Amelia Hart had never been more nervous in her life. Her three-slide presentation for Maison Delaunay sat neatly on her laptop, but her stomach churned as if she'd swallowed a washing machine.
Claire had tried to reassure her that morning. "Relax. Julien's the one presenting. You're just supporting."
"Supporting?" Amelia repeated, clutching her coffee. "He said he wanted me to walk him through it. That's not supporting—that's starring."
Claire grinned. "Then consider it your Paris debut."
---
The conference room was intimidating, all glass walls and sleek furniture. Executives from Maison Delaunay sat poised, their designer suits immaculate. Julien stood at the front, calm and collected, while Amelia hovered beside him, trying not to look like she might faint.
Julien began smoothly, introducing the campaign concept. Then he turned to Amelia. "And now, Amelia will walk you through the strategy."
Her heart thudded. She stepped forward, laptop connected to the screen, and her slides appeared—three simple, elegant visuals.
She took a deep breath. "Our approach focuses on authenticity. We want to show Maison Delaunay not just as a fashion brand, but as a storyteller. Each piece has a history, an inspiration, and we believe audiences connect most when they see the human side of luxury."
Her voice wavered at first, but as she spoke, confidence grew. She explained the campaign's focus on behind-the-scenes content, designer interviews, and artisan spotlights. She emphasized simplicity, elegance, and emotional connection.
The executives leaned forward, nodding. One whispered to another. Amelia caught the word intéressant (interesting) and her pulse steadied.
When she finished, Julien stepped in seamlessly, tying her ideas into the broader vision. The meeting ended with polite handshakes and promises to "explore further."
As they left the room, Amelia exhaled so hard she nearly collapsed.
Julien glanced at her. "You didn't faint. That's progress."
Amelia glared. "That's all you've got? I practically saved the campaign."
Julien smirked. "Don't get ahead of yourself. But… you did well."
Her cheeks warmed. "Thank you."
---
Back at her desk, Claire pounced. "So? How was it?"
Amelia dropped into her chair. "Terrifying. But I think it went okay."
Claire grinned. "Julien didn't scowl, so that's basically a standing ovation."
Amelia laughed, tension easing. "I'll take it."
---
Later that afternoon, Julien appeared at her desk. "Dinner," he said simply.
Amelia blinked. "Dinner?"
Julien nodded. "Client dinner. Tonight. You're coming."
Her stomach flipped. "Me? Why?"
"Because you're part of the team," Julien said, as if it were obvious. "And because they liked you."
Amelia hesitated. "I don't even know which fork to use at fancy dinners."
Julien's lips twitched. "Follow my lead. Try not to spill anything."
---
The dinner was held at a chic restaurant near the Champs-Élysées. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and waiters glided like dancers. Amelia felt wildly out of place in her simple black dress, but Julien's calm presence steadied her.
The executives from Maison Delaunay were warm, asking about her background, her move to Paris, her impressions of the city. Amelia answered honestly, sprinkling in humor about her metro disasters and coffee catastrophes. To her surprise, they laughed.
Julien watched quietly, occasionally stepping in to steer the conversation. Amelia noticed how effortlessly he commanded respect, how his words carried weight. And yet, when his gaze flicked to her, there was something softer there.
Dinner stretched late into the evening. As they left, one executive clapped Amelia on the shoulder. "Très bien (Very good). You have a fresh perspective. We look forward to working with you."
Amelia beamed, heart soaring.
---
On the walk back, Paris shimmered under streetlights. Amelia hugged her coat tighter, exhilarated.
"I think they liked me," she said, unable to hide her smile.
Julien glanced at her. "They did."
She laughed. "You sound surprised."
"I'm not," Julien said. "You're good at this. You just don't know it yet."
Amelia's breath caught. Compliments from Julien were rare, and this one felt… different.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Julien's gaze lingered for a moment before he looked away. "Don't let it go to your head."
Amelia grinned, but inside, her heart was racing.
That night, as she lay in bed, Amelia replayed the evening. The laughter, the compliments, Julien's rare smile. Paris was still chaos, but it was starting to feel like hers.