Chapter 4 – Waverly
WAVERLY
Anoise from behind startles me as I’m putting on my coat, ready to get the hell out of here. It’s been a very long couple of days, and I’m anxious for some dinner and sleep now that my apartment has heat and hot water again.
I turn to find Tristan standing in the doorway of his office.
“Got a second?” he asks, though I can tell by his voice he’s not asking.
I give him a slow owl blink as I try to figure out a way to say no. “I was heading out.” We’re the last two on the floor. Not an uncommon phenomenon, but it’s late, and I’m sure whatever it is can wait till tomorrow.
“This won’t take long.”
Evidently, I’m wrong.
He turns and walks back into his office but leaves the door open.
I creep over and watch as he goes straight for the bar he has in here that he rarely touches.
It’s primarily for bullshit schmoozing of clients or an after-work stress reliever, but in the two years I’ve been here, I’ve only had to restock it once.
So I have no idea what he’s doing as he pours two glasses of bourbon.
He turns and beckons me in when he finds me lingering by the door. “Shut it behind you.”
I gulp but do as he asks, suddenly more nervous than I’ve ever been around him, which is saying a lot because this man has a way of naturally making me nervous.
“Here,” he says, doing his best to offer a smile. Smiles aren’t his forte, and it throws me. Suddenly I feel as though he’s about to sprout horns and drag me to the underworld the way Hades did with Persephone.
I accept the glass but continue to stand, even when he gestures to a chair for me to sit. “Um. Thanks. I guess. What’s this about?”
He sits on the edge of his desk, one hand tapping on the wood, the other rolling the glass around so the bourbon breathes a bit. He takes a small sip, and the anticipation is killing me. It has my heart racing and is making me clammy.
“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Okay.” I don’t care about letting it breathe. I down the entire glass like it’s a shot, because if he fires me right now, I might die. The glass clinks as I set it down on a nearby table and stare expectantly at him.
He looks at the empty glass, and his lips twitch before he turns serious again. “I have a proposition for you. One that will benefit both of us.”
“A proposition?” I parrot skeptically. “One you felt the need to wait until seven o’clock in the evening to discuss?” My eyebrows lift.
“Yes,” he admits, not bothering with pretenses.
“You’re starting to scare me, Mr. Ouest.”
“Tristan, or better yet, Tris.”
Tris? What the fuck now? I squint, his words not making any sense. “What?”
“My name. People who know me outside of work call me Tristan or Tris.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to know you outside of work.”
He smirks but quickly clears it away and gets back to business.
“I’m about to make you an offer that might change your mind about that.”
I don’t ask him to elaborate. It isn’t that I’m not curious because hello, who wouldn’t be curious when their boss lands a statement like that on them?
It’s that I’m afraid of what this proposition will be, and as I go through the different options in my head, I immediately cancel them out one by one.
He’s not looking for a kidney or a piece of my liver—as far as I know, he’s in excellent health, and he wouldn’t know my blood type.
He’s not looking for a woman to have his baby—he’d never come to me for that and likely has women fawning all over him. He’s a gorgeous, self-made billionaire and also comes from very old billionaire money. Women flock to that. Plus, he doesn’t exactly strike me as the fatherly type.
He’s not interested in sex with me—see the above statement, and the man hasn’t spared me a glance in the two years I’ve worked for him or given off any sexual vibe with me.
He could be asking me to cover up a crime, though again, I doubt it. He’s a straight-edge, by-the-book businessman, not to mention, I’m sure he could buy his way out of most things. Plus he has Braxton, and Braxton is the guy you’d call for that.
“Come up with any guesses?” he asks, humor lifting his voice.
I pant out a nervous laugh. “Nothing that makes any sense or doesn’t terrify me too much to think.”
He takes another sip, his finger continuing to tap, and if he doesn’t stop that, I’m going to snap his finger off. Tap, tap, tap. Is he trying to drive me insane when I’m already strung thin?
“Let me start this off easy.” He swirls his glass in the air. “You mentioned you don’t have any plans over the holiday break. Is that still correct?”
Oh. Maybe he just wants me to work that week when the office is shut down. That makes sense. “You want me to work over the break?”
“Partially, but I need an answer.”
I tilt my head, more than a little confused. I go to answer, then clamp my mouth shut because this feels like a trap. “Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you?”
