The Adaptation: The Diary Obsession, #2

By S.M. Pratt

Two women. One man. Zero limits.

My name's Charlie, and I have a problem: I'm obsessed with two talented, smart, and sexy women. Armed with their diaries, I'll do everything I can to achieve my goal: become their man.

The Diary Obsession is an episodic novel that records my tales of obsession with Sophia and Virginia, presented in novella-length installments.

The second episode (The Adaptation) covers the problems Sophia faces as she settles and creates her new life in Paris. It also introduces Virginia's daughter (who definitely has issues of her own) and sees Sophia and Virginia reunite in person. Of course, I'll take you back to the present with my current progress in courting my favorite ladies.

If you like your LGBTQ+ romance with a good serving of mystery, action, and sizzling heat, then you'll love this episodic novel about me and my obsession with two gorgeous women.

Get your copy today and take a peek between the sheets. (I won't tell if you won't.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Creative Communication Solutions Ltd.
• Release date: Jan 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988639383

Book preview

PART ONE

SOPHIA'S TRANSLATED DIARY

7:20 P.M.

As the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle—after a very long layover in London, courtesy of my crappy reward point redemption—my new reality hit me like a brick wall in my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged face.

Wow, I’d really done it. There was no turning back. The next chapter of my life had started.

Hello, European lifestyle.

Goodbye, American friends.

While I double-checked I hadn’t left anything in the seat pocket in front of me, I realized I would miss calling Alex, Kate, and other girlfriends at the drop of a hat. I’d have to set up a new network of friends here. Although the idea made me cringe a little, it wasn’t impossible. I’d traveled to plenty of places without knowing a soul. I’d made friends, even intimate ones.

Who do I know in Paris?

There was Nicholas, of course. But since I was going to work with him, keeping some sort of professional distance would be appropriate. I could probably have a drink with him once a week or so, though, to catch up on whatever business issues needed attention. He wouldn’t be here to welcome me today as he was away helping another client. When he’d announced the unfortunate news, he’d said Amélie, his paralegal secretary, would pick me up and take me to the maison close.

Amélie wasn’t someone I wanted to hang out with. My intuition screamed that she hated me, and the feeling was mutual. I couldn’t pinpoint why I didn’t like her, though. There was just something about her I couldn’t stand. But since she was picking me up tonight, I should probably be more open-minded toward her. Driving a quasi-stranger around Paris probably wasn’t at the top of her priorities.

Then there was Renée.

Argh.

I wasn’t impressed with what she’d done during my last visit to Paris. Dragging me to my ex’s wedding as her plus-one then leaving the party without even warning me hadn’t been cool. The rest of that evening had been—and still remained—blurry at best. I shivered as the hazy memories of stained sheets and the nasty hangover that had followed came to mind. My one-night stand with the mime whose name I didn’t remember didn’t rank high on my list of sexual exploits.

Yeah. My last attempt at re-kindling my friendship with Renée had been a fiasco. It would be best if I avoided hanging out with her again.

But then, who else did I know in Paris?

While I racked my brain, passengers around me started moving. They reached for their bags in the overhead compartments and slowly made their way down the aisle to exit the aircraft.

By the time I’d left the jet bridge and entered the terminal, nobody had come to mind. I’d definitely have to build a new circle of friends here. But perhaps I could let old acquaintances reach out to me if they lived here. Maybe social media could be useful in this case.

As I stood in line, waiting to clear customs, I changed my information on Facebook to say that I now lived in Paris.

Paris. City of Lights. City of Love.

I was just a short flight away from Vee. Meeting up with her would definitely make things easier on my soul (and on my body). Just thinking about her made me blush with anticipation.

The line started moving quickly once new customs agents arrived to process our group of passengers, so I put my phone away and retrieved my passport and paperwork, ready to be let into my new country.

7:50 P.M.

Clearing customs and picking up my bag hadn’t taken long. CDG was a large airport, but it was well run. Or at least it had been today.

No hiccups at all, until now.

