Off Limits

by Vanessa Winters

  At this point I’m more confused than anything, so I just follow, not looking too hard at the pretty, glittering people who sit at the tables we’re passing, laughing and drinking. All of them probably have reservations.

  We’re led to a booth that doesn’t look like it’s the place they put people who dare to show up here unannounced. Lucien says it’s perfect, and the waiter introduces himself as Phillipe and asks if he can get us anything to drink.

  “Just water for me,” I say firmly, daring Lucien to contradict me.

  “Water for now,” he agrees easily. “And then we’ll have a look at the wine list.”

  “Very good, sir,” Phillipe says and dashes off.

  “I still have to drive home at the end of this, you know,” I remind Lucien.

  He waves a hand like that’s unimportant. “I can get you home. Or you could come home with me.” He waggles his eyebrows. If we were in a less classy establishment, I would have thrown something at his face.

  “I know you don’t have any shame,” I tell him, “but can you please try to control yourself for a second? All I’m going to want to do after this is go home and take a hot shower.”

  I wait for a tantrum. For him to insist that he’s taking me out to dinner so I owe him or some garbage like that. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he just shrugs. “Fair enough. It has been a very long day.”

  Water and bread are brought to our table, and I start looking at the menu.

  Of course it’s one of those places where they don’t put the prices near the items, so you can order whatever you want with blissful ignorance of how much you’re spending.

  I remind myself that technically our firm is paying for this, and they can definitely afford it.

  The menu’s in French, but I manage, deciding to go with a steak dish that sounds delicious and is probably less expensive than anything involving caviar or snails.

  Lucien probably dines like this often, judging from how quickly he puts his menu down.

  In the end, he ends up ordering a single glass of wine and a pasta dish, and I’m surprised at his restraint. I wonder if it’s for my benefit.

  “Will you miss it here when you have to go back home?” he asks me, sipping his wine while we wait for our food.

  I smile. “Of course. Paris is like nowhere I’ve ever been before. Everything is so nice and fancy, and it’s definitely different from where I live back in the States.”

  “Have you lived in the same place your whole life?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m from this little town in the south originally. My parents still live there. What about you?”

  He starts telling me about his childhood home when someone walks by our table and then turns around and comes right back over.

  “Libby? Libby Chastain?”

  I glance up, surprised to hear someone with an American accent who knows my name, and even more surprised to find it’s a very tall, very handsome man standing there looking down at me.

  It’s obvious that he’s very fit in that expertly tailored suit he has on, and his blond hair and green eyes are eye catching in the best way. Just behind him is a woman dressed all in red, and she doesn’t look pleased at the interruption.

  “Um. Yes?” I say, head tipped to one side. There is something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Then he grins, and it’s cocky and just a little condescending, and I remember.

  “Ian Black?” I ask.

  His grin widens. “I didn’t think you’d remember me,” he admits.

  Lucien chuckles. “Guess there’s not much to remember.”

  My eyes widen as Ian shoots him a look. “I suppose like recognizes like.”

  I haven’t seen him in probably a decade. He was my brother’s friend in college, the two of them playing together on the school’s lacrosse team. Sometimes he’d come home with Darren for a weekend or a short holiday break, and my parents always took pity on him and the fact that his parents often traveled for work over the holidays, leaving him on his own.

  They thought he was such a nice boy because he knew how to charm them, but Darren always confided in me that Ian was a complete player. Always had a different girlfriend or fuck buddy, and plenty of other girls waiting in the wings to step in when it was time for a new one.

  Darren was always very insistent that I stay away from him, but Ian and I had shared a few talks and late-night pints of ice cream when he would stay at the house. Nothing more than that, of course.

  I was just a high school kid to him, but I thought he was funny and incredibly handsome.

  He’s still handsome, standing there looking like he stepped off the page of some fashion magazine and decided to come have a late dinner.

  “I remember,” I say, smiling back. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on vacation for a few weeks,” he says. “Just seeing the sights, you know how it is.”

  Lucien picks up his drink. “You look more like you’re at work. Because that certainly isn’t a leisurely outfit.”

  Ian doesn’t miss a beat. “And you look like you’ve simply settled for the evening. Which, I can assure you, is someone no one ever does with my best friend’s sister.”

  I feel my cheeks heating up as Ian’s date glares at me over his shoulder.

  Lucien holds up his glass. “I can assure you, there are no compromises with a woman like her. She’s bright. She’s intelligent. She’s certainly beautiful. But, I do wish you luck on the rest of your evening, seeing as you’ve apparently pissed off your own date.”

  I whisper. “Lucien, that’s enough.”

  Ian smiles broadly. “Then, here’s to hoping you know how to handle a woman like that.”

  “Sure,” I reply, raising my voice above the two of them. “I know how that is.”

  Even though I have no clue how that is.

  “What about you, Libby? What are you doing in this fair city?”

  Lucien butts in. “She’s a hardworking woman on a date you’re ruining, of course.”

