Page 29 of Bossing My Holiday
The drive through Paris has me glued to the window. It’s incredible and is doing an amazing job at distracting me from thefact that I’m about to meet my fake boyfriend and boss’s parents. Every street corner, bridge—or pont as they call them—and every café and shop are all magical. It’s so beautiful here, it’s almost impossible for me to appreciate that this is where Tristan grew up.
“Why on earth did you ever move to America if this is where you lived?”
He shifts closer to me, his hand dropping to my thigh, and I jolt.
I get a warning squeeze as if to say I can’t react to him that way anymore, and I force myself to relax. My problem is, it’s not that I don’t like his touch. It’s that I do. And I’m so messed up with all of it. I kissed one boss, and now another is touching me, and I have no clue how to make heads or tails of that.
“My mother is American, and I’ve always felt American despite being French because of that. I came to the States for college and stayed when we opened the company.”
I turn and glance at him quickly before returning to the window. “But you also own your family’s hotels, right?”
He sighs. “Yes. Well, technically my father still runs everything, but it’ll go to me when he retires.”
That’s when something hits me, and now I do look at him. “That’s why they want you to meet a French woman and marry her. You said that, but it didn’t register with me until now.”
He nods, a glimmer to his eyes. “Now you’re getting it.”
“Oh my god, they’re going to hate me.”
“No. They won’t. I’ve already made it clear that I’ll do whatever I have to do for Ouest Hotels, but at this point it’s more the notion of me marrying and having children for both image and bloodlines and all that bullshit. I think my father is going to announce his retirement, and with that, they will push for me to stay here.”
He lets that end there, but I don’t miss the way Brax’s jaw clenches, and he turns toward the window to hide his reaction.
I look at him, and then practically scramble over Tristan’s lap, the seatbelt choking me.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to bring your mother and grandmother flowers. Stop the car. There’s a flower shop.”
“Waverly, you don’t need to do that.”
I twist up and glare since I’m practically in his lap. “I do.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Braxton says to the driver. “Would you mind pulling over for a few minutes?” The driver doesn’t reply, but he does as Braxton asks. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s go get them some flowers. And chocolates. I’ll fill you in on a little secret,” he says as he unbuckles and gets out, holding the door open for me. “Tristan’s grandmother is a chocolate junkie.”
I throw Tristan a glance, but he waves me on, and I have to climb over him to get out. Our bodies brush with my tits practically in his face. My head dips down, and I look at him from above, our eyes locked. Something about the way he’s staring up at me has my pulse racing. His hands find my hips, guiding me over him through the backseat of the luxury car.
“Braxton might get to touch you and kiss you, but remember whose arm you need to be on while you’re here.”
I smile and pause, practically straddling him. “Then come with us and show me what flowers your mother likes, darling.”
His lips twitch. “Not darling.”
“No? Sugar daddy?”
He chokes on a small laugh and guides me toward the door, where I take Braxton’s hand, and he helps me out. Much to my surprise, Tristan follows, his hand on my lower back as we head into the flower market.
“I’ll get the flowers,” Tristan tells us. “You two get the chocolates.”
Braxton takes my hand as Tristan’s hand leaves my back, and what on earth is happening here?
I glance up at Braxton as we walk over to the chocolate section. “Are we going to talk about it?”
“No,” he says simply. “Because I don’t regret it, and I don’t want to apologize for it, and if we talk about it, I’ll kiss you again.”
I stumble over my heeled boots. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
He glances down at me with a crooked smile, his dimples popping. “Then don’t. Just… go with it.”