Where the heck was Amélie?

Nicholas had told me she’d meet me right here at the terminal. We’d even triple checked which terminal I would land at, my flight number, and the time.

I once again called the number Nicholas had given me for her.

Voicemail. For the third time.

I finally left a message instead of trying to get her to pick up. Maybe she was still on her way but stuck in traffic.

Hi, Amélie. I’m at the airport. Waiting for you, as agreed, at terminal 2A, near door 5. Did we get our wires crossed? Where are you? Give me a call back as soon as you get this message, please. I’ll roam the airport to get something to drink soon.

Twenty more minutes passed without a reply. I left the arrivals door and began walking around, looking at my options for a drink. There were a few Starbucks and a McDonald’s. Then I spotted a French Bistro.

Bistro it was.

Two glasses of wine later—and still no text message or call from Amélie—I decided I was too tired and jet lagged to stay here a minute longer. I settled my bill and dragged my bag toward the taxi waiting area.

I could head to the maison close on my own, and I’d deal with Amélie and her broken promise tomorrow.

One thing was certain: We weren’t starting our professional relationship on sound footing.

9:55 P.M.

Thankfully, the staff at the maison close were expecting me. My driver was able to get in through the metal gate without a hitch once he repeated my name aloud into the security buzzer.

A minute later, as the driver stopped in front of the main door, a tall, tuxedo- and mask-clad butler opened the cab door just as I was retrieving the fare from my purse.

Good evening, Ms. Sophia, he said as I walked out, stepping into the crisp evening air that carried with it a faint scent of lavender.

The cabbie popped open the trunk and headed toward it.

Good evening, Richard, I said after noticing the butler’s discreet name tag.

The cabbie clunked his trunk shut and then brought my bag next to me.

Thanks, and have a great evening, I told him as he returned to the driver’s seat and drove off.

I’m afraid I have bad news, the butler said, eyeing me up and down.

What is it?

As ordered by Mr. Nicholas, I am here to enforce the rules that Ms. Gabriella created, especially when clients are on the premises. We have a full house tonight. We were expecting you much earlier. As per her policy, I can’t let you into the front entrance dressed as you are.

I looked down at my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt.

Yep. Made sense. How did I forget about the importance of timing when it came to this place? I shouldn’t have stayed at the airport as long as I had.

During my last visit, I had worn one of my belated aunt’s dresses and mask. While Nicholas had taken back the ornate and expensive mask, he’d told me to keep the dress, trench coat, and gorgeous necklace. But I’d totally forgotten to bring those items with me today. After all, I had planned to arrive well before any clients. Stupid Amélie. My aunt’s dress and trench coat had been packed in my boxes, which would arrive in the coming days.

But what good would that do me right this minute?

None.

I didn’t have anything in my bag that was suitable, and I was too jet-lagged to think straight.

You could use the side entrance for employees, if you’d like.

Relieved that Richard had come up with a solution, I turned back to look at the gate. Shit. The cabbie had already gone. The employees’ entrance was quite a walk from here.

What about my bag? I asked Richard, knowing fair well the long driveway was made of gravel, which wasn’t ideal for my suitcase’s wheels.

Leave it with me. I’ll have it brought to your room. As per Mr. Nicholas’s instructions, you’ll be staying in Room 101. He handed me a heavy, old-fashioned key. May I suggest you don one of the employees’ outfits and masks before heading to your room? You should find some in the change room.

Of course, I’ll do that. Thank you very much, Richard. I put the large key in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it then handed him my bag and headed down the path that wound around the corner of the building. Every step of the way, as my tired feet dug into the tiny, loose gray rocks, I swore at Amélie under my breath.

At least I hadn’t worn high heels.

This would have been so much easier if she’d picked me up as she was supposed to.

Or perhaps I was judging her too quickly. Maybe my sleep-deprived brain was making it worse than it was. Maybe she’d had some real emergency to deal with. Could she be at the airport right now, waiting and swearing at me?

