Page 24 of Bossing My Holiday
“Good morning and welcome to the Galeries Lafayette,” the handler greets us in French, more than a little excited since the Ouest name in this city essentially gets me whatever I want. Waverly is staring up at the incredible stained-glass and wrought-iron ceiling, her mouth half-hanging open in wonder at its beauty. “I’m Gerard.” The tall, Black, impeccably put-together man reaches his hand out to shake mine. “I was told you’re in search of a personal shopper.”
“Oui. Yes.Merci. Thank you.” I shake his hand, noting his firm, no-bullshit grip and flawless turquoise suit. He’s exactly who I need. “This is my lovely girlfriend, Waverly.” I switch to English. “I’m bringing her home for Christmas to meet my family, and while I adore her for her and all of her misguided fashion sense, you can see the issue.”
Waverly makes some kind of deranged noise.
She gives me a firm headshake. “No,” she hisses under her breath at me.
I glare at her, it’s not a kind look, and if she were anyone else, she’d wither at the sight of it. But since this is Waverly, the defiant little thing glares right back at me. Every woman I’ve ever gone out with would have killed for a no-expense-spared shopping spree and never thought to question the amount of money I spent on them.
Again, not Waverly, and I’m starting to question my wisdom in bringing her home. Everything with her is like pulling teeth. Even if part of me respects it about her.
“I don’t need this,” Waverly grits out. “Quit bossing my holiday. This is too much.”
“It’s not, Sunshine.” Braxton gives her a dimpled smile. The one I now know she likes. “It’s what needs to be done. You’re beautiful. Our gemstone. But you deserve to glimmer and sparkle, not be dulled by old, raggedy clothes.”
I lower my voice so only she can hear. “More importantly, I told you this was a take-it-or-leave-it thing. I’d hate for you to be stranded in Paris during Christmas with no way home.”
“I hate you,” she seethes.
I smile dotingly, already practicing my part, as I lean in and kiss her cheek. Her skin smells like vanilla and is so goddamn soft. I force myself away. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.
“You love me.” I grin, staring down into her eyes. She presses in on my foot and stares right back, and I fight the urge to laugh. My little kitten has claws, but she’s fucking with a lion, and I never lose or back down once I’ve made up my mind about something.
“Let me handle this one,” Brax offers, and if Gerard is wondering about Brax’s role in all of this, he doesn’t question it. After all, Gerard is French, and they’re far more open in many ways when it comes to dynamics and relationships than Americans can be.
I smile at Brax. “She’s all yours. I’m going to find a place to work, but I want everything.”
8
BRAXTON
“Hmm.” Gerard makes a thoughtful noise as he studies Waverly. “I’m not one to get involved with domestic situations, but I’m going to agree with your men on this, and that’s not something I ever do, whether they’re paying or not.” His English is flawless, even with his heavy French accent. “Darling, you’re talking about the Ouest family, if you know what I’m saying.”
Waverly throws him a side eye, refusing to concede our little standoff. “Not really.”
I dip my face toward hers until we’re inches apart. “It means you need to listen to him and go pick out what you need for this trip. Stop being stubborn and prideful. This is not about that. Let us buy you what you need, Waverly.” I whip out my Centurion Black Amex and unfurl her clenched fist so I can force the card into it. “Please?”
She blinks wildly at my please. Probably because it’s not something Tristan would use on her in this situation, but I’m not Tristan. She’ll have to start learning that I do things differently than he does as a boss, but also as a lover and boyfriend.
“We just want you to feel comfortable. Your clothes are oldand worn, and so is your suitcase. You’re beautiful no matter what. Let us dress you like the queen you are.”
“O-okay.”
“Wonderful.” And because I can’t seem to resist, I lean in and kiss her cheek. I might also take a deep breath. And linger a fraction too long. Gerard doesn’t give a shit. He already said he knew we were her men, and to Waverly’s credit, she didn’t balk at that. It could have been her anger or the shock of the situation, but I’m hoping not.
“I love men who travel smartly. You can help yourself to refreshments, and if there’s anything you require, either I or another member of the staff will be happy to assist.” Gerard wiggles his fingers in some direction behind me. “We’ll come get you when we’re finished.”
And with that, he takes Waverly away from me. She throws me a death stare over her shoulder but no longer fights it. I think part of her wants to impress Tristan’s parents and make them like her. I think she wants to play this part and do it well. Maybe for the money. But more likely because she’s Waverly and believes in doing everything to the best of her ability.
Regardless, she’s getting a new wardrobe at the capable hands of Gerard, and I take my work bag with my laptop in tow and head toward those refreshments.
“Mr. Hicks, please come with me.” Some random attendant guides me toward a lounge off the second-floor dressing room. “We have a space set up for you where you’ll be able to see your lady friend’s outfit choices while getting some work done if that’s what you require. Mr. Ouest is already set up there.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
The private dressing room is divided into two sections. The lounge area has firm couches and leather recliners along with coffee, water, and tea. On the other side is where the fitting rooms and mirrored staging area are. I make myself a coffee and settle in on one of the empty recliners next to Tristan.
“You got her to agree.”