  Ian quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t believe she’s under the impression you’re on a date.”

  I draw in a curt breath. “I’m here on a workstation. I work for Huffington Smith, and they have an office in Paris.”

  His eyebrows go up, impressed. “Wow. You’ve come a long way from being Darren’s kid sister sitting at the kitchen table in your SpongeBob pajamas.”

  Of course, he remembers that.

  Lucien is looking back and forth between us with interest, but Ian’s date looks less than pleased.

  She folds her arms and gives me a look that would definitely have set me on fire if she had that power. I just look away from her and back up to Ian.

  I’d gone to a few of my brother’s lacrosse games back in the day, and Ian was a capable player, for sure. I remember him; all athletic and skilled, and sixteen-year-old Libby had crushed hard.

  But he was my brother’s friend, a college boy with a bright future ahead of him, surely, and therefore off limits. I could only imagine what my parents would have said if they’d known he’d seen me in SpongeBob pajamas.

  We’re both a long way from that now, clearly, and I can’t take my eyes off of him. All of that boyish charm he’d had at nineteen is still there in the sparkle in his eyes and the warmth of his smile.

  And judging from the woman behind him who’s now glaring at me, he still has no problem with the ladies.

  “Well,” I say. “I should let you get back to your date.” I nod my head at her, and he turns around, almost looking surprised to see her standing there.

  She gives him a sarcastic little wave, and he smiles at her. “Ah, Simone, don’t look at me like that. She’s an old friend I haven’t seen in years.”

  “And she clearly has a date of her own,” Simone snaps in a thick accent.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” Lucien says, grinning. “We’re just co-workers.” He winks at me, and I want to stab him with my fork.

 
Ian spares him a glance, but then his eyes travel back to me. “It was good to see you,” he says, his voice warm and sincere. “Tell Darren we should catch up sometime.”

  “Sure,” I reply with a smile, trying not to feel disappointed. Of course he wants to talk to Darren. They were friends, after all, and I was just his annoying little sister. “I’ll do that. Have a good night.”

  I give Simone a sweet smile which she scoffs at as she turns to march over to their table.

  Ian watches her go and then smiles at me one more time. “You too, Libby,” he says before following her.

  When I look back to Lucien, he’s grinning widely and the urge to stab him makes itself known again.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” I demand, reaching for my water glass and wishing I’d ordered something stronger.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Old friend of yours?”

  “Old friend of my brother’s,” I clarify. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “I see,” he says, resting an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “You seem happy to see him now, though.”

  “Lucien, can you not? For like five minutes, can you just not?”

  He just laughs, and we manage to get through the rest of the meal without me strangling him.

  Ian

  The shower turns off, and I stretch out on the bed, not looking up from my phone. Simone’s a beautiful sight in a towel and nothing else, but she’s one of those women where her hotness doesn’t necessarily outweigh her crappy personality.

  It’s easy to tell she’s the kind of person who’s never been told no in her life, and whenever she seems close to not getting what she wants, she pouts and then gets angry.

  And when she gets angry, she will not let you hear the end of it.

  Dinner was nice enough. The food was, anyway. For the rest of the time that Libby and her friend sat at a table a little bit ahead of ours, Simone sent glares their way, ranting about “that rude American chit” and how she had no sense of propriety.

  “Clearly we are on a date,” she said more than once. “It’s rude and annoying.”

  I rolled my eyes the last few times she said it and reminded her that I was the one who’d started the conversation in the first place. The look on resentment she shot me told me she knew that, but her anger stayed directed toward Libby.

  Made sense. Libby’s an easier target, when you think about it. I have things Simone wants. Namely enough money to wine and dine her and a bed she wanted to be taken back to. Easier to spend the whole night ranting about someone she doesn’t even know.

  It’s a very Simone thing to do. She’s an only child who was coddled long past the time she should have been cut off, so her selfish nature comes naturally. I spent most of the night being annoyed with her, but I still took her home at the end of the meal.

  Obviously.

  She might be a bitch, but she sucks dick like a champ, and a man has needs. And there’s something viscerally pleasurable about shoving my cock in her mouth and getting her to shut up, which is probably a clear sign I need to break up with her.

  And that’s fine. Things have been getting stale for the last couple of weeks, and I usually don’t stay with a woman for much longer than that, anyway.

  Simone steps out of the shower and comes to stand at the foot of the bed, waiting for me to acknowledge her. When I don’t, she clears her throat impatiently. I wait a little longer, lazily scrolling on my phone.

  “Excuse me,” she says, accent making the words even sharper. “Is there something on your phone that is more appealing to look at then me?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, but I’m tempted to list all the things I could be looking at that might be more interesting and appealing than her. But that’s a dick move, so I let my eyes slide up from the screen to roam over her.

  She’s standing there, practically dripping onto the plush carpet of the bedroom floor. The towel barely covers anything, showing off her long, shapely legs and a good amount of cleavage. Her hair is damp and pushed back from her face, and without makeup, she looks younger and softer. I almost want to draw her back into bed and go another round or two.

