Read Forget for Free Online Page A

vintage over high-end.
    I browsed, tried on, and let my nose sample every perfume. The sweet and floral tones of Chanel’s Chance won me over, along with a few other things. I spent far too much, and Lindsay nearly died when I sent her a picture of the pretty, white Chanel bags sitting on my hotel bed. Apparently, there’s a difference when it comes to bags, and Paris is the only city with the coveted white bag adorned with 31 Rue Cambon in black lettering.
    Nerves flutter inside of my stomach as I finish getting ready. I have no idea what a man named Alexandre in a bar called Au Fait would have for me, but I shouldn’t be surprised. This is such a Millie thing to do. The woman never did anything by the book. Sending me on a bucket-list mission to Paris mere days after her funeral is proof of that.
    My reflection in the mirror smiles back at me. I blink out of my daze and put the finishing touches on my makeup—mascara, a hint of blush, and lip gloss. A laugh echoes inside the spacious bathroom as I catch sight of the black ink still etched on my palm. Dylan. The mysterious and funny guy I met my first day here. I’ve scrubbed my hand until it’s red and raw without success. He apparently prefers permanent ink. His masculine script is pretty much tattooed onto my palm.
    The urge to dial his number is tempting, but I think that man is more trouble than I can handle. Trouble with a capital T. He’s too beautiful, too charming, and way out of my league.
    And what in the hell would I do with a man like that? I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl. I’m not really a relationship kind of girl either. I’m a “Jamie is my safe place” kind of girl. I think I need to stick with that mindset and forget that Dylan even exists .
    My thoughts roam to Jamie, and I shoot him a quick text.
    ‘I’m thinking about you and hoping you’re feeling okay today.’
    ‘I’m good, baby girl. Busy with meetings, but good.’
    Honestly, I’m not sure he’d even tell me if he was having a bad day.
    ‘Promise me you’re taking care of yourself while I’m off gallivanting in Europe.’
    ‘I promise. All is well in Cali :)How’s Paris? Meet anyone new? Do anything fun?’
    ‘Paris is amazing. No new people, but definitely lots of amazing food and gorgeous sights.’
    ‘Send me pictures?’
    ‘Like you even have to ask . . . ’
    ‘Chat later? I miss you like crazy, sweetheart, but I’m glad you’re having fun. Love you.’
    ‘Definitely. And I miss you more. Love you so much x’
    I think this is the first time I’ve ever lied to Jamie about anything. Why am I lying to him about something as simple as meeting an attractive guy? It’s not like anything happened, it’s not like it will go anywhere. I have zero plans of calling the number imprinted on my hand.
    But guilt eats away at my gut.
    I start to dial his number but stop, thinking about the consequences. Jamie has too much on his plate as it is; hearing about some random guy I met in Paris is the last thing he needs.
    Sighing heavily, I scrunch product into my hair, letting the strands fall loose and curly down my back. Normally, I straighten it because I hate the way it reminds me of my mother, but today I’m feeling lazy. Plus, this is the longest my locks have been in years, and it’d take hours to tame the wavy mess. Between Millie being sick and my busy work schedule at the label, months have passed since my hair has seen a salon.
    My grandmother’s necklace is the last addition to my look. I glance in the mirror, and despite my hate for selfies, I snap a quick pic and send it to my sister. The dress is from her boutique, Wild Spirit.
    Ember’s text is immediate.
    ‘I knew that dress would look amazing on you! And I’m kind of freaked out by how much you look like mom right now.’
    She’s right. My curly hair paired with the bohemian dress and slouchy leather boots is eerily similar to the way my mother used to dress when Ember and I were kids. I’m a