure everything was ready for her family. She cooked the best food. I knew I would miss it when I left. I tried not to let the thought linger in my mind too long however, as it made me sad. Even when you want to run away, you still want to be around your family.

  Even as I sat there at the dinner table, it hadn't quite sunk in what I had done yet. I wanted to tell everyone what I had done and why, but I couldn't manage it. I couldn't bring myself to tell them all I was leaving and that I was going to go so far away. It felt like the move was too abrupt and no-one would believe I was making it. I could hardly believe I was doing this myself, even though I had allowed myself to fantasize so much about running away from this town for what felt like a very long time.

  My family enjoyed a normal dinner, then, lying to say I wasn't feeling well, I excused myself to go to my room so I could have some space to think about what I had done.

  As I lay there, I was a bit surprised by how I didn't feel anger towards my ex-boyfriend. I wasn't upset that it was over, or even surprised, I realised. I was feeling pretty indifferent about the whole thing. Mostly, I felt like a weight had been lifted and now I was free to follow my own dreams. If only I could figure out what they were, of course.

  Sighing, I rolled onto my back and forced myself to stop focusing on the negative. I had just booked a trip to Paris. I'd always wanted to travel, and this would be huge! I had a lot to do, but I knew I would have fun in Paris and I had to focus on that. The city had so much more going on than this small town. When I thought about it though, I realized I was missing a big component that you need when you are moving to a new city, let alone a new country. What would I do there?

  Imagining scenes from Moulin Rouge, I saw Paris as a hip, vibrant city full of culture. In my mind, the city was a classic, in the way that even my nearest city could never be with its concrete and hordes of homeless people.

  Parisians were fashionable. Parisians were thinkers, artists. Parisians were intelligent, witty, European. Like most Americans, I had always held the belief that Europeans were somehow better than us here in America. I feel like most Americans see Europeans that way, as if it's a rule we all follow or something. We think that they invented all these cool things, and had all these cool ideas.

  Europe was where it was at, where I wanted to be. I knew it. I didn't have to know everything, I didn't have to know what I would do when I got there. The most important thing was getting there. My heart was calling out for it and I would do it. I was going to Europe.

  If Europe was an idea, and Paris a fantasy, my dreams that night were filled with beautiful buildings and cultured people were littered with these ideas.

  The next morning I awoke and rolled over in my bed. I had graduated high school a few years ago, and had been doing odd jobs to make money and get by since then. I had worked as a waitress, as a shop assistant. I had even worked at the saw mill my brothers and father worked at in their office for a few months when they needed someone. I was tired of working silly, dead-end jobs for a few months here and there. I was currently working casually for a local diner, but they only called me when they really needed someone as their regular girls could cover most of their roster. The problem with small towns generally seems to be that no-one is employed, or when they are, it's not for very long.

  Pushing myself out of bed, I forced myself to open my emails again and double-check my airline
ticket was still there. I hadn't been dreaming. My ticket was there, and I felt my lips curving into a smile.

  Yesterday had really happened, and I still had yet to shed a tear about my now ex-boyfriend. I felt sad about not feeling sad. I felt a little guilty for my lack of tears and as if something was wrong with me. Even though I felt that I still forced the thought of my break up from my mind as I walked into my kitchen for breakfast.

  My mother covered the breakfast shift at the café today, so I knew she wouldn't be home. My brothers and father had already left for work hours ago as I sat down for a ten AM breakfast. As I poured the last of unnaturally brightly colored cereal into a bowl I thought about how I would tell everyone my plans. I figured, despite feeling bad that I was going away, I really had no reason to when the time came to tell everyone. I had no real reason to feel that I was doing the wrong thing or should do things any other way, really. This was about doing things my way, about 'finding myself'. I was never going to do that here. Even as I told myself those things though, I was still scared to talk to my family about what I had done. My tummy churned as the thought went through my mind.

  If I was honest with myself too, at the point that I booked the tickets, I wasn't just trying to get away from my ex but was trying to get away from this town. I was sure I had developed cabin fever. The place felt too little for me. I knew everyone and wasn't surprised by what happened here, ever. There was no work and I was a depressed under-employed young person. It was well and truly time to get out, I had been thinking about it for some time. But when my boyfriend dumped me, he did me a favor I had needed him to do. He took away some of the comfortableness of being here. I wasn't comfortable here anymore. It was like he'd lit a fire under me and now that the convenience and the comfort of having a boyfriend as an excuse to stay in this small town was gone, well, so would I be.

  While chewing my breakfast, I pushed the thought about all of the reasons I should leave from my mind. While I sat there, I decided to walk into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. With everyone else in the house working, they relied on me to keep the house in order (with the exception of dinners, which were always made by Ma).

  Walking into the grocery store some time later, I headed for the fresh produce. While choosing a pepper, I ran into an old high school friend, who was now pregnant. Very pregnant.

  "Oh my god! Is that you Lindsay?" She cried and I turned towards her.

  Our town was small, but it wasn't that small that you saw everyone all the time. I hadn't seen her belly, although I had heard she was pregnant somewhere. Gossip around these parts is pretty fierce, and you never seem to remember who you hear what from. But, you do know everything about everyone. "Oh wow, you're getting so big! How far along are you?" I asked the question because I had to, and didn't listen to the answer.

  The girl babbled about being married (she'd been married three months, and was more than three months pregnant) and finished by telling me, "it's so funny! We can't even drink around here, yet we are all making families!"

  I laughed at her comment, then decided to try it on someone. Here was my chance to talk to someone who wasn't my family who I could talk to about this, Maybe her reaction would help me to know what my parents reaction would be like later. "Oh yeah, it's not like that in Paris at all..." I started, "I'm moving there, you know."

