Why are her arms wrapped around me like a burrito? And why is she staring at me like she wants to eat me alive?

“What are you looking at, you big dumbass?” I snap. Her eyes refocus as she blinks several times, her cheeks flushing pink.

She releases me. “Uh… I—”

With a frustrated huff, I push myself off her and stand up, my high heels finding solid ground. I dust off my clothes and sigh in relief when I don’t spot any smudges on my white blouse. Because I'd be damned if I'd have to dump a $1,200 shirt into the trash.

A hiss of pain below me causes me to turn to Alaina, who is still sitting on the ground with her pretty face bunched up in discomfort. My hand extends toward her as if of its own accord.

“Need some help?”

She glances up at me in surprise, and I exhale sharply. “Do not make me ask you again.”

Her hand grabs mine, and my heart stops at the sudden flow of electricity surging from her touch down my entire skeleton. I manage to conceal the panic pounding rapidly in my chest as I pull her up. Too hard though, because she crashes into me, her hands landing right on my breasts. But instead of swatting them away as if they’re repulsive flies, I… I find myself enjoying the feel of her palms kneading my twins… almost too much…

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She frantically removes her hands as her face turns a bright shade of red. “Please, I–”

I wave my hand with a dismissive air, ignoring the naked feeling on my chest. “It’s fine.”

Confusion flows over her face. “Ma’am?”

“Oh please, do you think I’m going to fire you just because you touched my boobs?” I smirk. “What sort of monster do you think I am?”

I watch in amusement as she opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Seeing her all flustered like this, with her brown hair in disarray while her teeth gently tug at her bottom lip in nervousness… Fuck she looks so fucking irrésistibly cute… If I wasn’t her boss…

“Are you going to show me into your house?” I ask, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

She nods. “Yes, ma’am!”

She closes the passenger door and opens the trunk just when a young man in his twenties jogs out of the house clad in jeans and a tight black T-shirt with his black hair gelled back. His olive skin shines under the afternoon sun when he approaches us.

“Hey, Alaina!” he calls out in a heavy Italian accent. Flashing me a smile, his white teeth glint like diamonds as he reaches us.

“Gio, hi! This is–” Alaina doesn't finish when he hugs her and lifts her feet off the ground. Her giggle and his body against hers makes me frown in discomfort. Which deepens into hate when they continue standing there with their arms around each other.

I clear my throat and step toward them with a purposely loud click of my heel against the stone pavement. “Bonjour. Hello. How long will I be standing here?”

They pull away from each other at my words. Alaina playfully nudges Gio in the shoulder while he grins at me with his arm still wrapped around her waist. I narrow my eyes at the way his fingers grip her body as if she'd fall as soon as he released her.

Why in the world is he clinging to her for life. Why do I even care?

Merde.

“Ah, you must be the Devil's Mistress!” He finally lets go of his death grip on her and extends his hand toward me.

“Gio!” Alaina glares at him.

I chuckle and accept his firm handshake. “Ah, that's fine. This wouldn't be my first time hearing that name.”

“Do I hear a Parisian accent?” He quirks an eyebrow in curiosity.

“And you must be Italian.” I force out a smile and pull away from his smooth, oily grasp, resisting the urge to wipe my hand against my clothes. Not out of consideration for his feelings, about which I don't give a damn about, but I don't need his greasy shit all over my expensive clothes.

Also, he stinks of musk mixed with coconut oil. That must explain why he's all buttered up like a duck ready to be thrust into the oven.

He laughs, flashing his blinding white teeth that makes me grimace. “Sì, signora. Born and raised.” He turns to Alaina. “Well, would you like me to take these bags up to the guest bedroom, Alaina? Before I leave for my mother's dinner.”

“If you have time?”

“Of course! Anything for you.” He salutes, then flashes a wink in my direction before grabbing the bags from the back of the car and trudging up the stairs, disappearing behind the door.

Alaina sighs and closes the trunk with her keys before walking in the same direction.

“So, is he your boyfriend?” I ask, following her up the stone stairs. She must have changed her shoes sometime during or before her lunch break, since she's wearing simple black sport shoes paired with her work outfit.

This woman has no sense of fashion at all. How did she even qualify for the assistant position is baffling.

