Page 5 of His Impossible Heir

“Welcome to the Dorian Hotel, Mr. Sullivan,” the woman behind the reception counter greeted him. Henry blinked. For a moment, he had forgotten his new name and thought that the receptionist was speaking to someone else. He’d have to be better about that, he warned himself. It wouldn’t do any good to have gotten this far, only for Bubba Hargrove to find him.

“Thank you,” Henry grumbled, then rubbed a hand over his face as if he were tired. “Long flight,” he told the woman, offering exhaustion and jet lag as an explanation for why he hadn’t responded quickly.

“I completely understand,” the woman replied. She tapped on her computer screen. “It shows here that you reserved a premium room with a king sized bed.” The woman looked at Henry and he nodded his confirmation. In reality, he had no idea what kind of room or bed he’d reserved. His assistant had taken care of everything for him.

Rubbing his forehead, he tried to ignore the sudden sensation of heat. Looking warily around, he tried to find the source of the heat, but no one else seemed to be bothered. The sudden sweat breaking out on his forehead bothered him, but he tried to pretend that he was fine.

“Here’s your room key, Mr. Sullivan.” The woman slid a plastic key card across the granite countertop. “The elevators are to your right and your room is on the fifth floor. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the keycard. He turned, grabbing the handle of his roller suitcase and pulling it behind him towards the bank of elevators. His vision blurred for a moment but, after blinking rapidly, his eyesight cleared. Still, he felt heavy and…not well.

Maybe he’d been poisoned?

The thought caused his heart to pound in alarm. Had his boss figured out where he’d gone? Henry wasn’t being paranoid. Working for someone like Bubba Hargrove was profitable, but risky. Mr. Hargrove was the head of a major crime family and didn’t put up with shenanigans from his underlings. Plus, the things Henry had done for Bubba were…well, “unethical” was prettying up his actions. Embezzlement was the proper term for what he’d done.

Of course, he hadn’t embezzled from Bubba! Hell no! Henry wasn’t stupid.

Okay, maybe he was. Henry smiled politely as he looked around, the heaviness in his chest becoming more intense. Not even the thought of meeting his favorite author, Ms. Thomas, eased the pain.

Pushing on, he ignored the discomfort, glancing at the picture on his phone. He was here to meet his favorite author! He’d come here to Paris because he knew that Amanda Thomas was the keynote speaker this coming weekend. She was beautiful and she wrote the best murder mysteries! Her green eyes and dark hair made him almost regret his nefarious past. Still, Bubba didn’t know where he was. Plus, he’d escaped from that stupid club with a few million dollars. If he was careful, Henry would be set financially for the rest of his life.

Chapter 3

“No way!” Amanda asserted firmly. “You’renotbuying this dress for me, Emma!”

Emma laughed and nodded her head towards the sale person who immediately understood her signal. “Of course I’m not. I’ll buy it for myself. But you will wear it tonight.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “I’mnotwearing this. I have a perfectly acceptable cocktail dress. It’s black and has a pearl neckline. It is appropriate for every occasion, which is why I bought it for ten dollars at that cute little thrift shop we used to frequent back in college.”

Emma clapped her hands, applauding her friend. “Although I am continuously impressed with your ability to find treasures at the various thrift shops around Philadelphia, would you mind turning around and looking at your figure in the mirror?” She paused, waiting for Amanda to spin around on the tiny stage that had been set up in front of a row of mirrors. “That dress is absolutely perfect for you! It highlights your tiny waist and those luscious hips of yours, you look like you should be in a nineteen fifties pinup calendar.”

Amanda followed Emma’s instructions and turned, not ready to concede. However, she couldn’t stop a gasp as she saw her reflection. “Woah!” she breathed, her hands moving to her too-wide hips. However, they didn’t look too wide in this dress. And her breasts were pushed up, nearly overflowing the strapless top. But her breasts didn’t appear obscene.

They just looked…lush!

“Exactly,” Emma replied with a knowing chuckle as she stood next to the raised circle in front of the three-way mirror.

Amanda ran stunned hands over her waist, which really did look tiny. And her hips, that normally seemed too wide and too…well, she preferred the term “lush” instead of “chubby”, looked sexy and sensuous! Normally, her breasts were a real problem when it came to clothing. They were too large and cumbersome, and Amanda usually wore big sweaters and sweatshirts to hide their size. But in this dress, they looked amazing!

Still staring at her reflection, she turned and twisted, admiring her image from different angles. “How is this possible?” she whispered, turning around so that she could examine her butt. Even her derriere looked awesome in this dress!

“I don’t know how the designers do it,” Emma replied, “but it’s perfect, isn’t it? That green matches your eyes perfectly!” Emma turned to the salesperson. “I’ll take this one as well.”

The salesperson could barely contain her glee as she made a note on the tablet. “Any other dresses, Your Highness?” the salesperson asked.

Emma smiled. “No, I think that’s all for today.”

Amanda started to step down from the circle but a seamstress came out of the dressing room. “How about if we hem this just a half of an inch? That way, you’ll feel more comfortable.”

Amanda instantly shook her head. “No, then it won’t be the right length for Emma. She’s the one who will wear this next time.”

“Remember that red dress that you convinced me to wear to that party? The one where I met Rayed?”

Amanda chuckled, nodding at the memory. “That one was incredible! I’d found it at the thrift store a few days before and…” she laughed. “Remember how long it was?”

Emma groaned. “I was tripping over it all night!” She turned to the seamstress. “Go ahead and hem the dress.” She glanced playfully at Amanda. “Just be glad I’m not forcing you to wear shoes like those red, strappy torture devices you convinced me to wear that night.”

Amanda winced away from the seamstress. “Seriously, Em, don’t mess up this dress by hemming it.”

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