Page 28 of Bossing My Holiday
“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. TheyPretty 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 themakeup 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 along, 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 youbefore, and per your new bank account balance, it’s no longer necessary. Now let’s go. It’s getting late.”
I toldthem 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.
He doesn’t say anything. Notyou’re welcomeormy pleasureorit’s nothing. He just holds me for a moment, and when that moment is over, we exit the mall and climb back into the waiting car. But with a few clicks of a button, Tristan Ouest changed my life. And with one seriously hot kiss, Braxton Hicks has reawakened my heart.
I feel alive. Like I just escaped a death sentence, and for the first time in years, I’m excited for what life has waiting for me.