“Oh, no!” Alaina says, a little too fast. She clears her throat. “He's just a friend who helps me out from time to time for free since I… uh… can't really pay for hired work.”

“Ah, understandable.” When we walk into the foyer, it looks even more breathtaking than the exterior, much to my surprise. It seems like the further I walk into Alaina’s life, the more I discover that she's not exactly a peasant.

And the smell. Oh mon Dieu (oh my god). The silky, woody scent of cedarwood and pine spreads tranquility over my mind. I unable deeply, savoring how it travels through my nasal channels, tingling them in a pleasant way.

Bamboo rugs cover the dark, hardwood floors. A circular wooden table stands in the middle with an empty case at its center. Beyond are tall windows overlooking the back of the house with what seems to be a swimming pool. Unless that hint of blue is actually tarp covering dead bodies or something.

Daylight streams through, illuminating the cedar logs and each curve as they line the walls in such perfect precision. Everything is so exquisite. Somptueux.

A sound of heavy footsteps down the winding stairs in front of us interrupts my thoughts. “Well, Alaina, I'm off!”

She answers... Gino? with a nod and a smile.

“And it was nice to meet you, Ms. Seydoux.” He flashes a smile at me when he passes me.

“Likewise,” I answer in a flat tone. It doesn't seem to bother him as he gives us another salute before trotting out the door.

“So uh, let me give you a quick tour of the place,” Alaina says, beckoning for me to follow her. She leads me inside the kitchen, my high heels clicking unbearably loud on the pristine, gray tiles. She gestures to the right. “As you can already tell, this is the kitchen.” Then to the left. “And this is the living room. Nothing fancy.”

Rien d’extraordinaire, mon cul (Nothing fancy, my ass). The whole living room looks as if it belongs in a high end living magazine.

An empty fireplace surrounded by stone walls sits in the center with two leather, brown chairs propped in front of it. Complete with a coffee table and two couches arranged in an L shape. Huge, rectangular windows also line up half of the walls, but half of them are covered with beige curtains engraved with flower patterns. And the kitchen is no different in its luxury.

“The rest of the rooms are pretty boring, um, there is a private gym a little down at the end of the hall.” Alaina points ahead as I follow her toward the stairs. “You're welcome to use it anytime you want!”

"Don't worry, that will be my first stop every morning," I reply.

With a smile, she starts her ascent. The polished, wooden stairs don't so much as creak under our weights as we climb them. The handrail is smooth against my touch, almost like silk.

“And this is the guest bedroom. The one next door is mine, so we'll be pretty much sleeping side by side.” Her cheeks redden just a little as she enters my room.

“This is… not so bad actually,” I admit out loud. She better not expect me to throw out compliments like wheat after a ceremony.

A smile appears on her face, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. One that makes me catch my breath. And hold it down until it settles in an uncomfortable bubble in my chest. “It is, isn't it?”

“Your grandmother certainly has good taste. By the way, she's not staying here, is she?”

“Oh, no, she's um… she's sort of traveling the world right now, and she left me to ha–”

“I didn't ask to hear about your sob story,” I interrupt. Which I find myself regretting when the corner of her lips twitch in sadness at my abrupt response.

“Right. Well, if you would like me to help with unpa-”

I raise my hand to cut her off. “I can do that on my own. Also, your services are no longer required for the rest of the day.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Services? I–”

“Meaning I would like to be alone until tomorrow. Is that too much to ask?”

Her lips fall into a flat line. “Yes, Ms. Seydoux.” Her voice breaks just slightly at the end. Maybe she wanted to vent a little. But she must learn that the world is a cruel bitch, and if you are soft just for a second, it will swallow you up like a quicksand.

That's not even the problem. I'm her boss. Her job is to do what I said and not bother me when I don't need her.

Once she leaves, I close the door and lock it, then turn around to take in the room. A large flat TV screen hangs against a stone wall made out of actual river rocks, all in different colors ranging from deep ebony to blue sapphire and charcoal gray. The warm, ambient lighting  from the lamps cast an amber glow on the log walls. And the bed…

I sit down on the white bedcover, gliding my hand along the soft fabric. Then throw myself on my back, staring up at the A-shaped high ceiling glowing a deep orange color. The energy and serenity of this place is so calm unlike the stress, frustration, and overall chaotic vibes of the city.

