SLEEPING WITH PARIS
by
Juliette Sobanet
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SLEEPING WITH PARIS
Copyright @ 2011 Juliette Sobanet
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you wish to share it. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for honoring the copyright laws and for respecting the author’s hard work.
Cover art designed by Laura Morrigan:
www.lauramorrigan.com
Visit the author website:
www.juliettesobanet.com
Also by Juliette Sobanet:
Kissed in Paris
Praise for Sleeping with Paris
“This fun, fast-paced debut novel by Sobanet is the kind of story you want to pick up at the end of the day with a glass of wine and let the rest of the world fall away.” -Sophie Moss, author of The Selkie Spell
“What a fun book! I absolutely love everything about it, from the colorful cover to the characters and charming French phrases! Seat yourself comfortably, grab some chocolate and enjoy this lovely modern romance story.” -Ananda of Chick Lit Advocates and Books to Remember
“This story of a twenty-something grad student in Paris trying to mend her broken heart while ‘dating like a man’ may sound like one you've read before. But, trust me, it's not. Just as West Side Story was a new telling of Romeo & Juliet, Sleeping with Paris is a fresh approach to this tale. This book had me wiggling in my seat, laughing out loud, and itching to book a trip to Paris!” -Stana Warren, avid reader and Francophile
“A fun read about a heartbroken American newcomer to the City of Love . . . and how she manages to overcome her hurt (and various other obstacles, along the way!). If you love Paris, you'll definitely enjoy this. I did!” -Talli Roland, author of Build A Man
“You remember the Calgon jingle ‘Take Me Away?’ Sleeping with Paris does exactly that. It makes you want to pour yourself a glass of wine (or eat some delicious chocolate), dive into the book, and leave your cares and worries behind. I haven't read a chick lit novel in a while that was this romantic and entertaining.” -Amy Bromberg of Chick Lit Central
“Sleeping with Paris was well-paced, entertaining, and best of all it had surprising depth and did an excellent job of plucking at my heartstrings.” -Tracie Banister, author of Blame It on the Fame
“Anyone who loves the story of a strong woman finding herself and her heart is going to be absolutely enamored with this book.” -Michelle Bell, Chick Lit enthusiast and avid reader
“Sleeping With Paris by Juliette Sobanet was one of the best books I read in 2011! It's a true Chick Lit, and one I will never forget.” - Isabella Anderson of Chick Lit Goddess
“What I love the most is how Juliette interlaces the charm of Paris, the City of Love, and the city she loves into her novel. As I read the book, I felt like I was there, walking the lively, café-lined streets, taking in the tasty aroma of buttery croissants and freshly baked bread.” -Katie Trusz, Teacher and avid reader
To all of my study abroad friends, especially Deirdre and Sarah.
Without you, the stories in this book wouldn't have come to life.
To Sean, for loving me, for believing in me,
and for having a spreadsheet at the ready to keep my creative madness under control.
And to my mom, for sending me on my very first trip to France.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my incredible critique partners, Karen, Sharon and Mary for reading several drafts of this novel and for being such wonderful friends and writing teachers. Special thanks to Alison for being my writing partner-in-crime, France buddy and a fantastic friend. Thanks to Angie for being an amazing friend and beta reader. Huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Kevan Lyon, for taking a chance on me and for helping me to become a better writer. Thanks to my other France friends for making those times some of the happiest in my life, especially Ed, Molly, Annie, Mark, and my amazing host family. Thanks to Jessica for being my loyal friend through it all, and to Amanda for being like a sister to me. Thanks to each and every one of my fabulous girlfriends who, whether you meant to or not, served as an inspiration for this novel. Thanks to my mom and dad for always encouraging my creative side, even when it wasn't practical, and to my mom for always believing in me. Finally, thanks to my incredible husband for being there for me every single day and for being so excited to take this crazy writing journey with me.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Excerpt from Kissed in Paris
About the Author
One
vendredi, le 24 septembre
Just because lawyers know how to lie doesn’t mean they’re good at it.
“Keep in touch,” I called, waving a not-so-tearful goodbye to my co-workers for the last time. I stepped out into the muggy DC heat and was so happy to be done with that hellhole that I felt like ripping off my little black suit and skipping down M Street in my underwear.
After seven years of practice, both as a student, then as a poor college graduate, I’d become quite the expert at strutting in heels down the brick sidewalks of Georgetown. Today, as I glided along in a state of total disbelief that this day had finally arrived, my normally uncomfortable heels effortlessly carried me away from my boring part-time translating job—make that my ex-translating job—down to Wisconsin Avenue, where my fiancé was wrapping up his last day at his Georgetown law firm.
