by Nikki Chase
Silence for a few moments.
“Okay, I’ll help you out here,” she said. “But only because you’re my best and oldest friend, and I want to make it clear that I don’t actually believe this stuff I’m about to show you. I’m only doing it to make you feel better.”
I heard her tapping away on her laptop in the background. “I’m sending you some links to TMZ. These are all the girls your husband has been seen with over the past six months. There are . . . quite a few. Can you see them?”
My chest squeezed with a strange pain as I flipped open my laptop and took a look.
There had been, like, a dozen different women, at least. All of them impossibly thin, impossibly beautiful, impossibly famous.
I scrolled through the pictures feeling faintly sick. It was honestly horrible, and I was surprised by the pang of jealousy stabbing my chest.
I was a complete nothing compared to these girls—what did he even see in me anyway? I couldn’t compete with international supermodels.
And why the hell did I think his interest could possibly last anyway? He seemed to change women every few weeks. Use them until he gets bored of them, then move on to the next one.
Not me, though. I wasn’t going to be one of those. I would do this on my own terms—not get treated like a fucktoy and then discarded once he grew bored with me.
“Thanks for the reality check, Claire,” I said. “You always look out for me. That’s just what I needed to see. He and I, we’re just never going to work out.”
“No, you fool,” she shouted. “He didn’t marry any of those floozies, for one thing. And have you noticed how he hasn’t been seen with a single model on his arm after your wedding?”
I scrolled up and down the webpage, checking the dates on the posts. Claire was right.
“Also, I haven’t met him yet, but I get the feeling he genuinely cares about you,” she said. “You need to believe me. If you don’t, my dream of summer holidays on a private island in the Bahamas will never come true.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I said, laughing. “I’ll see you soon.”
I sat there for a while in silence after that. I had to close the laptop—it was too gut-wrenching to keep looking at those pictures. But they steeled my resolve.
I was making the right decisions, and Luke was exactly who I’d always feared he was. Sooner or later, he’d go back to banging a new, statuesque, beautiful model every week. I just need to remember that, even in the face of his irresistible charm.
Luke’s a freaking billionaire. He can afford to make grand gestures like a surprise day trip to Paris without even thinking about it. I shouldn’t read too much into it.
If we stay married, he’d get bored of me within weeks, and I’d have my heart broken. My kid would grow up without a father–or worse, Luke would hire the best team of lawyers in the country to take my kid away from me.
There’s a baby to think about now, and it has to be my top priority. I can’t—I mustn’t get carried away. I need to enjoy the ride for what it is and not get too emotionally invested. This is a professional lunch on a business trip . . . I need to act accordingly.
While these intensely serious thoughts are filling my mind to the brim, I look up at the father of my child. A big grin splits his gorgeous face. He’s cut his baguette into an extremely suggestive shape, and is waggling it around to the consternation of the uptight-looking Parisiens sitting nearby.
“Stop it,” I hiss at him, embarrassment rising to my heated cheeks.
But I’m also smiling—I hate that I’m smiling.
Luke winks at me.
Oh my God. He’s infuriating!
Luke
This Paris trip was a great idea. Genius, if I may say so myself.
There’s no business meeting, of course. The InFini acquisition was a big one, and it’s going to need some time to settle. I can’t just incorporate such a huge company into our own in a day, and I don’t want to overstretch myself by making another so soon.
There’s making sure the shareholders are suitably convinced I’m not going to sit back and let things stagnate, and then there’s being plain reckless.
Nope, this trip was always about Tessa from the start.
She’s doing her best to play it cool, but I can see how overawed she is at the whole thing. She’s been snapping pics like a tourist, looking around at all the historical buildings with wide-eyed wonder.
It’s cute and charming as hell. She’s cute and charming as hell.
The type of woman I usually dated would be extremely bored. She would have seen it all before, or actually lived in Paris. She would be bad company—moody, or self-conscious, making sure that the paparazzi were taking a suitable number of pictures. I even had a couple of flings approach the photographers to make sure they caught her good side. It was utterly absurd.
And they were always boring to talk to. Waffling on about this fashion show or that designer, or bitching about other girls in the business and how two-faced they were, yada yada yada.
I’d started to ask myself why I even kept dating women like that. But for someone in my position, it’s almost impossible to meet someone who’s just down to earth, comfortable in their own skin, and doesn’t want to use me for money or fame, or whatever.
That’s why Tessa is so special. This isn’t just another fling, and wouldn’t be even if we hadn’t got married.
We belong together. If I can show her that, maybe she’ll change her mind. She has to.
As we finish our meal, I’m surprised at just how much Tessa eats. She definitely has a healthy appetite, and she’s not shy about eating around me. After my carousel of girls who ate only salads, I kind of like the change.
We make our way back to the hotel, just a few blocks away.
Warm sunlight casts its glow on Tessa’s smooth skin, now that she’s taken off her cardigan. While she looks around, wide-eyed, at the sights and the people we walk past, I can’t take my eyes off the way her hips wiggle from side to side in her pencil skirt.
