Page 33 of Bossing My Holiday
“Alain!” my mother yells out. “Get over here. Tristan is home, and he brought an angel for us to meet.”
“Aw, you’re sweet to think of me that way.”
My mother giggles at Braxton just as my grand-mère calls out in French. “Bring them in here. I’m too old and too out of breath to get up.”
I go into the sitting room that’s right off the entryway and find Grand-mère exactly where I knew she’d be. In front of the fireplace and reading a book, her nasal cannula from her oxygen tank half hanging out of her nose because she hates how it feels.
“Hi, Grand-mère.” I drop to my knees in front of her so she doesn’t have to stand and give the tiny firecracker of a woman a hug and kisses on both cheeks.
“You spoiled all my plans, boy. I had six different ladies lined up to meet you, and all of them were crushed when I told them you were bringing home a woman that you’re in love with.”
In love? Shit.
“Only six?” I quip.
She smacks my shoulder as only a grandmother can.
I chuckle and give her forehead a kiss before I extend my hand to Waverly, who is hovering by the entrance. “This is my girlfriend, Waverly Dobbs. Waverly, this is my grand-mère. You can only call her Grand-mère or Mrs. Ouest because I’m not sure I even know her real name.”
Waverly doesn’t hesitate before she comes straight over toher, dropping to her knees the same way I did. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ouest.” She extends her hand, and my grand-mère shakes it firmly, eyeing her and sizing her up like she’s a horse before a race.
“Where are you from?” my grandmother asks in accented English.
“Needham, Massachusetts.”
“Hmm. You have a pretty voice and a slight accent to go with it. Do you have family still there?”
Waverly looks away and clears her throat. “Not really.”
“And now you’re with Tristan. Did you know he’s worth a lot of money and owns his own company?”
Waverly grins. “Yes, ma’am, I do. I’m his primary assistant, and he’s the absolute worst boss ever. If I didn’t love him, I’d hate him for sure. As for his money…” She shrugs. “Well, I grew up believing in family and that money doesn’t buy you happiness or love, so I don’t want anything to do with his money.”
My grand-mère studies her, scrutinizing her level of sincerity. “I like you.” She turns to me. “I like her,” she repeats in French.
“I knew you would.” It’s why I brought her, I don’t say.
“She works for you?” she asks.
“Both of us actually,” I tell her, gesturing to Braxton, who is hovering in the background. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t take advantage. We work long hours and have been doing so together for two years. It was inevitable.”
As I say the words, part of me questions how true that is. If whatever has been brewing between us is a byproduct of that, and if there’s a way to stop it before this thing grows arms and legs and a mind of its own.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Brax teases. “He made it so there was no way she could say no to him.”
I flip him off from behind my back.
“Come here.” She waves a hand at Brax, and he walks over and gives her a big hug. “You’ve grown or I’ve shrunk.”
“I’ve grown,” he teases.
“When are you going to settle down?”
He pulls back, and something flickers across his face. “I’m planning to soon.”
Hell. He’s serious.
“Are those chocolates for me?”
