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Grandfather is pushing for her to come to Cannes. And her text was just two words:What next?
We’re both caught in a trap, and I see the logic of us pretending to date each other—making the best of a bad situation—so why can’t I bring myself to reply?
Nathalie’s smile spins into my mind again, and I can’t wait to go home and see how her day was. Is she thinking about me like this too? The only person I want to text is her.
The meeting with my execs is short and they’re surprised it’s over so soon. I don’t usually let them off the hook so quickly.
‘Is that it?’ Xavier, my deputy, says. ‘Aren’t we ready to make detailed plans for the Cannes' opening?’
Shaking my head, I make some lame excuse about having to deal with something else this afternoon, and we’ll reconvene soon. I haven’t told him I’m coming yet, as I keep toying with the idea of not going ahead with the visit and having him represent me as originally planned. He’ll be disappointed, I imagine, so I hold off telling him.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s disappointing people I care about, so I keep the change of plan to myself just a little while longer whilst I decide whether this is really going to happen.
As CEO of Rochester Hotels, my head needs to be focused on this opening, and I know I need to decide soon so Xavier can make the grand opening plans. He’s perplexed by my non-committal and says as much, but I brush him off and soon I’m alone again with my dangerous thoughts.
My phone rests on my desk and is calling to me. I’m tempted to call Nathalie, but I shouldn’t. And if I text her personal messages, it’s as good as saying I want us to continue where we left off. But if I don’t text her, it feels cold, like I’m not bothering to check she’s okay after our night together.
After finishing my coffee and deliberating, my resolve weakens even further, and I pick up my phone and type out a message to her:
Hope you’re having a good day and are not too tired.
I add some love hearts, but then hastily delete them. I’m like a lovesick boy, and I’m unsure how to behave around her. Reading the message again, I decide not to refer openly to what happened between us, and then I decide not to send it. Daisy reads quite well and who knows if she might see it and start asking her endless embarrassing questions, like when she went off on one about me not dating a mean girlfriend. Besides, I can’t let myself fall into romancing Nat by text. I’m like a druggie where she’s concerned, and she’s my heroin, so I must keep her at a distance, somehow.
Pushing my phone aside, I distract myself by reading a report and signing off on something for my assistant. I don’t recall being this unproductive, and it’s not like me at all.
In the end, I conclude it’s rude not to message her, and I settle for a middle of the road, non-committal friend/boss style message:
How’s your day so far?
Is Daisy back yet?
The second I press send, I’m on edge waiting for her reply. I’m pretty certain she will respond soon, because effectively I pay her to update me on Daisy. That’s why the message was a bit of a cop-out and I’m not thrilled with it. But I’m holding myself back from messaging what I really want to say, which is she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, and I can’t wait to see her. Calling would be more enjoyable, but I’m scared she’ll hear how much I want her, so that’s a no-no. I’ll have to have a stern talk with myself before I arrive home tonight, or this is going to become an impossible situation. Maybe going away to Cannes for a few days isn’t such a bad idea…
There’s the noise of a ping and I click to reveal the text. Adrenalin rushes through me, and my heart hammers and I feel lightheaded. Too much coffee and too little sleep.
Hi
All good, thanks. Daisy is on her way soon. I’ll let you know when she’s home.
Relief courses through me she’s obviously okay, and not angry at me for taking advantage of the situation. That’s something. Daisy took a backseat yesterday when I was overcome by wanting Nat, but I must keep reminding myself that our happy home scenario could go up in flames if I’m not careful. Daisy losing Nathalie as her nanny, just when she’s flourishing and settled with her, is not an option and I won’t allow it to happen.
I don’t dare unravel the gloomy thoughts of what will happen ifIlose Nathalie, but I tell myself as long as she’s at home, at least I can see her. That’s better than nothing, and if it comes down to it, I’ll take that.
As the afternoon ticks by, the highs of the night morph into weariness and I almost nod off at my desk. I drink another coffee. We can’t have slept for more than a couple of hours, and even that was off and on. I’ll get to bed early tonight and make decisions about Cannes tomorrow.
I can’t imagine how I’m ever going to sleep peacefully again, knowing Nathalie is in bed, just one floor above me. How am I going to resist her, especially if she says she wants me again? The only way I kept my distance from her since the kitchen incident was because she avoided me for most of it. If she’s into this friends with benefits scenario, my gut tells me I’m doomed.
I’ve been self-contained and kept my sexual appetite firmly under control for years, but now I’ve tasted what I’ve been missing with Nathalie, I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep myself so tightly buttoned up. My right hand has kept me from losing my mind, and I’ve had the occasional skin-on-skin encounter, but they make me feel worse when they’re over.
If I get into this arrangement with Lizzy Archer, how will I stop Grandfather rushing me to the altar?
Memories of Nat riding me like a cowgirl in the moonlight send ripples of lust through my body. At this rate, I’m going to have to relieve myself in the shower at work just to get through the day. I don’t remember being this hot for anyone.
Somehow, I push through the stuff on my desk but do a mediocre job, and I can’t wait to leave. Before I wrap up for the day, I send another text, this time to Lizzy:
Fancy coming to Cannes for the opening of our new hotel?
A minute later, there’s a ping, and I read her reply:
