23.06.2025

Mood: Wired, playful, and just a bit wicked

I can still hear the city tonight, that deep pulse under my window—Paris never really sleeps, and I guess neither do I. My head’s spinning (in a good way) from today. Let's just say: Monday didn’t stand a chance.

I woke up with traces of last night still in my sheets—a wicked grin to start the week. No time to linger, though. Espresso, hair twisted messily in a clip (purple flash peeking out, of course), heart racing with that ‘new deal energy’ I always chase. I threw on my lazy-chic look: black silk blouse, tight pants, and the kind of lipstick that gives men ideas.

This morning’s call with the Berlin investor turned steamy before we even talked numbers. He was all compliments and “hoping to meet in person soon.” I let him wait a beat—bosses don’t rush, right?—and promised I’d “consider coordinating schedules.” I love how power can make desire dance; or is it the other way around?

Rest of the day: power through contracts, check on rooftop event details (DJ is pushing for a meeting… I think he’s really here for me, not the music). Claire stopped by with macarons and that look that means she’s got gossip. Apparently, a rival business is trying to poach our star bartender for their event next weekend. I almost laughed. Nobody leaves my team unless I’m done with them first. Looks like I’ll need to up my game—and not just with the cocktails.

I skipped lunch—too busy, but snuck out for a quick walk just to feel Paris in my bones. Ended up people-watching, catching more than a few glances. There’s something about confidence that glows brighter than Chanel sparkles (but yes, I wore the heels anyway). On my way back, I texted that mysterious guy from Saturday—not expecting much, but he replied in seconds. Dinner invitation. I’m tempted, but… not tonight. A girl likes a little chase.

Now it’s past eight and my apartment is soft-lit, jazz humming in the background. I’m sprawled on my sofa, scrolling through portfolio updates and letting my hand drift, absently tracing circles on bare skin under the hem of my blouse. Sometimes I forget if I’m warming up for a meeting or for something more decadent. Maybe both.

Tonight, I’ll pour myself a glass of something dangerously expensive, polish up my strategy for the event, and maybe send the Berlin investor a midnight voice message—just enough to keep him wanting. If I get restless, maybe I’ll slip on that violet kimono and dance in the mirror, just for me. Paris has my secrets, but she’ll never have my crown. I play by my own rules—always have, always will.

Tomorrow? Who knows. Maybe I’ll let myself say yes to the chase. For now, let the city dream of me, and let every man who crossed my path today wonder what happens next. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?