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He smiled at me, and it was like the sun coming out. “Why don’t we at least get you dresses for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding, and then we can call it good? I know a place we can go. We can be in and out real quick.”
“Are you talking dirty to me, Coley?” I asked.
“Ha.” He yanked at the collar of his shirt. “It’s automatic, I guess. I can’t help myself.”
“I don’t mind.” I linked my hand with his as we crossed the street, heading to Faneuil Hall. “But for the record, you haven’t been in and out real quick. Which I appreciate!” I laughed—a loud, honking sound that I could never control. A passing woman in a suit looked at me, startled, but Cole laughed. He didn’t seem embarrassed by me. Maybe billionaires were so wealthy they didn’t get embarrassed?
“Sorry.” I coughed. “I always laugh too loud.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He squeezed my hand. “One of the things I like about you is that you’re yourself. So don’t apologize.”
Oneof the things he liked about me? Maybe Mr. Billions was having as much fun as I was. Coledidseem to be enjoying himself. When I’d done that thing with his balls in the shower, he shouted. Like, a good shout, something he couldn’t control. And then he’d comehard. Hot pride bloomed in my chest when I remembered how he’d held on to me for dear life as the orgasm swept through him.
The orgasm he’d had withme.
I took pride in my work. I aimed to satisfy my clients, and this assignment was no different. But whatwasdifferent was that I genuinely wanted to blow Cole’s mind. I wanted him to remember me long after these two weeks faded away. I wanted it to mean something.
What exactly I wanted it to mean, I had no idea. But I had a feeling that I wouldn’t ever forget about Cole Bryson, and it would be nice if the billionaire rememberedme.
All of this was a fancy way of thinking circles around the fact that I liked my client. I liked holding his hand. I liked his Cayenne Turbo. I liked his glorious penthouse with its view of the Harbor. I also liked his big, long cock.
But underneath that, something was bothering me. It had to do with all the liking going on.
I likedCole. He was a male version of me, but wicked rich, and sophisticated. So maybe he wasn’t that much like me, but whatever! The fact that I genuinely enjoyed my client unnerved me. The fact that I’d had several rocking orgasms with him, which had caused me to scream my head off—for real—troubled me even more. That hadneverhappened to me with a client.
In fact, it had never happened to meever. So why was that? Why did Billionaire Batman have that effect on me?
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.