Page 9 of Bossing My Holiday
“Waverly?” he all but chokes out. “I can’t bring Waverly home as my girlfriend?”
“Why not?”
He blinks at me about ten thousand times.
I can see he’s mounting an argument, so I continue with mine. “She’s beautiful, smart, sweet, and friendly, but she hates you, right?”
Now he scowls. She doesn’t hate him. And he certainly doesn’t hate her. That’s partially why he’s such a growly son of a bitch. He’s secretly crazy about Waverly, though he’d rather offer himself up as a mouse in a clinical trial than admit it. But instead of bringing sunshine and rainbows and fucking smiles back into his life, it’s made him more of a moody, scowling, cantankerous bastard than he was before.
Why? He’s a bit sour on love. Okay, fine. I get that. He has his reasons.
But also, he doesn’t think he can be with Waverly because of that old saying,never dip your pen in the company’s ink. Ormore to the point, never fuck your employees, especially your assistant, who you don’t know how to live without. Plus, there is the whole Ouest Hotels and producing heirs and being required to marry a certain sort of woman and eventually move back to Paris.
He doesn’t think he can have Waverly, so he won’t even try.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s perfect for this. If she comes with us, it’ll get your mom and grandmother off your back because they’ll think Waverly is your girlfriend and that you’re finally happy and in love. Plus, we’ve got the acquisition going on there, and with her, we’ll be able to get more work done. In fact, if we weren’t staying with your family, we likely would have brought her along for that purpose anyway. But you also said Waverly is in a bit of financial trouble. You can help with that. As a bonus of being a billionaire several times over, you can pay off her debt—how much can that be anyway?—and even give her a cushion to get her back on track if she needs it. In exchange, she’ll play your girlfriend in front of your family and work with us over the break to finalize this deal.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious actually.”
“But… I can’t… how could I… it’sWaverly.”
“And?”
“And she’d stay there with me, and I’d have to be in love with her. I’d have to know things I don’t and lie. I’d be lying to my family.”
He’s not thinking about all the logistics the way I am. He’s too busy freaking out over having to bring home a fake girlfriend to his family. I’m thinking about the two-bedroom flat that will be all ours and what can happen when the lights go out. I’m thinking about the possibility of finally being able to make a move on Waverly and hopefully dragging Tristan out of his hermit crab shell to do the same.
I know, I know, that’s complicated. He and I have been best friends since our freshman year of college, where I was the lab nerd and he was the confident business guy from old money. It’s why our senior year, when I discovered a broad-spectrum antibiotic that so far hasn’t had any issues combating bacteria that are otherwise antibiotic resistant, Tristan was the natural guy to help me turn it into a business and make it a success. Twelve years later, here we are, spearheading antibiotic research and development, saving the lives of millions, and generally making the world a healthier, safer place.
We’re opposites in almost every way, except when it comes to our taste in women. And that we like to fuck them together.
We’d find a willing woman and give her the night or weekend of her life, and then move on. There was never any anger or jealousy or resentment. It just… worked for us. I want that again. I want it with Waverly and Tristan. It’s been my fantasy for two years to have that with them, and that’s where Paris comes in.
At least that’s my hope.
My tone turns bored and indifferent. “Well, it was just a suggestion. I guess you’ll just have to meet the women they’re setting you up with. I’m sure they’re fine. Nothing like Dianna was.”
His left eyebrow twitches. It’s his tell when he’s overly stressed about something.
“Waverly would never say yes to it. She hates me. She calls me Satan and an asshole.”
“Who can blame her for that?”
“I don’t think I’d know how to lie like that. Besides, we’d have to pretend to, you know, like each other.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s a Christmas date for hire service. So short of bringing home a prostitute or Waverly, it looks like you’re getting set up. Possibly married by the end of the holiday too.”
He winces, but before he can respond, the boardroom door swings open. Waverly enters, balancing three cups of coffee plus a laptop tucked under her arm. Her dark hair is pinned up now, a few rebellious strands framing her face, and she’s changed into a deep red, fitted dress that has a square neckline. I can’t see her cleavage, but damn does this dress hug every inch of her.
I’ve never been jealous of a dress before until now. Holy hell. I glance over at Tristan and see I’m not the only one to notice. His eyes are glued to her, his tongue practically lolling out of his mouth before he remembers himself and forces himself away.
I’ve never understood how she manages to look both perfectly professional and like she just rolled out of someone’s bed, but I can’t wait to find out.
She spots us by the wall, standing close, and gives us a curious look.
