ogle these beauties.” She stops to practically undress the footwear with her eyes.
“Would you like to go in there and rub up against that lovely pair of sapphire-blue pumps?” I ask, pointing to a shiny four-inch set in the display. “Perhaps mate with them? Take them home and pet them all night?”
“As a matter of fact, I think I will,” she says, then tips her forehead to the store. “Let’s indulge in shoes as we discuss hot, broody, complicated men.”
“So, just like any other time we’re together?”
Flipping her dark-brown hair off her shoulder, she laughs. “You know me so well. Shoes make my lack of a love life so much better.”
I shoot her a sympathetic look. “I thought you were mostly content with your lack of a love life?”
She shrugs, then sighs heavily. “Mostly. But at other times, I wonder—what does it take to get a date as a twenty-five-year-old who owns a football team? I’m anthrax to men.”
I pat her shoulder. “The dilemmas of the young female billionaire.”
“Exactly. Men are terrified of me, or I’ve been taught not to trust them.”
“I can’t fault the trust issues. Mine are a mile-deep and a canyon-wide.”
“Understandably. But shoes? Shoes I trust,” she says breezily as she grabs hold of the door and tugs it open.
We head into the shop, faint strains of Édith Piaf playing overhead as wafer-thin sales associates with carved cheekbones organize stylish boots, strappy sandals, and sexy heels.
“Yes, exactly,” I say, then toss out a bonjour to the associates.
“Bonjour. Let us know if you need anything,” a man in black jeans and a sequined tank top says to us from his place near a display of completely shameless shoes with peacock feather embellishments.
“We will,” I reply.
Nadia beams at the man and asks in French for the sapphire shoes in her size.
“Bien sur.” The shopkeeper scurries to the back room to grab a pair of the blue shoes for Nadia.
“The height of my fluency is shopping terms,” she says to me.
“You know much more than how to shop. But you do excel at transactional French,” I say, my eyes drawn to a pair of silver flats. They’d be perfect for the trip. Great for walking around. For checking out hotels.
I hold up the silver flats for Nadia to see. “Shall I get these for my trip?”
She eyes them disdainfully, then asks, “Is that your strategy—wearing flats around Daniel so that you don’t look as sexy as you know you look in heels?”
I shoot her a curious look. “Mince words much?”
“Never, so I won’t now. You’re attracted to him. You said as much a few minutes ago. And for some reason, you’re going all proper and businesslike, twinset and pearls, on this trip. But not wearing heels around him isn’t going to stop your attraction.”
“I wear flats every day. I wore them to dinner with him and Cole,” I point out.
But what’s the point?
The flats I wore didn’t make him less attractive.
Is Nadia right? Am I deliberately picking clothes that make me feel businesslike with Daniel? So I can stay in that familiar zone? So I’m not tempted to explore this rush of feelings I have for him? “Flats are easier for navigating Paris,” I tell her, perhaps trying to convince myself as well.
“They are. But a good pair of heels can make you feel the same way as a new lace bra-and-panty set does,” she adds, dropping her voice as she flops into a plush pink chair. “I bet you bought that for your trip.”
I shoot her a withering glare. “How do you do that?”
“See right through you?”
I nod. Of course I bought new underthings, but a woman always needs those. “Yes. That exactly.”
“I know you well,” she says, and she’s right on that count. We met a few years ago, when I was mentoring her in her bachelor’s degree program. Since then, her life’s been a whirlwind—inheriting an NFL franchise from her father, running it with her friend . . . Nadia’s the youngest team owner in the league, but winning the Lombardi Trophy her first year at the helm has helped her earn the respect of her peers.
“You know me better than anyone,” I say, since she’s become a confidante and a shoulder to lean on. Funny, how our roles have switched, but I think that’s how good friendships work—you need each other in different ways at different times.
“Now come, sit next to me,” she says, patting the chair beside her. I join her as I hand the