Amara Lyselle was not going to Paris.
Absolutely not.
She had work to do. She had an empire to run. She had an island to turn into a groundbreaking philanthropic venture.
And yet.
Less than 48 hours after the cursed gala, she found herself seated in the back of her private jet, scowling at the window as the plane ascended into the clouds.
Felix, lounging across from her with a smug grin, casually sipped his espresso. "So. Remind me again how you're not going to Paris?"
Amara scowled at him. "Shut up."
Felix hummed. "Right, right. I forgot. You're technically going for a business meeting. What was it again? Something about potential partnerships with European film studios?"
Amara crossed her arms. "I am going for business."
Felix nodded. "Of course. Just a complete coincidence that Elara is filming there."
Amara huffed. "It is a coincidence."