I put my anger aside. The decent thing to do was to leave another message and tell her I’d left the airport. I should have done it earlier, but no time like the present.

I dug my phone out while walking.

By the time I reached the employees’ entrance, I’d found and dialed her number. As my eyes scanned the clothes racks and various unoccupied makeup stations in the change room, I heard the ringtone and waited patiently to reach her voicemail greeting again.

How I want nothing more than a comfortable bed right now!

I walked toward the clothes rack, intent on getting myself to bed as soon as possible. I ruffled through the outfits, finding one that would be tall and big enough for me to wear when another ringtone echoed in the room, matching the one I was listening to.

Odd.

I shook the thought off as a coincidence then left Amélie a final message.

Amélie, it’s Sophia. I don’t know what happened or why you couldn’t pick me up as agreed, but I wanted to let you know I’ve left the airport. So if you get this now, don’t bother showing up.

A few seconds after I returned the phone to my purse, a beep echoed in the empty change room, as though a phone had just received a message.

What the fuck? Could it be?

My chosen outfit draped over my forearm, I walked toward where the sound had come from, but quite a few phones lay on various vanities. Nicholas had already shown me how strict the hiring policy was, so employees obviously trusted each other, leaving their valuables out in plain sight.

I hesitated. Should I press the home button on these phones to see if a message popped up? My inner compass told me that would be invading people’s privacy. Plus, even if I did see such a message, it wouldn’t mean it was my voicemail message. It could all be a coincidence.

I had no right to do this. It was probably my tired brain connecting unrelated things.

But what if it weren’t a coincidence?

Was Amélie here, enjoying the goods instead of doing as she’d been told?

I dialed her number again, but this time I didn’t bother bringing my device to my ear. Instead, I looked around the room and found the phone that began ringing. My gut had been right. The device’s screen showed a pop-up with my number as incoming caller.

That bitch!

I began fuming but soon realized she could be anywhere. The premises were quite large. Fortunately, I knew just the thing that would help me find her.

10:15 P.M.

After donning a full-length, lacy black dress that would be better described as racy lingerie, I found a pair of high heels close enough to my size and put them on. I stared at myself in one of the light-bulb lined mirrors and quickly redid my lipstick. Spotting a loose hair band on the vanity, I tied my hair into a ponytail before putting on a striped blue and green mask that had been left unattended. I stretched one of the mask’s elastic bands below my ponytail and left the other two above it, which kept the mask in place.

I hung my comfy clothes onto a spare hanger, left my shoes by the rack, and told myself I’d come back for them the next morning, once clients had left the premises.

Clutching my purse against my sexy outfit, I swore to catch Amélie red-handed as I exited the employees’ change room and headed to the salon. I scanned the spacious room as I walked through it, going around the various large plants and vases that—from certain angles—offered a little privacy to see if I could spot her bright orange hair and ivory skin among the indecently dressed employees still present here, mingling and awaiting clients. But no luck. A couple was lying on one of the beds surrounded by sheer curtains, but that woman had brown hair. Behind the ornate wooden bar that occupied half of the back wall stood two men in white shirts with small black masks that only covered their eyes and noses. Two tuxedo-clad clients with masks that completely covered their faces stood at the bar, away from each other. No women were standing anywhere near them. The couches and love seats were nearly all unoccupied, save for a blonde sitting on a man’s lap and two lone ladies, each sitting on a couch. One did have red hair, but both her hair color and skin tone were too dark to be the one I was looking for.

While my outfit allowed me to blend in, my carrying a purse was a bit odd. Feeling the lusty glare of one of the dark-haired men standing at the bar, I marched out of the salon before he could approach me.

I so wasn’t in the mood to get fucked right now.

After pushing the swiveling door, I rushed through the narrow winding corridor out of the salon toward the two dozen rooms that lined the main hallway on the first floor. I turned once to glance back and was relieved to notice the man hadn’t followed me. I retrieved the key from my purse and, with a loud click, unlocked the first door on my left.

A sigh escaped my lips as I