Page 76 of Obsession

“What is it?” He’s looking through the newspaper that he brought down from the apartment.

“Why did you really bring me here?”

He pauses and then sets the paper down. “I’m not quite sure, Megan, but I don’t regret this trip, and I hope you don’t either.”

“Do you have business in Paris?”

“Sometimes.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Go ahead.”

“If you have the money to fly us privately to Paris and fast-track us through the galleries like you’re some kind of VIP, why did you open a club in one of the riskiest areas of the city?”

“That’s a complicated question.”

“So, what’s your answer?”

“I serve a particular clientele, and they like it there. Just because I’m wealthy doesn’t mean I only want to accommodate wealthy people.”

“Sort of like you never want to forget where you come from?”

“Something like that.”

“Last question.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Have you ever taken a date to Paris before?”

I can’t quite read the look on his face right now. Normally, Hunter is painfully honest, but he’s hesitating as if he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. I don’t even know why I asked the question. Of course, he’s taken women here before.

“Forget it,” I say abruptly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Was this a date, Megan?” He asks, repeating the word I used in my question. His face is unreadable.

I swallow the tears inside of me down my throat like a bitter pill. I can’t show any emotion. The very definition of a one-night stand is that it happens one time. That’s what adults do. Being emotional about his response would only reinforce what he’s thinking anyway, that I’m some immature college kid who doesn’t know her ass from her elbow.

“Absolutely not.”

“Right, so let’s not overanalyze a good time to death.” He gives me a quiet smile. “Just enjoy yourself.”

His words aren’t harsh, but they aren’t exactly what I wanted to hear, either. In fact, I guess they were the glass of cold water that I needed to wake up from this Parisian fantasy. At the end of the day, Hunter Middleton is not my lover or my boyfriend– he is my boss. I can’t look at him and see potential because there is none.

I can never forget that even if for some reason he favors me, and is attracted to me, Hunter Middleton is a dangerousman and there’s a reason for everything he does. He admitted it himself. There’s a part of him who’s a monster.

A big part.

Picking me to be the manager of the Blue Whiskey was not because he thought I was up to the task but because I was the only one who would even dare step up after firing that wacko, Steve. I’m not exceptional.

Taking me to Paris was a kind gesture to flaunt his wealth and his cache, and it may or may not have been an opportunity he used to sleep with me. I’m not special.

I may not know all of his business dealings, but I know that he’s a man who can shoot a man without any qualms and walk away from it. I’m not fucking crazy. I should just do a good job at managing his club and expect nothing more. It’s really the best offer a girl like me could hope for and the safest option, too.

The man sitting before me now, with the kind grey eyes, is not the man who was sitting at Table 21 a month ago. In Paris, he’s a man who’s quiet yet kind, domineering yet gentle, a giver and a receiver in bed, and I’m going to leave that man behind in Paris.

He’s not real.

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