A gentle breeze caresses her light blouse and carries her delicious scent wafting into my nostrils. Our conversation flows naturally.
I’m careful not to mention anything about our marriage. I don’t want to spoil the mood. This stroll is perfect. As crazy as it may sound, I can see the two of us, decades from now, grey and wrinkled in our rocking chairs, reminiscing about this magical day.
So we talk about the food, about work, and about Paris. By the time we reach the Four Seasons, Tessa has come up with mental lists of things to do as my PA and places to see while we’re here on our “business trip.”
Tessa whistles as we approach the old building—it’s dripping with history; it must be hundreds of years old.
“I never imagined I’d be staying in a place like this,” Tessa says, staring up wide-eyed in amazement.
“Only the best for my . . . staff,” I say with a smile, biting back the word “wife.”
Our bags have already been deposited in the rooms, so we head up. I’ve reserved the entire top floor of the hotel. I’ve got the penthouse, and Tessa’s got the Presidential Suite.
When I drop Tess off outside hers, she’s still looking around, starstruck, at the opulent decor.
“Wear something nice tonight,” I tell her. “We have an important business dinner.”
She shakes herself out of her reverie and her gaze darts to me. She looks slightly nervous. “Uh, okay. I just hope what I have is swanky enough. Is the meeting with anyone important? Is there anything in particular I need to know? I could spend the afternoon doing some research if I need to.”
“Oh, they’re very important,” I say enigmatically, “but you don’t need to do any research or anything. Just be yourself, that’s what’s important to me. I’m sure they’ll be charmed by you, just like I am.”
I know she wants to press me for more answers, but I don’t give her the opportunity. It’s fun to keep her on her toes.
As I walk
away to my suite, she’s still standing there, her head slightly tilted, puzzled. Gorgeous.
I pick Tessa up from her room a few hours later, and my jaw damn near drops to the floor.
She’s got a shimmery black dress on that hugs every curve, and it’s cut low enough to show just a hint of her stunning tits, but not too low that anyone could accuse her of dressing inappropriately.
“Wow, you look gorgeous,” I eventually manage. “Damn. Maybe I should’ve made more of an effort.”
Her lips bloom into a beautiful smile; she’s pleased at the compliment. “You don’t scrub up half bad yourself, Mr. Adler.”
I offer her an arm. Hesitation gleams in her eyes, but she takes it and lets me lead her down the carpeted hallway. Warm light from the sconces on the walls dance on Tessa’s dress, highlighting a different part of her alluring body with every step she takes.
We’re eating in the hotel restaurant—one of the fanciest in Paris, with a price tag to match. The world’s most beautiful people dine here, but I know for a fact that Tessa will be the most stunning woman in the room.
Heads turn and eyes widen as we enter, and I can’t help but puff up my chest a little because she’s here with me, she’s on my arm.
If only she could see that we’re perfect for each other. I could do this forever.
A fifty-something couple already sitting at a table waves at us. Tessa notices them and gives them a small, nervous smile.
“They look familiar,” she says under her breath.
“Yeah. You’ve probably seen my parents in the media.” I hold my breath, not sure how she’ll react.
Tessa turns to throw me a discreet dirty look. She hisses through the side of her mouth, “Your parents? You said it was going to be a business meeting!”
“I talk business with my parents all the time.” I throw her a smile as I notice that irresistible flare of her nostrils I like so much.
She stares at me, unconvinced. But she plays it perfectly cool, giving my Mom a kiss on the cheek and my Dad a little hug.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Adler,” she says breezily. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“And you, Tessa,” Mom says. “Sorry if we’re interrupting your romantic weekend away. It’s just that Luke’s father and I are in Paris, and so we thought it would be perfect to finally see you.”
She throws me a pointed look. Romantic weekend away?
“He never tells us anything,” Mom continues obliviously. “We found out that he’d gotten married exactly the same way that everyone else did—through the tabloids! Honestly, dear, why didn’t you say anything?”
Tessa looks extremely uncomfortable with this line of questioning, and I do my best to steer the conversation away from it. “Oh, you know me, Mom. Mr. Spontaneity. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It just felt like the right thing to do in the moment. Besides, I knew you guys were traveling and I didn’t want to bother you and force you to fly home and all that stuff.”
Mom opens her mouth to say something else, but Dad can see what’s up and kicks her under the table. Thanks, Dad.
Tessa gradually starts to loosen up as we move away from the topic of our marriage, and eventually she seems to even start enjoying herself.
Mom embarrasses me by sharing stories from when I was a kid, and Dad peppers me with questions about the business. I try my best to answer, but I’m distracted by Tessa’s leg pressing against mine.
Please, not now. The last thing I need is a raging erection while I’m having dinner with my parents. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Holy fuck, why does this woman turn me on so much?
“Philip, stop asking all these boring business questions,” Mom eventually says. “Can’t we just have a nice meal and a chat with Tessa without ‘revenue forecasts’ and ‘investor relations?’ Honestly!”