Unable to hide the enormous grin spreading across my face, I reached into my purse and pulled out my flight itinerary just to make sure, for the hundredth time that day, that this was, in fact, my life. I scanned the piece of paper for our names.
Charlotte Summers and Jeff Dillon. One-way flight departing from Washington Dulles International en route to Paris Charles de Gaulle. In two days. Two freaking days!
After stopping at the liquor store and splurging on a fancy bottle of champagne, I bounced into Jeff's posh office. His bubbly administrative assistant, Tara—a former hometown beauty queen—greeted me with her pearly white smile.
“Hey Charlotte,” she said, her gum popping like miniature firecrackers in her mouth. “You getting excited for Paris?”
“Well, I just put in my last few hours at the office otherwise known as hell, so excited would be an understatement.”
Her platinum blond ponytail bobbed as she g
iggled. “Jeff sent me the pics of your new apartment over there. Oh my God, it’s gorgeous!”
I beamed. “I know. Can you believe it? This firm doesn’t mess around.”
“Girl, you two are going to have so much fun. But don’t forget about us back here. We’re going to miss you so much.”
“We’re going to miss you too. But don’t worry, we’ll be back in the spring for our friend’s wedding, and technically we’ll be moving back in a year . . . unless I can convince Jeff to stay longer.” I winked at her. “Hey, is Jeff in his office?”
“No, he just stepped out for a minute, but you can go on in and wait for him. He should be right back.”
“Thanks, Tara.”
“No prob, dear.”
I walked down the long corridor, let myself into Jeff's secluded, corner office and ran my finger around his immaculate desk. Over my new, ruby-colored bra and thong set, I was sporting a sexy black skirt coupled with a silky violet tank in the hope that we could relive the steamy sex we’d had the last time I wore this hot little number to his office . . . which was also when I gained a new appreciation for his extra cushy, swiveling office chair.
I plopped the bottle of champagne onto a neat stack of papers on Jeff’s desk as I took a seat in the swivel chair. After I jiggled the mouse to bring his computer out of sleep mode, I signed into my email account and clicked on an email Jeff had sent me the week before so that I could, once again, gaze at the pictures of the charming Parisian apartment that awaited us. In his email, Jeff had written:
Welcome home babe. Can’t wait.
xoxoxo,
Jeff
My heart melted all over again, just like it had the first time I opened his email. God, I loved this man.
Just as I was opening the first picture, an instant message popped up on the bottom right-hand side of Jeff’s computer. I wasn’t a nosy fiancée; I trusted Jeff. I couldn’t help but read the bubble on his computer screen though. It read:
Brooke: You there?
Brooke who? Must be a colleague, I reasoned. But then another message popped up:
Brooke: Give me a call when you have a minute . . .
I racked my brain trying to remember if Jeff had ever mentioned anyone at work named Brooke. Nothing came to mind. I considered responding to her and pretending to be Jeff to see what she would say, but then I thought better of it. I had nothing to worry about. I had faith in Jeff and in our relationship—so much so that I’d decided to pack up my life in DC, quit my French teaching position (which, by the way, I loved) and my summer translating job (didn’t care for that one so much) and move to Paris with him. So, whoever this Brooke person was, she was probably harmless.
But then, another message popped up.
Brooke: I really want to talk to you . . . xxx.
A sickening feeling told hold in the pit of my stomach as I stared at the xxx. Who was this girl?
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and told myself to relax. She was probably just an old law school friend who was still hung up on Jeff. She obviously didn't know that he was engaged now, that we were moving to Paris together, and that he was in love with me.
But then I thought about my college boyfriend who'd been cheating on me for the entire last year of our three-year relationship. I remembered how blindsided I'd been. Wondering how I could've missed his infidelity when all along, it was right there under my nose.
Jeff wasn't like my college boyfriend though. He'd fallen for me so quickly, so completely. He was sweet and honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He was different from all the rest. Which was why I'd fallen head-over-heels in love with him and why I hadn't hesitated to say yes when he'd proposed only six months after we met.
But when I opened my eyes and read Brooke's messages again, especially the xxx part, I couldn't ignore that nagging gut instinct telling me something wasn't right.
Hoping Jeff stayed out of the office longer than a few minutes, I launched into detective mode. With our impending move only days away, I figured a little investigation couldn't hurt. And besides, I was sure it would turn out to be nothing.
I pulled up the Internet history on Jeff’s computer, scrolled through the most recent websites visited and let out a sigh of relief. Nothing alarming.
But then, at the bottom of the list, my heart dropped.
