Page 38 of A Mistake of Worth
It seemed to make Michael happy, too. And if letting someone else dress him again meant wearing this, this softness, this unexpected kindness, Henri would allow it. At least for today.
He finished buttoning the cuffs. The suit jacket settled over the silk as though it belonged there, and for the first time in a long time, Henri liked what he saw.
Henri hesitated, but when he turned slightly, Michael was behind him, watching his reflection, eyes dark with quiet approval.
“Perfect,” Michael murmured, stepping forward until their shoulders nearly brushed. “That’s you.”
Not just a shadow at Marc’s side.
And for once, Henri let himself stand there a moment longer, breathing in the difference.
“Your car’s here,” Michael said, checking his phone. He stepped closer, adjusting Henri’s collar slightly. “Remember, text me after each meeting.”
Henri nodded, trying to quell the nervousness in his stomach. “I will.”
Michael pulled him in for one more kiss, deep and reassuring. “You’ve got this.”
The car service Michael had ordered waited at the curb outside his townhouse. A sleek, driverless black sedan gleaming in the morning sun. Its doors opened with a soft hiss as Henri stepped outside, dressed in his charcoal suit and Michael’s deep blue silk shirt.
Michael followed him out, coffee mug in one hand.
Henri quirked an eyebrow as he slid into the backseat. “You coming with me?”
Michael chuckled, leaning into the open door frame. “Tempting. But no. Someone’s got to keep the company running. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Before Henri could respond, Michael leaned in and kissed him. Soft, brief, and warm. A gentle tether. Not possessive, not demanding. Just there.
Michael straightened and tapped the glowing console between the seats. “Your destination’s already loaded.” As he pulled his hand away, the console chimed.
Would you like to make a stop before reaching your destination?
Two options pulsed gently:YESandNO.
Henri didn’t hesitate. He tappedNO.
Michael arched a brow. “You are allowed to stop for coffee, you know. Or, God forbid, something for yourself.”
Henri blinked at him, caught off guard. He said nothing for a beat too long.
Because he wasn’t allowed to stop. Not without permission. He’d been taught not to ask. Not to want.
“I just want to get to the office,” Henri said, tone light but eyes unreadable.
Michael watched him for a long moment, then nodded.
“Alright,” he said softly, stepping back. He leaned one hand on the roof of the car. “Knock them dead, CFO.”
Henri gave a faint, crooked smile. Michael reached forward and gently closed the door, then stood at the curb with his coffee, watching as the vehicle pulled away.
Henri kept his gaze forward, but his chest ached in a way he didn’t understand.
The car pulled up smoothly in front of EcoSphere’s gleaming headquarters in Canary Wharf, its mirrored windows rising into the cloud-streaked London sky. Henri hesitated for a beat before stepping out. He straightened his jacket, Michael’s deep blue shirt shifting beneath it, and drew in a slow breath that tasted of river mist and morning traffic.
He could do this.
He adjusted the cuffs, lifted his chin.
He would do this.
