First Sight Read Free

after five days of consistent rain in Milan. It didn’t look as though the winter doldrums had hit Paris yet, much to her delight, although she loved Paris even in the rain. She always said that somewhere in a past life she must have been French. It was the city of her soul, although she had been twenty-seven the first time she had come, two years after the beginnings of her success. Her first trip had been to buy fabrics for her designs, and it was only after she opened European subsidiaries many years later that she showed her own designs at the Paris prêt-à-porter shows, a rare treat and honor for her.
    The first time she saw Paris had been love at first sight for her. She loved everything about it. The weather, the architecture, the people, the museums, the art, the restaurants, the parks, the streets, the churches, the light, the sky. She had been so overwhelmed the first time she rode in a taxi up the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, she had started to cry. It was night, and an enormous flag was fluttering slowly in a summer breeze, lit up in the dark night, and she had never gotten over that feeling of awestruck adoration for the magical city, even now. Her heart always pounded with excitement every time she arrived. She had never gotten blasé about it, or taken its breathtaking beauty for granted. She had always said she wanted to get an apartment there one day, but somehow never had. She stayed in the same suite at the Plaza Athénée every time she came instead, and they pampered her like a deliciously spoiled child. She loved it, and as a result, had never gotten her own place.
    “You’re meeting with the fashion writers from The Washington Post and The New York Times , and some journalist from Le Figaro , after lunch,” Jade said briskly, and then smiled as she looked at her. Timmie had a look on her face that she only saw in Paris. No matter how tired she was, or how exhausting the previous cities had been, there was a kind of glow about Timmie in Paris. She had a special kind of romance with the city, and people always teased her about it. “You’ve got that look,” Jade said with a smile, as Timmie nodded, unabashedly happy to be there, whatever her country’s views on the subject at the moment, or however much others liked to bash the French. Timmie always stood up for them staunchly. She loved the French, and everything about Paris. Sometimes she just sat in her room late at night at the Plaza Athénée, after she got home from business dinners, and looked out the window at the dark gray pearly light of the night sky, or a sunrise on a winter morning … spring … summer … whatever time of year, it was Timmie’s favorite city, more than any other in the world. There was nothing else like it and it never failed to make her heart race.
    Timmie absentmindedly ran a hand through her thick, long hair, and pulled it back in an elastic. She didn’t bother to look in a mirror, or go to the bathroom to do it, or even brush it. She didn’t care. She rarely thought about her looks. She was beautiful but not vain. She was far more interested in the looks she designed for others. Her lack of narcissism about her own appearance was endearing and refreshing. When she was working and busy, she looked like a long, leggy child who had wandered onto the scene and was pretending to be a grown-up. Her style was commanding, and her talent obvious, but at the same time there was a kind of innocence about her, a lack of awareness about who she was and the power she wielded. Timmie’s real strength was pure raw talent, and incredible drive. She produced more energy than an electrical power plant, and Jade could sense her winding up now.
    Timmie had a lot to do in Paris. They had fittings with the models scheduled for seven the next morning. She was driving three hours outside of Paris after that, to look at textiles at the factory, and see if they were willing or able to do some special fabrics she wanted.