Match.com popped out at me first. Then I saw Yahoo Personals. And, last, but definitely not least, eHarmony. As my stomach began doing flip flops—not the good kind—and the blood rose to my head, I clicked on the Yahoo Personals link.
There I saw a picture of Jeff, a picture I had taken on our engagement night, posted next to a caption that read:
Successful lawyer looking for fun in the Nation's Capital.
My hand trembled over the mouse as I blinked my eyes to make sure what I was seeing was real. This had to be a joke. There was no way, no way in hell, that my fiancé, Jeff, the love of my life, would ever do something so deceitful. He wouldn’t hurt me like this. He just wouldn’t.
I desperately skimmed the page for some glimmer of hope.
Member since April.
It was now September.
My hands continued shaking as if I was holding a loaded gun and wasn’t sure if I should pull the trigger or let it drop.
As I scrolled further down the page though, I saw it. The clincher. The mother of all blows. A message from a red-headed, big busted girl named . . . Brooke. It read:
I've had such a wonderful time with you this week Jeff, I can't wait to come visit you in Paris . . . xoxoxo, Brooke.
Brooke. All I could see were her giant boobs bursting out of her porn-starish shiny blue tube top. Red hair. Boobs. xoxoxo. Brooke.
My vision blurred, refusing to see what was staring me in the face. I shook my head in an attempt to regain composure. This could not actually be happening two days before we were moving to Paris together. And less than six months after Jeff had proposed.
It had to be a mistake.
I clicked on the instant message from Brooke and without thinking, I responded.
Jeff: Hey
Brooke: There you are sexy. Busy day at the firm?
My hands quivered over the keyboard as I continued, not caring in the least that Jeff could be coming back at any second.
Jeff: Crazy busy. You?
Brooke: Feeling a little tired after last night . . .
What the hell happened last night? Who did she think she was?
Jeff: What happened last night?
Brooke: lol. Like you don’t remember.
Jeff: How could I forget? I love hearing you talk about it though . . .
Brooke: You kept me up all night!
Stupid whore. I was going to kill her. Just as soon as I killed Jeff. Filthy, scum of the earth bastard.
Jeff: Tell me more. I love it when you talk naughty.
Brooke: You really want me to give you the details?
Jeff: Work is really boring today . . . throw me a bone.
Brooke: Well, I remember your naked body on top of mine . . . does that jog your memory?
I could feel my breakfast making its way back up through my stomach. But I had to get it straight. I couldn’t lose Jeff without knowing for sure.
Jeff: Yes, but I want to hear you tell me the full story. All the details.
It took a few seconds. But then I got more clarification than I had ever wanted.
Brooke: lol. Well, first there was the time in your office last night, and then all night long at your place, and oh yeah, this morning in the shower. And, that’s right, one last time on the kitchen counter before you left for work.
A fiery hot, uncontrollable rage boiled up inside of me as I remembered Jeff calling me the night before to cancel our dinner plans. He said he had to stay late at the firm. It had become the routine for the past few months. Staying late. Lots of work to do. Can’t make dinner. Sorry babe, I love you.
God, I was such a fool.
Just then, Jeff burst th
rough the office door.
“Hey babe, no more summer days in a cubicle! And you brought champagne, how sweet.”
I stared up at Jeff in disbelief, at a complete loss for words. There he was—my 6’3”, blond, blue-eyed, gorgeously-built fiancé. The man I had trusted with all my heart, with every fiber of my body. The man I was going to build a life with. How could he have done this to me?
As my eyes darted from Jeff to the screen and back to Jeff, a stray tear fought its way down my cheek.
“Babe, what’s the matter? What’s going on?” he asked as he rounded his desk to comfort me.
I rose with more force than I knew I had in me at the time and glared at him. “You tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Charlotte, what are you talking about?” he asked defensively as a hint of panic passed through his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“No, Jeff, I’m not okay.” I wiped the tear from my face, determined not to let any more of them fall. “Tell me what’s going on. Who’s Brooke?” I demanded as I pointed a trembling finger at his computer screen.
He glanced at the screen long enough to see the nasty sex talk from Brooke, and then looked back at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “I can explain, it’s not what it looks like—”
“Then what the hell is it?” I rounded the desk to get away from him and that revolting computer screen. “You’re sick. How could you do this to me? To us?”
Jeff ran a shaky hand through his wavy blond hair and shook his head. He didn’t have an excuse. Because there was no damn excuse.
“How long? How long have you been seeing her?”
“Charlotte, don’t—”
“Stop lying to me. Just tell me how long it’s been.” My legs felt like they might give way, but I forced myself to stay standing.
“About a month,” he mumbled as he locked eyes with the floor.
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