“Perfect.” Charlotte stepped aside. She watched with anticipation as Kingsley studied himself in the mirror.
“My god,” he said. “I’m even more handsome than I thought.”
Charlotte slapped him on the bottom, and he pulled her into his arms. It was a very good haircut. He looked younger and even more roguish. In fact, he looked very French. Très even.
“Your revenge is complete. You won the game and got to play barber.”
“Stylist,” she corrected. “If I beg can I get to do one more thing tonight that you never let me do?”
“Beg away and we’ll see how magnanimous I’m feeling.”
“Can I sleep with you in your bed tonight?”
Kingsley sighed and kissed her on the forehead.
“Charlie, while I adore hurting you, I must admit I don’t actually enjoy hurting you.”
“It’s okay. Thought I’d ask.”
“You may stay with me tonight and every night until you leave,” he said.
She grinned up at him. “Really?”
“Oui. Now take off your clothes and get into my bed. I need to start punishing you for all your insubordination.”
“Yes, sir.” She took off running to the bed. Kingsley came in after her and crawled on top of her.
“Admit it,” she said as he opened her robe and kissed her ni**les. “You like me, too.”
“I do. A good barber is so hard to find.”
* * *
On her last day at Chez Kingsley, Charlotte woke up alone in his big red bed. She was surprised he was up so early considering how late they’d stayed up playing and f**king last night.
Tired and lonely, Charlotte showered in Kingsley’s bathroom and dressed. She returned to her own room and packed her things. She had a feeling she’d be back at her own apartment by tomorrow. She’d promised Kingsley she would keep an open mind about his client, whom she would meet tonight. Kingsley had told her very little about him. All she knew was that he was, as Kingsley said, “not unattractive,” “wealthy,” and was “longing for a deeper connection than his previous relationships.” She didn’t know how deeply she could connect with this guy when her heart ached at the thought of leaving Kingsley behind. But he’d trained her well. By now she was used to doing what King told her to do. She’d meet him. She’d give him a chance. And then she’d go back to her old life.
At least she’d have some very good memories.
At seven that evening Kingsley came to her door. His too-handsome face wore a somber expression that pained her to see. They kissed in silence before Kingsley pulled away and whispered, “Time to go.”
Offering her his arm, he escorted her to his Rolls-Royce, and she cried against his shoulder on her way to the restaurant where his client waited.
The Rolls pulled in front and parked. Charlotte wiped her face and gave King a sad smile.
“I’m only doing this for you,” she said.
“I know, chérie. But give him a chance. I think you’re exactly what he’s been looking for.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in six weeks though, right?” Charlotte straightened her hair and her dress.
He raised his eyebrow at her.
“Your next haircut,” she reminded him.
He smiled. “Bien sûr.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and walked into the restaurant. Old and elegant, it reeked of money, and she felt completely out of place. She gave her name to the maitre d’, who escorted her to a private table in the corner of the restaurant. She didn’t want to eat anything. She didn’t even want a drink. She just wanted to run from the place and straight back into the arms of—
Staring down morosely at the floor, she saw her face reflected back at her from a pair of riding boots polished to a mirror shine.
Charlotte looked up and smiled at Kingsley’s mysterious “client.”
“Bonjour, monsieur.”