Chapter 9 – Waverly
WAVERLY
My boss touched my boob. And then he kissed me like my mouth was air and water and he had been underground and in the desert for a million years. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s how it felt. Like kissing me was relief and euphoria.
I didn’t push him away. I didn’t tell him no or to stop.
I liked it. I wanted him to continue. I think we possibly would have if Gerard hadn’t returned.
Which I can’t even begin to wrap my head around because Braxton is my boss and I need my job, and women who screw the boss don’t end up in a good place.
Tristan notwithstanding, I love my job. I love working for OuestHicks. It’s challenging and exciting, and I love what the company does. It works to save lives. And my nana needs me. She was there for me when I was little, the only person in the world I had left after my parents died in that crash.
So there will be no more boob touching and definitely no more hot, hot kisses.
Ugh. Those kisses…
Sigh. Let it go, Waverly. Let it go.
Gerard takes all of my items to the counter to ring them up.
Talk about a Pretty Woman moment. I don’t look at the total.
I pull Braxton and Tristan out of their recliners, skirting both of their gazes and evoking all of my magic and willpower not to blush, and hand Braxton back his card.
I don’t want to know what all these high-end and designer clothes cost them. It can’t be cheap.
In fact, I’m nowhere near the register when they ring everything up, and I pretend I don’t notice the other items they’re having Gerard get to add to the pile.
Instead, I leave them to amble along the first floor to the center atrium, where all the cosmetics and perfumes are so I can stare up at the ceiling, which is just freaking wow.
There is a circular tree of lights that spans the upward spiral leading up toward the ceiling.
Paris, right? I mean, I could lie on this floor and stare up for hours and never get bored of all that stunning glass.
But since I’m here, I find myself eying the makeup department.
I used to love makeup. In high school, I would blow my allowance at the mall on Saturday because that’s what my friends and I did on weekends, and we’d always hit up the makeup shops.
I haven’t worn much other than cheap mascara in so long that I can hardly remember what I look like in it.
It was one of the first things to go once I discovered how bad the situation with Nana was.
It seemed like a useless frivolity and an unnecessary expense.
But after a day spent in couture with my boss—who has hands as masterful as DaVinci—and my other boss, who is temporarily my fake boyfriend and who has been kissing my cheeks and the corner of my lips and sending my heart into a tailspin, I can’t help but long for some of it.
Something that’s for me. Something easy that doesn’t confuse me the way everything else right now does.
“See anything else you want?” Braxton murmurs against my ear from behind, his body close, and how did I not hear him approach?
“Nope. I’m great.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and enticing, sending shivers up my spine. One boob grab, one amazing kiss, and I’m putty in his hands. Pathetic.
“Hey, Gerard?”
“Oui, monsieur?”
“Our girl needs some makeup. Whatever she wants.”
I turn to argue, but he lifts his fingers to my lips, actually mashing them into a duck beak so I can’t speak, and subtly shakes his head at me.
At this point, what am I arguing? He’ll win.
They always seem to, and maybe that’s why I keep fighting them.
The ground beneath my Prada boot-clad feet feels unsteady. I hate not having control.
Now look where I am.
I smack his hand away from my lips.
“Whatever she wants,” Tristan affirms, ignoring me now, which pisses me off even more because I’m positive Braxton told him about the make-out session.
“But I want it to be natural-looking. Nothing too heavy. She’s beautiful without makeup, so let’s not fuck that up.
We’ll be back in a few. She needs new suitcases. ”
With that, they saunter off, and I’m left without a voice and so far out of my league, I don’t know how to compete. They Pretty Woman-ed me. Again. I sigh. It’s defeated and a lot annoyed.
“Mon cher, I don’t know why you are so distraught. I need two men that in love with me.”
I laugh. Kind of loud. “They’re not in love with me, Gerard.
That I can promise you.” I can’t tell him that they’re my boss and that this is all an act.
I signed a goddamn contract. I have a copy of it on my laptop.
It came with an NDA attached that I also signed.
I was annoyed because Tristan put the two hundred and fifty grand that I refused in there as a bonus clause per his discretion.