“I’m getting there. Answer the question first.”
I’m impersonating a goldfish. I’m positive of it. He just intimated he wants to spend the holidays with me, and I can’t think of anything worse than that. I should lie, right?
“Don’t lie,” he cuts in as if reading my mind.
I puff out a breath. “No. I don’t have any plans. I told you that on Monday.”
He smiles, and it’s just as terrifying and gorgeous as the first time he did that. It’s unnerving and makes my stomach flip. Or lurch. I can’t tell which.
“Perfect. Now tell me about your financial trouble. How deep in debt are you, and what will it take to get you out of it?”
I stagger back a step, my hand shooting up to cover my lips. “How did you—”
“I overheard your conversation with Jennie in the kitchen downstairs before the meeting on Monday. Now answer me.”
I replay that conversation in my head and blush when I think about what she said about him and showing him how to use the vibrator on me. Only my ire at his snooping takes over.
“You son of a bitch,” I hiss. “I can’t believe you. What were you doing eavesdropping on my private—”
“It’s hardly private if you’re having it in a public kitchen. Answer. Me.”
Panic skitters through me, and I take another step back, anxious to leave. “No.”
I spin around and go for the door when he stops me with, “I’ll double whatever debt you’re paying off for your grandmother, along with all of her care for the duration of her life.”
My heart starts to thrash in my chest, and the bourbon I just drank far too fast is sloshing around my stomach, threatening to come back up. My hand plants into the wood of the door, and I lean my forehead against it, needing the support.
“If you come home to Paris with me and spend the holidays pretending to be my girlfriend for my family, I’ll do all of that,” he continues after a weighty pause.
My legs threaten to give out on me, and everything around me grows fuzzy.
I hear him move, and suddenly I find myself thrust into a chair at the table, and my head shoved between my legs.
“Take a breath, Waverly. It’s not as bad as it sounds. ”
“I beg to differ,” I croak, trying to breathe. “Going to Paris and pretending to be your girlfriend for your parents is as bad as it sounds.” I shove his hand away and sit up, glaring reproachfully up at him. “Why? Why are you asking this of me, and why are you asking me specifically?”
“Why not you?” he says simply as he takes my empty glass and pours me another round.
I wave it away. I need a clear head for this.
My boss is offering me Indecent Proposal mixed with Pretty Woman vibes, and while it has all the taboo elements and forbidden deliciousness of the movies, that’s hardly the reality of it.
“You can get any woman you want.”
“Not you. That’s part of what makes you so perfect for this.”
I shake my head, not understanding that. “You hate me.”
He returns to the corner of his desk, giving me plenty of space, which I appreciate.
“I don’t hate you. You hate me. I’m stern with you because you’re smart and capable, and with that, my standards and expectations are high.
They are for everyone here. It’s my company that Brax and I built from the ground up, and we work to save lives, but because of that, I expect the most from you. ”
“Okay. Let’s say I hate you.” I gesture toward him.
I don’t hate him. I know why he’s so rough with me, and I knew it was because of everything he just said, but that doesn’t mean I like him that much either.
“Isn’t that reason enough to pick someone else?
Someone who actually likes you. I’m sure you’ve met a few of those women in your lifetime. ”
He chuckles, and I feel like I’ve lost my mind. I just told my boss that I hate him. I might have also called him a son of a bitch before. I need this job. Like seriously dire straits, homelessness for myself and my grandmother, and starvation are a reality, need this job.
“As I said, that’s what makes you perfect for this.
I’m not looking for romance or complications.
I don’t have time for a girlfriend or a woman with expectations of me and my time.
I simply need a woman on my arm for a week or so to get my matchmaking mother and grandmother off my back.
Otherwise, it’ll be a different woman thrown at me every night, and I can’t have that.
Plus, we have work to do. Work I’ll struggle to get done if I’m stuck at social events and having to thwart gold-digging, marriage-hungry women.
But if you’re with me, it’ll be a two birds, one stone type of deal. ”
“You’re not asking for sex, right?” I check and feel my face flush hotter than the Hades he’s trying to drag me to.
It’s been a ridiculously long time since I’ve had sex, and there is no denying how Tristan looks, and I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it—or gotten myself off to it—but still, hate sex with my boss isn’t on my Christmas wish list.