I laugh. “See? This is why I work so hard, Dad. I need you to stay retired and not come back to work and bother me.”
Dessert arrives and Mom and Dad share more anecdotes about our family, mischief I got up to, stuff like that. Tessa is perfectly polite and asks all the right questions, but I get a sense of . . . almost melancholy from her when they’re on the topic. I wonder why it is.
My parents leave after dessert, saying that they want to take a walk along the Seine. I used to find it strange how much they seem to enjoy each other’s company after so many years together, but I think I’m starting to understand now, thanks to Tessa.
As we all say our goodbyes, I get a look from both of them that tells me they approve of Tessa—they’ve never much liked any of my other partners.
Once we’re alone, Tess rounds on me. “Why didn’t you tell me we were going to have dinner with your parents?”
“I didn’t want you to freak out and refuse to come. They’ve been calling me non-stop, saying that they want to meet you, yada yada yada. It would have been weird for me to say no.” I pause for a moment. She does’t look happy—maybe I should change my tack. “Anyway, Dad is still a major shareowner in Adler Industries, so, technically it was still a business meeting.”
“And why are we pretending still that we’re happily married and everything’s normal?” she asks. “I take it you haven’t told them the real story, that we’re getting an annulment?”
“I am happily married,” I say, giving her what I hope is a charming smile.
Tessa
Man, he can be just so infuriating. I really don’t see why he had to keep up the pretense that it was a business meeting, when I would’ve been quite happy all along to meet his parents—as his PA, not his wife, of course, but still.
They seemed like perfectly sweet, lovely people—way more down to earth than I would have expected for super-rich billionaires.
It’s a shame that they’ll be disappointed to learn about the impending annulment. But then again, they don’t know the details of how we actually got married.
I got the impression they think Luke and I had been secretly dating for a while and he just didn’t want to tell anyone about me—not that we met, got drunk, fucked, then married, all in the same night.
I’m not sure they’d approve.
We walk back up to our rooms, not arm in arm, but close. He rambles on about this city—no doubt he senses my soured mood and is trying to fix things. I’m feeling really mixed up inside.
On one hand, he’s funny, he’s charming, and he makes me feel appreciated. He obviously wants to give us a go.
But I have to keep certain things in mind. He’s a playboy who’s used to having whatever he wants, whoever he wants, whenever he wants. He probably just sees me as a new challenge to overcome.
Remember that rotating cast of models you’ve seen on his arm. You don’t want to be just another one of those girls. You’re worth more than that.
It’s easier said than done, though.
This hotel is so gorgeous, with it’s chandeliers and its paintings and it’s staff all dressed up in tuxedos. I feel out of place, like an imposter, like someone’s going to expose me for the penniless chancer that I really am.
We arrive back up outside my room and Luke invites himself in.
Be careful. No more repeats of last night’s shenanigans, no matter how tasty he looks.
“You don’t mind if I come in, do you?” he asks as he enters, not waiting for an answer.
“No, sure, be my guest,” I say sarcastically, following him in.
“It’s just that it’s been such a great night, and it’s not late. It’d be a shame to let it end so soon.” And then, obviously catching something in my expression or my body language, he continues, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
He looks so sincere I almost believe him. Almost.
Luke helps himself to a bottle from the little fridge filled with overpriced things and pours some wine for himself, but I refuse again and just stick to soda water.
>
“Still no alcohol? Damn, that night in Vegas really did a number on you, huh?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I say drily.
“They really like you.” Luke sits his cute butt down and takes a sip of the wine. “I can tell. Most of the time they hate my girlfriends, so good job there.”
My face twists in a grimace as I perch on a chair, deliberately avoiding the bed because I don’t want to send the wrong message, no matter how subtle.
“I’m just your PA, Luke, remember? And I liked them too, they seem like a sweet couple. But . . . well, I can’t let your parent’s feelings influence my decision. I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just how it needs to be.”
I brace myself, preparing for him to press me about the annulment, but he just shrugs. “It’s your decision, of course. They’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
He leans forward in his chair and looks into my eyes, and I feel a little shiver go through me. Why does he have to be attractive? It makes this all so much more difficult.
“But what about your family?” he asks. “I’ve never heard you talk about them.”
“Ah, well, that’s because as a rule, I generally don’t.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you want to make an exception tonight, I’d love to hear all about them.”
I hesitate. Do I really want to do this? “Well . . . I don’t have any real relationship with my parents these days. I haven’t done for many years now. It’s a . . . difficult topic.”
He’s stopped all the wisecracks and the jokes now, his face serious. “I understand. Take your time.”
I’ll admit I’m surprised by him, once again. There’s more maturity behind that college-jock exterior than he lets on.
Then, I find the words just tumbling out of my mouth in a cathartic rush.
“My parents were what you could probably call textbook narcissists. I was their only kid—a complete accident. They told me that from a young age. It was always clear to me that I was going to have to look after myself, because they certainly never had enough time for me.”