The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

I think we both needed to escape into fantasy, even if that meant pushing limits further than we had before. Maybe what we were doing was mentally unhealthy. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone describe denial as an A+ coping strategy. But if we weren’t focused on our issues, we weren’t arguing, and I suspected arguing might become a regular occurrence as we navigated this cancer thing. It was one thing to be afraid he might die; it was another to be afraid that our relationship wouldn’t survive.

I was a day from my two week prohibition being up, but I’d decided that enough was enough. I wasn’t having cramps, I wasn’t bleeding, I didn’t feel like I’d had an abortion at all. I felt like me again, and my libido was back with a vengeance, ready to make up for the time I’d lost.

The holiday would definitely be interesting.

We flew into Charles De Gaulle airport and landed at about six p.m. After a perfunctory customs check, we left the plane for a car, a Rolls-Royce Phantom with a driver but no partition, so we had to behave ourselves. That just meant that I could pay attention to the beauty of the city, still dressed for Christmas, once we got off the massive freeway and into Paris proper.

A light snow was falling as we drove down the Champs-Élysées, making the pavement wet so the headlights and taillights on every car were magnified into two point stars. The trees that lined the street were decorated in hypnotic gold and silver lights, and the Arc de Triomphe rose up before us, illuminated in sprays of gold.

I had been to Paris once before, for fashion week, but as Gabriella’s assistant, I’d spent most of my time staring down at my phone, putting out fires. I hadn’t gotten much of a chance to see the sights, something I’d expressed to Neil before we’d left. I’d planned a lunch with Holli, but other than that, our schedule was open and Neil had promised we would do whatever I wanted.

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go before we see the hotel?” Neil asked. And while I did want to eventually go out into the city and have the full experience, Paris had been around since forever, and it would certainly still be there in the morning.

“All I want to see is the ceiling of that hotel room,” I purred, not caring if the driver understood English.

“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. We’ll be far, far too busy for you to spend any time at all staring at the ceiling.” Neil traced my jawline with one fingertip, trailing it down my neck and over my collar bone.

I wanted him. God, I wanted him.

Arriving at the hotel and checking in all blurred together in a rush of hormones and an overload of color and sound and luxury. The hotel Neil had picked for us was the Plaza Helene, a five-star on the Avenue Montaigne with a rose-colored facade and romantic wrought-iron balconies. He’d booked us something called The King’s Suite, and I didn’t even want to know the price since he whipped out his black charge card and let the concierge just have it.

A very smartly dressed man in a suit came out from behind the front desk to personally escort us to our suite. As we rode up in the elevator, Neil asked him casually, “Parle Anglais?” to which the man responded, chuckling, “Mais oui, but I can pretend I do not.”

When the doors to what seemed like the slowest elevator in the world opened, we stepped into a long lobby that looked like something out of the Titanic. The white walls, sumptuous area rug, and Chippendale-style furniture was all arranged with an elegant thoughtfulness. Up three red-carpeted steps was a short corridor that lead to two wide white doors; the bellman who’d taken our bags from the curbside was just leaving.

The man who’d ridden up in the elevator with us opened the door and stepped back, gesturing us in, but Neil asked him to pardon us a moment, then pulled me just a few steps away to whisper in my ear, “When we get inside, look around the suite. Find a room that you like, strip down to your panties, and wait for me.”

My breathing started doing double time. Anticipation tested my nerves; waiting for him, knowing how close we were to finally having sex again, would likely kill me. I’m sure that was his intent.

The bastard.

“How...” I wetted my lips and rose on my toes to whisper back. “How should I wait for you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “Bent over something.”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

“You have your instructions,” Neil told me as I stepped inside, and I left him to deal with tipping the staff while I wandered into what had to be the single biggest hotel room I’d ever imagined in my entire life.