Page 32 of The Billionaire and I

I glanced at Cole. He wore his sunglasses, his thick, black, wavy hair glinting in the sunlight. His polo shirt strained against his muscular chest, and his brawny forearms bulged with veins. He reeked of money, of class, and of pure testosterone. Who the fuckwasthis guy? Who the hell did he think he was, stroking my G-spot and making my whole body vibrate like that?

And when could he do it again?

“The store’s in Beacon Hill. Do you mind walking some more?” he asked.

“I love it. It’s such a gorgeous day.” I smiled at the people milling by us, the smell of food wafting out of Faneuil Hall, and the glorious sun shining. Cole and I firmly kept our hands clasped as we navigated through the crowd, past Legal Seafoods, multiple Dunkins, and Downtown Crossing. Holding Cole’s hand was the most natural thing in the world. I wasn’t pretending to enjoy myself. It felt like he was my actual boyfriend and that maybe I was living a real life.

You are living a real life,said the voice in my head, which was true and not true all at the same time.

Stop confusing me,I ordered. Sometimes, I had to shut that voice up.

Finally, we reached Boston Common. The park was so pretty this time of year. The trees were in full pink bloom, and the grass was a rich green. People watched the swan boats, walked their dogs, and scrolled on their phones as they sat on the park benches. It felt like the whole city was outside. We New Englanders knew how precious this weather was.

We crossed the park into Beacon Hill, a ritzy neighborhood filled with beautiful townhomes and luxury stores. Cole stopped before a boutique with tiny, expensive-looking dresses in the window. I peered inside—the store was sparse and immaculate, and they only sold high-end dresses. It was the kind of place Iwould never venture into for fear of being so ill-bred and poor I might set off some sort of alarm.

“Here we are.” Without a preamble, Cole pulled me inside. It smelled like expensive perfume. A pretty woman stood behind the counter. She had long, raven hair and wore a simple white dress shirt unbuttoned dangerously low.

She smiled at Cole, obviously pleased. “Mr. Bryson, it’s always a pleasure,” she purred in a sultry, foreign accent. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. I’ve been looking forward to your next visit.”

“Hello, Camille.” Cole smiled back. “This is my girlfriend, Jenny. She needs dresses for a couple of upcoming events, including a formal wedding.”

“Sounds wonderful, Mr. Bryson. Bonjour, Jenny.” She eyed me up and down. Apparently, Camille didn’t like what she saw because she raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.“C’est un plaisir.”

“Huh?”

“I said,it’s a pleasure.” But Camille didn’t sound like it was a pleasure. She sounded as if she were talking to a small, very dumb, and annoying child. “It’s French. You know, the language?”

“Oh yeah! Frenchthe language.” I nodded as if this was the most profound thing I’d ever heard.

So Camille was French. And I didn’t have to speak it to know that (a) she had a thing for Coley and (b) she thought I was a bimbo.

I stuck my chest out at that French bitch and smiled. “Does that gold dress in the window come in a size six?”

“Je suis vraiment désolé.”She pursed her lips. “We don’t carry anything larger than a four, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll try the four, then.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Sometimes I fluctuate between sizes, and I’ve been gettingplenty of exercise lately.” I smacked Cole on the ass for emphasis.

He laughed. She frowned.

I checked my nails while I waited for that bitch to get me the dress.

“Camille, can you actually pull a couple of looks?” Cole asked politely. “We need something for that wedding, too.”

“Of course, Mr. Bryson.” She still had the sultry accent, but at least she didn’t purr at him.

“Like I said, size four should do nicely,” I called, sounding anything but nicely. “Working here, being French and speaking Frenchthe languageand all, I’m sure you can find a couple of ‘looks’ that work!”

“Jenny,” Cole said, keeping his voice low while Camille fetched me things to try on, “did Camille offend you?”

“No,” I said innocently, “but shewaseye-fucking you.”

Cole shrugged good-naturedly. “I only have eyes for you if that helps.”

“It helps,” I said. “But also, I think it’s rude that they don’t carry any sizes bigger than a four. Most girls can’t fit their asses into a four, and that’s ’cause girls gotta eat. Maybe Camille only eats a croissant once in a full moon, and that’s why she’s such a bitch. But that’s her problem, not mine.”

Cole nodded slowly, taking my words in. “Words to live by, Jenny. Words to live by.”

I perched my sunglasses on top of my head. “Right? I can’t be worrying about everybody else out there. Just trying to keep my side of the street clean, you know what I’m saying?”

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