  Almost.

  “Ian,” she whines when I haven’t answered her still. “Why are you ignoring me?”

  “I’m not ignoring you, I’m tired,” I reply.

  “Oh,” she says, and her voice dips down to a register meant as a seduction. “I can think of some ways to perk you up.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes right in her face. “I’m not really in the mood, darling. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  It’s a pretty firm dismissal, and the shock of it registers on her face quickly. She looks upset, but when I don’t say anything else, she huffs and stomps over to the chair in the corner where she left her clothes.

  The whole time she’s getting dressed, she shoots angry looks at me, and if they could kill I’d be bleeding. But I’ve got a hell of a poker face, and I keep my eyes on the screen of my phone.

  Finally, she’s dressed, and she marches out of the bedroom without a backwards look, stomping down the stairs. The front door slams hard, and I won’t be surprised if she took something on her way out.

  It’s a rented chalet anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

  Once she’s gone, I let out a rough sigh. It’s not really like me to kick out a willing bedmate in the middle of the night. Simone is more grating than some of the other people I’ve had over, but she wasn’t all that bad.

  But lately things just haven’t been the same. My attention span with dates has never been the best, I’ll admit, but it’s been worse than usual the last few weeks. I don’t know if it’s the women or if it’s me, but something is going on, and I’m not sure what it is.

  With a groan of frustration, I get up from the bed and head downstairs to the bar cart set up in the den. I pour myself a generous measure of scotch and sip it slowly, letting my mind wander.

  It comes back to Libby.

  Darren’s little sister always interested me. She had a quick mind and a smart mouth even when she was a teenager, never afraid to put her brother in his place when he was acting like a dick. Or me, for that matter.

  She was younger than me and my friend’s sister, so therefore off limits, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s still the case.

  Two days later, I walk into Belle Pain and find Libby in the line.

  I don’t spend time wondering if it’s fate that we’ve run into each other again, and instead come over to her with a smile on my face. “Well, well. Funny running into you here.”

  Her look is annoyed at first, but then it clears when she sees me. “Oh. Hi, Ian.”

  “Hm. I think I’ve been greeted with less enthusiasm before, but it’s been a while,” I say, mostly teasing.

  She makes a face and sighs. “Sorry. I’m just having a morning.”

  “I can tell,” I say. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She looks surprised, but there’s a small smile playing around her mouth now, so I’ll take it as a win. “Rushing in to be my knight in shining armor?” she asks. “How older brother of you.”

  “Well, your brother isn’t here, I assume, so I can stand in for him for a bit. What do you need? Some lunch money? A bratty kid beat up for pulling your hair?”

  Libby laughs, and it lights her whole face up. She really has grown up well, filling out but still keeping that pretty ‘girl next door’ thing she had going on when she was younger. She seems genuine, which isn’t something I usually think of as a compliment, but it works for her.

  “No, nothing like that. Well. Maybe the last one, I don’t know. Do you ever do something that you know is a bad idea, but somehow you thought maybe it would work out and then when it blows up in your face you only have yourself to blame?”

  It’s a convoluted sentence, but I work my way through it. “Yeah, that sounds like my entire first year out of college, actually,” I tell her. “Happens to the best of us, I t
hink. Next time you listen to that inner voice more.”

  “I wish. I just keep going from dumb shit to dumber shit, I feel like.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. The Libby Chastain I remember was too smart for her own good and always one step ahead of everyone else.”

  “It’s been a long time since then,” she says. I nod.

  “Yeah, but some things don’t change that much.”

  “Sometimes they do, though. And then you’re just left wondering when and how it happened.”

  It sounds like there’s a story here, hidden under the forced lightness of her voice, and I find myself curious about what she’s been up to for the last several years. Working at one of the big four accounting firms is pretty damn impressive for someone her age, and there’s something about the sadness and exhaustion lurking in her eyes that makes me want to do something to make her smile.

  We’re close to the front of the line now, and I make a decision. “Let me buy you lunch.”

  Libby looks surprised. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. What’s wrong with wanting to catch up with an old friend?”

  For a second she looks suspicious, eyes narrowed as we inch closer to the counter. I give her my best innocent face and a Boy Scout salute, and she laughs, shaking her head.

  “Okay, sure. Why not? I’ll admit I’m interested to hear about what you’ve been doing lately. Obviously you’re doing well for yourself if you’re on vacation in Paris.”

  I shrug. “It’s nothing special. My dad’s business really took off in the last five years or so, and I’ve been working with him. It gives me a lot of freedom to travel and do what I want. Technically I’m in Paris doing ‘research’.”

  “On what?”

  “Trends, people. You name it. He wants to take his consulting international, but he doesn’t know anything about other countries, really. That’s where I come in.”

  “Sounds like a pretty good deal,” she says. “Was Simone part of your research?”

  I smirk, amused. “Jealous?”