Gerald walks me over to the YSL counter and sets me in the makeup chair in front of the mirror.
“I saw you two when I walked into that dressing room, and I’ve seen the way the other looks at you when you’re not looking.
Maybe it’s not love, but there’s…” He looks up as if searching for the right words.
“How do you say in English? A hell of a lot of heat there. Oui. That’s it.
And they care enough about you to allow you to pick out your own clothes and makeup.
They didn’t pick a single item. They let you do all of that.
That says a lot. Not many men who spend this kind of money on a woman allow them to have that kind of control.
Trust me, I’ve been in this business a long time.
They care about you, but more than that, they respect you for you. ”
The way he says that, especially the last part, thaws some of the ice that had been residing in my gut and over my heart.
Maybe I’m being too hard on them, especially Mr. Ouest. Tristan.
Whatever. Maybe they’re just looking out for me and want to make sure I have what I need so I’m comfortable and not self-conscious, and this is simply how billionaires shop.
“Thank you,” I say with genuine gratitude. “Merci.” I don’t know what else to go with.
“Don’t thank me yet. Here.” He drops a pretty, cream leather Chanel purse in my lap.
“There are several other bags as well that they purchased. Mr. Ouest told me to have you change purses and that I’m not supposed to notice the hot pink vibrator you have or the asshole repellent spray, but he told me he wants both of them in there. ”
And just like that, I hate my boss again.
A woman in the highest of high heels comes over, and between her and Gerard, I walk out of the Galeries Lafayette beauty department feeling like I’ve been reborn. Like I can take on anything anyone—including my bosses—has to throw at me.
Tristan wheels two new hard-surface suitcases behind him, and when he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.
His eyes do a long, slow, lingering sweep of me.
Every place they touch, I feel as if it’s his hands dragging along my body.
His fingers rub along his cheek and then up to brush the longer strands of inky hair away from his forehead.
“You look… wow.” He swallows and clears his throat. “Doesn’t she?” he asks Braxton, who is also all eyes with slightly flushed cheeks.
“She does.”
Tristan clears his throat. “I had them pack all of your new items into these suitcases,” he says, his eyes on my pink, shimmery lips before they swoop back down and start the process all over again. “Your hanging stuff will be delivered to my parents’ home.”
I gulp and nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
“I’m throwing out your old stuff.”
“No, you’re not.”
He grins as if he were expecting the argument. “It’s already done. I had them move over your toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush. Everything else is gone. If there is something I threw out that you need, I’ll replace it.”
“You arrogant son of a bitch,” I seethe, furious that he did that without asking. “Those were my things. Not yours. You had no right.”
He surges forward until he’s standing before me, above me, breathing fire down on me.
“You’re my girlfriend for the next two weeks, Waverly.
Fake or not, I don’t give a shit. You can hate me for buying you the clothes you need, but again, I don’t care.
If you were mine, you’d be dressed as you are, and you wouldn’t question it because you’d know it makes me happy to see you this way.
Wearing beautiful, non-threadbare clothes with proper boots and a fucking real winter coat.
Your old stuff needed to go. I didn’t actually throw any of it out.
I just wanted to see your reaction. But I think you should.
That was you before, and per your new bank account balance, it’s no longer necessary. Now let’s go. It’s getting late.”
I told them I had to use the bathroom when in reality, I’m checking my new bank account. And sure enough, two hundred grand is sitting there. With gasping breaths, I go to each credit card app and the one for the loans she took out, and pay everything off. All of Nana’s debt is gone.
Tears well in my eyes. I can’t begin to wrap my head around this.
I’ve been in debt for so long, I can’t even express how I feel right now.
Relief and overwhelmed and grateful and joy don’t come close.
I’m in Paris, wearing new clothes with a purse that costs more than Nana’s monthly payments to her nursing home, and now we’re debt-free.
I dial her number, anxious to tell her. It rings and rings and she doesn’t pick up, but when I walk out of the bathroom and spot Tristan and Braxton talking over by the exit, I go straight up to Tristan, and since I don’t have words I can speak without sobbing, I hug him.
I hug him tightly and he hugs me back, his face in my hair, breathing me in.
“Thank you,” I croak.