Page 30 of Bossing My Holiday
“But I’m here to be Tristan’s, right? Doesn’t… I don’t know, not talking about it or whatever complicate this?” I hold up our linked hands.
“No. Not for me, it doesn’t.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “And Tristan only minds sharing you when his family is around. Otherwise, he’s more than fine with it.” His gaze holds mine for a meaningful moment before he adds, “Actually, he wants that. He’s just afraid of losing you.”
My brows furrow. “I don’t know what any of that means.”
“It means if you’re willing and wanting, there could be more here than any of us has allowed ourselves to imagine.”
10
TRISTAN
Ican’t stop thinking about what happened between Waverly and Braxton in the dressing room. I didn’t see it. But I saw Braxton. I saw his flushed face and slightly disheveled shirt and rushed hair and the pure, raw desire in his eyes.
It’s not that I’m jealous. Okay, I am that. But it’s more that I wish I had seen it. I wish I could have told him where and how to touch her. Watched as she came for both of us.
I want to be mad at him for crossing that line with her, but I can’t be, even if it worries me. He told me he loves her, and those aren’t words Braxton Hicks has ever used about anyone. I’m supposed to be focused on the acquisition. So is Braxton for that matter. But all I’ve been thinking about is Waverly, and that’s only grown stronger since I saw her in the airport last night.
Or maybe it’s that I’m finally allowing myself to think about her instead of fighting it.
Waverly is once again glued to the window, taking in the lights and pretty buildings and quaint shops and restaurants until we pull up in front of the Ouest Hotel. My father has livedhere his entire life. He grew up here, and my grandparents spent their entire married lives here as well.
I love my family, but I never wanted to live here forever the way they do. I wanted something for myself. Something not handed to me because of my birthright. Something beyond the hotels. Something that changes lives.
The path I’ve taken isn’t what they had in mind for me. They expected me to go to college, move back home, get married, pop out an heir and possibly a spare, and live miserably ever after taking over the company.
They still think what I do is a waste of time and that I should come home and do the above-mentioned.
It’s why Waverly’s role these two or so weeks is so crucial.
“You remember my grand-mère’s name?”
Her head swivels in my direction, and her gaze is nothing short of castrating. “You mean,Mrs. Ouest or Grand-mère?”
“Right. Okay. That was a layup. What about?—”
“Your mother is Francine, and your father is Alain. I think I can remember those names, considering I know the first and last names of every employee at OuestHicks, including most of their birthdays.”
“Fine. Good. But you know they’re?—”
“Going to test me? Especially your father and grandmother? Yes, I know. I came to your condo that one time you had the flu to drop off contracts, so I know what the inside of it looks like. Your favorite takeout meals are Thai or Italian because I order them for you on the nights I know you’re not leaving until at least midnight. I know you typically prefer to have a business podcast on in the background rather than the news or music. You drink two cups of coffee in the morning, no more, and occasionally a latte in the afternoon if you’re dragging. You don’t eat a lot of sweets because I’ve never seen you touch the pastries or snacks you bring in for us. You work most weekends and spend yournights with random women when the mood strikes you, though I suppose now you spend your nights with me since that’s what we’re telling them. I know they want you to move back here, and you have no interest in doing that, so I’m guessing there’s some tension lingering there. Other than that, I think we’ll be fine.”
“Fine. You know me. Again, better than nearly anyone else. What do I call you?”
“Huh?” She turns fully in my direction, eyebrows slanted into a sharp V.
“A pet name. I have to call you something.”
“How about Waverly?” she deadpans, unamused. “Since clearly I can’t call you darling or sugar daddy.”
“Not babe or honey.”
“Um, no.”
I rub my hand along my jaw, having fun with this. “Babe is too college frat boy for you?”
“For sure,” she comes back in a mocking tone. “It’s a shame your parents didn’t name you Richard because then I could call you Little Dick.”
I choke. “You wouldn’t say that if I had been pressed up against you in the dressing room earlier instead of Braxton.”