  Her eyes grew wide as dinner plates then. "Paris? Like in France? Like, in another country?" her shock was so clear, I could have laughed, if I could believe that I wasn't this shocked myself.

  My father had helped me to get my passport a few months ago, and when he helped me, we both knew I would probably never use it, but he wanted to encourage me to follow my travel dreams, even if no-one around here knew how to do that really, not even us.

  "Yes." I confirmed for my very pregnant listener. "I'm going to Paris."

  "For a holiday? With who? Your boyfriend?" She asked, sounding more panicked with each question. What right did she have to be panicked, she didn't know me. I sighed.

  Nodding I told her, "it's a sort of holiday. I might be working there." I hadn't looked for work, and I didn't really know what type of work I would find but the words tumbled from my mouth anyway. I wanted to work, I thought to myself. Paris had so much to offer, and I didn't want to miss it for not staying long enough.

  "Working? In Paris?" She asked.

  "Yes. Working. Learning French. I am going there to learn French." I told her before going on, "I am going on my own. My boyfriend and I broke up."

  At the last sentence, her face went from shocked to turning completely white. "You broke up? Why? How could you?" She sounded personally insulted by my break-up, it caught me off guard and threw me off balance a little. I didn't know how to respond right away.

  I wanted to laugh then, this whole scene was a bit ridiculous in the middle of the fresh produce isle, with little old ladies surrounding us, squeezing different fruits and vegetables for firmness and trying to decide what they thought was the best potato for their soup. I wasn't going to allow myself to get sucked into small town drama.

  At the same time that I thought it was a good idea to stop this conversation and be on my way, I also wanted to say a few things. I wanted to tell her all the things I couldn't quite tell my family yet. I knew now that this was for sure a practice run for a conversation I would have later.

  "It's no big deal, he was an idiot anyway. Left me for that girl, what's her name?" I asked, genuinely forgetting now. "You know, the one who had the lisp when we were in school, was in the year under us? Had really bad eczema."

  She was nodding now. "Trudy. Trudy Granger." She told me, an expert gossip, I knew she'd do great in this town.

  "Yeah, that one." I told her, and before she had a chance to swoop, I went on, "and I am fine. It's no big deal at all. It's better he leave me, then I am free to do as I like."

  I could tell though by the look on her face, that she was not on the same page as me. She didn't understand what it was to feel limited. Unlike me, this was the perfect place for her. In small town America, with its small town ideas and small town nothings-ever-happenings where all people do is talk about each other. This girl fit in here perfectly, I didn't.

  Knowing I wanted more and that made me different to everyone else here, I smiled at her after some more idle chit-chat and made my way to the cereal isle to replace the cereal that I had finished off this morning. I was happy for people here, but that didn't mean this was the place for me and this conversation, as small and inconsequential as it was being that I hardly knew this girl, confirmed that for me. It was time to leave. I had made the right choice, now all I had to do was tell my family.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next week flew by with me racking my brain trying to work out just what I was going to do in Paris (if I was going to find work) and how to tell my family. I had some time before the flight, but thought I should have started organizing these things months ago. I had no idea what I was doing. Floundering around after a dream you'd recently thought up sounds silly, and that's because it was. I had no idea what I was doing, and my stubborn determination was all that was pushing me forward.

  Flicking through videos and blogs written and filmed by other Americans who had made the move, I took notes about visas, jobs, housing. I even made notes on how to use the Parisian public transport system, as if it would be so different those in America. I knew I was researching too much, but somehow wasn't too sure how to stop myself. I was excited. I was scared and nervous but that excited feeling seemed to never leave me.

  I had even refused a shift at the restaurant, saying I had something on with my family. At this stage, no-one barring the girl I ran into in the supermarket knew about Paris, which, in a small town, meant everyone knew about Paris. It was only a matter of time until my parents heard something.

  Then, just as I was surfing French Craigslist looking at jobs for English-speakers in Paris, ones where companies often wanted to recruit from abroad and wou
ld handle your visa, I heard my mothers voice call out from downstairs. "Lindsay! Can you come down here for a moment?"

  I knew. I will never know how exactly I knew it, but I knew she had heard about Paris, just from that question alone. I closed the Internet browser and stood up. "Coming, Ma!" I called as I walked out of my bedroom and down the stairs, each step softly falling on the floor. My awareness was with my feet moving forward, not with exactly where I was going.

  When I entered our kitchen, there were my three older brothers, father and mother sitting at the table together. "Sit town, tyke." My father said, motioning for me to sit down at the table.

  My Dad hadn't called me 'Tyke' in years, probably since I was a tyke. But I sat down anyway, between my brothers.

  "Your mother heard something, interesting, at work today." My dad said, taking the lead as always, "she said a girl was in, she was in high school with you. She was telling everyone how you were going to Paris to live on your own. And how you had told her all about it in the grocery store the other day. Is that true?"

  The baby of the family, and always the joker, I shook my head. "Well, not exactly. I didn't tell her everything about it."

  My father wasn't having it though, his face was serious. "She also said you had broken up with your boyfriend. Now, I hadn't seen him around in a while, but I didn't know it was over. Neither did your mother. Why haven't you told us any of this stuff?" With each question, my dad's face was completely blank. I knew he must have been keeping it deliberately blank, but there was something in the way he was doing that that made me feel a little unsettled, like I was very naughty, even though I knew I wasn't doing anything wrong. This conversation felt way too serious.

  I felt bad then, seeing my fathers face, and my mothers. My brothers were all pretty expressionless, too, which was never a good thing, but it wasn't the same as seeing the disappointment on my mothers and fathers faces. My father looked genuinely sad. I was sorry right away.