Page 23 of Bossing My Holiday
The plane begins to descend, and Waverly’s eyes are once again glued to the window, taking in the sprawling landscape below with Paris in the distance as we circle it to land at Charles de Gaulle Airport.
“The city is so far away,” she remarks, wonder in her voice. “But I think I saw the Eiffel Tower.”
“Wait till you see it up close,” Brax tells her, an indulgent smile like I’ve never seen on him twisting up his lips. “We can go up it and dine there.”
“Really?!” she gasps in delight and immediately returns to the window.
I watch her, taking in the soft lines of her pretty profile as an awed smile tilts up her lips.
She’s been struggling all this time, and she never let on. Not once. She worked her ass off, and I was too into myself and what I was trying to accomplish to think it was related to anything beyond impressing me or doing her job.
She’s as tough as they come. I wasn’t lying about that. But knowing this has been her struggle, that she’s weathered it seemingly alone, and that it hasn’t diminished her smile, spirit, or kindness has my cold, dead heart warming in my chest.
But I want her to have more. She turned down three hundred thousand dollars, only wanting me to cover her current debt and nothing more. I’m struggling with that now. I don’t want her to ever have to worry or go without again.
And I’m finding I want to be the one to give it to her if for no other reason than to see the fire in her eyes and hear the heat in her words when I poke at her pride and stubbornresistance. That feeling only grows the moment we get her luggage, which looks like it’s been through an explosion, and I see the coat she’s wearing is the same thin one she always wears.
“What the fuck is that?”
“My suitcase?” She looks at me as if I have three heads but quickly gets over her confusion at my question when she tries to lift the handle and it doesn’t come up. Not on the first try or even the fifth. It’s stuck, probably because that suitcase is older than my grandmother. “Huh. Weird. I swear it came up before. Give me a sec.”
In the middle of the airport, she lays the suitcase flat, opens it up, and I swear I see red. Not Christmas red. There is nothing cheerful and bright about this. It’s blood fucking red. Is she kidding me with this?
I glance at Braxton, and he’s on the same page I am.
“Fuck this,” he growls and bends to help her.
Somehow they work some voodoo magic and manually do something under her rags that manages to get the thing to screech up through the top, and I’m done. So done. Brax is too.
“Are you ready?” I bark.
“Yep. Ready to go.” She finishes zipping her suitcase back up and bounces up to her feet in her sneakers. I’ve never wanted to strangle a woman more than I want to strangle Waverly Dobbs if for no other reason than I can’t stand how adorable and unbothered she is.
“We’re making a stop first, and I have a rule about it.”
Her lip catches in her teeth, and I have the sudden and inappropriate urge to lean in and remove it with my own before sucking it into my mouth. I bet she’d taste as sweet as the rest of her is.
“What’s your rule? And before you start spouting a hundred different orders and demands at me, you need to remember that just because you’re my boss and are paying me an unholynight amount of money to be your fake girlfriend, that doesn’t mean you own me or get to call all the shots with me.”
I twist my arm around her and drag her side into mine. My face dips so I’m near her ear, and I tell her the only truth I know right now. “You’ve been mine for two years, Waverly. You follow my every order. Obey my every command. You might mouth off and challenge me, but that’s just because you feel like you have to in order to maintain your integrity and your stupid fucking pride. But the truth is, we have a thing, you and I. An understanding. I respect you more than I think you realize. So with that last thought at the forefront of your pretty little head, how about you trust me and not fight me and just let me do what I already plan to do without the resulting argument?”
She glances up at me, and for a second, I’m winded. My mind spins. Her gray eyes hold a hint of defiance, and her pink bow-shaped lips quirk in mischief. And where did she come from? How have I never looked before?Because you knew better, so stop doing it now!
“I live for the fight.”
“So I’m learning. I like that about you, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t want you to fight me on this. It’s going to be a deal-binding agreement. Take it. Or leave it.”
She looks over at Braxton. “Do you know what this is?”
“Yes. He didn’t even have to tell me, but I know, and I agree with him. So you can fight us both and lose, or just go along with it.”
She puffs an annoyed breath.
With that, I drag her and her sorry fucking suitcase out of the sliding doors and into the frigid temperatures. The cold wind is a necessary blast to the senses. Thankfully the car I ordered is waiting right up front for us.
I shuffle her ass into the backseat and give the guy an extra tip like I’m Jolly fucking Saint Nick at Christmas, so he’ll make the stop I want him to make and wait for us. Oncethat’s done, we drive toward Paris, and I make the arrangements I need. She doesn’t ask any questions. My little fairy is too enthralled with the city around us, but as we pull up at the stunning facade of the Galeries Lafayette, I can see the questions raised in her eyes and the lift of her expectant eyebrows.
Tough shit. I have no plans to answer her questions until I have to.
