Page 63 of Obsession

“But you’re still my boss, and I’m not shitting where I sleep or whatever the saying is,” she promises with narrowed eyes over her coffee cup.

“I’m not your boss here,” I say plainly.

She deliberately looks down, refusing to meet my gaze. “Yes, well, you’ll still be my boss when we return.”

I don’t know what compels me, but I am leaning forward. “But we’re not back yet. We are in Paris. And I’m not your boss in Paris.”

“Then what are you?” She looks a little hesitant, as if she knows that she’s treading in dangerous waters but can’t stop herself.

I shrug, giving her a small smile. “We’ll find out.”

Approaching Megan is like approaching a wary kitten. I can’t win her over until she trusts me. This trip had been an impulse, and I was second-guessing my own actions during the plane ride here. But seeing her here like this, so filled with life and excitement and away from the pressures of Los Angeles, all my doubts fade away.

It’s also a good distraction for me. This weekend will give me the chance to sort out my head and come back to tackle the whole situation going down with Johnathan with a clearer mindset.

Resting my cheek on my palm, I watch Megan attempt to plan out an entire itinerary. I really did try to stay away from her, but it never seems to go my way when it comes to this woman. That one week that she stayed home drove me wild. I couldn’t forget the taste of her lips. The soft sounds she had made still echoed in my ear. I lived with a hard-on for her most of that week. It was both disturbing and intoxicating.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with this fiery little kitten, but staying away isn’t an option. Fucking her senseless would be my favorite option, but something tells me that if she figures out what’s running through my head, she’ll run straight for the hills. I need to find a way to either get her out of my system or just keep her around me until I get tired of her.

Damn, I hope I get tired of her.

‘I don’t like you because of your money.’

Although words are the most meaningless thing in the world to me, Megan’s statement has me smiling. There are only a few people in my life, a mere handful, who have looked past my bank account and really at the person I am.

However I thought this trip would go, Megan continues to prove me wrong. Where I assumed she would want to at least shop at some of the famous flagship stores and enter the most vied-after boutiques, I see that she genuinely isn’t interested in any of them.

She refuses to use the private car so we mostly walk around the city. It’s nice for me, too, because I don’t need security in Paris, so Lars and Parker are home keeping an eye on things in LA.

I’m free.

Instead of going to Galerie Viviene, which is a paradise for shopping for expensive clothes, she drags me to a labyrinth of alleyways that is home to small Parisian markets and stalls. She takes pictures but not once does she buy anything. Every time I catch her with a wistful look in her eye, she moves so quickly that I don’t even know what she’s looking at. She doesn’t let me splurge on an expensive restaurant lunch but instead insists on buying me a sandwich. We sit on the waterfront, eating a baguette with ham, tomatoes, and cheese, and it’s the most satisfying meal I’ve had in a long time.

“Take a video of me.” She thrusts her battered cell phone into my hand and quickly steps back towards the entrance of Notre Dame. “Press record when I jump!”

Amused at her eagerness, I do as she says. However, I don’t expect the scolding that follows.

“No, when I jump!” She tries to teach me. “When I do this, you have to hit this button. The one that says slow.”

I have no idea what that means, but I’ve never enjoyed being bossed around this much by this tiny woman. After a few tries, I managed to get it right to her satisfaction.

However, as the afternoon fades and we make our way to the art galleries, I see a transformation come over Megan. I tuck her arm in mine when we enter one of the galleries on her list, and when she looks at me in surprise, I pretend not to notice. However, she’s far too distracted by the stunning pieces of work to protest.

“I used to love painting when I was a child,” she says in a quiet tone, as she looks at a dark blue ocean that is framed in black with a small inscription on the side. “I was never allowed to buy paints but I had this teacher in school who took a liking to me. She would always bring extra paints for me.

“She lived a few blocks away from us, and when she stopped being my teacher, I would always find excuses to visit her home. While I always had some raw talent, she taught me how to paint and refine my craft. She also taught me how to use charcoal. She was one of the kindest people I knew, and our relationship always reminded me that there were actually nice people in the world.”

“What happened to her?” I ask, noticing the faraway look in her eyes.

The soft smile fades from Megan’s eyes, only to be replaced by a bitter look.

“My shitty life happened. My stepmother found out what she was doing, so long story short, I was not allowed to go to her house anymore, and then she was fired from her job.”

“Fired? For what?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, but I can bet my parents had something to do with it. They went to the school to make a fuss about her inappropriate behavior outside of school with a student.”

The more I hear about Megan’s parents, the more I despise them. Some people shouldn’t be parents. Some people shouldn’t be breathing.

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