For the first time in years, for as long as I can remember, I'm at peace. Like a boat floating gently on calm waters.

It doesn't last long when my phone rings. With a groan, I push myself upright and dig out my iPhone, the latest 2012 model that I keep having trouble getting used to.

Back to answering the needs of fucking spoiled clients and closing deals before I can even dream of sleeping.

I'm walking in the park, immersed in the quiet chatter of children feeding the ducks and people walking their dogs when the sound of laughing hyenas reach my ears. I turn my head in that direction, and that's when those big, fat, bold letters float in the air above two brunettes howling their guts out.

CEO of Seydoux Trends Mylène Seydoux is sleeping with yet another slut trying to claw her way to the top as they move in together. 

Rage consumes my body as I stomp toward them. My hands curl into fists. One of them glances up mid-laugh at my approach. A look of recognition flickers over her ugly, botoxed face. She tries to move, but it's too late when my knuckles connect with her face. The sound of crunching bones sends pleasant vibrations through my own skeleton as blood splatters on the table. And on the other brunette frozen to the spot across from her.

As my fist connects with her plastic nose, warm, red liquid splatters onto my face. Each impact I make echoes through the park. People cry nearby. No wait, a person cries. Wait a minute… someone familiar.

I wake up with a groan to a dim room and the sound of sobbing through the thin walls. It takes a few seconds for me to register where I am. My right hand throbs as my heart thunders a little too fast against my chest. I glance at the clock on the nightstand as the big, neon red "1:13 A.M." flashes at me.

vachement, pourquoi pleure-t-elle? (Damn, why is she crying?)

Getting up with an exasperated huff, I throw on my bra and blouse from yesterday in replacement of my revealing silk shirt. I'd yell at her to shut up from here, but at this point, I'll end up losing my voice.

My betraying body drags me out of my very safe, locked bedroom and into the hallway. Right to the open room where Alaina sits cross legged on the beige queen bed and sobs quietly into her arms. Her back is turned against me, so all I can see are her shoulders trembling up and down. Something stirs inside me. Perhaps it's warmth flowing into my core, or maybe it's … sympathy.

After all, didn't I just punch someone in my dream for her? Which was...  an extremely weird thing but that's what dreams always are. Strange, and almost never make any sense.

“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, then curse at myself.

Alaina turns to me, startled, and almost falls out of the bed in the process. I snort at her clumsiness, but remain near the entrance way so I can make my escape whenever I want.

“Oh, Ms. Seydoux.” She wipes her face with her sleeves, but it still glistens with tears under the ambient lighting. “I didn't mean to wake you… I'm so sorry.”

“Well, you most certainly did wake me up from my beauty sleep." This is definitely not going to be alright if this thing will be occurring every night. “Why are you crying?”

Surprise covers her face. I guess that's not exactly what she was expecting to hear from me, but I'm not a complete heartless monster as they all make me out to be. Even though I do make sure that's the image everyone sees.

With a frustrated sigh, I approach her bed and sit on the plush surface, my ass sinking into the mattress. Her sweet smell mixed with the salty moisture from her tears explodes in my senses. My hand starts to reach out to touch her back, but I stop it before it can go any further than a few inches from the covers.

Never have feelings for anyone less than you, or they'll suck all the energy out of you like a sponge.

“Let me guess, it's those internet bitches, yes?” I ask.

Alaina bites her plump lip. “No…” she whispers.

“You know, I don't like liars,” I say, pinning her down with one of my cold glares. “Let me ask you again. Those internet bitches are making you cry. Yes?”

She lets out a shaky breath, new tears appearing under her eyes. “Yes. I– I just…” her voice breaks, “I just can't… can't take it anymore… I … what they said … “ she chokes out a sob, unable to finish whatever she was going to say.

Without thinking, I scoop her into my arms. She presses her face into my shoulder, hot tears soaking through my blouse, but for the first time in a long time, I don't care about my stupid clothes. Her body trembles against mine, each shudder sending electric shocks through my veins. I press my cheek against the top of her head, running my fingers through her soft hair that smells like the sweet scent of roses and strawberries, when warmth envelops my body like a warm blanket.

How long has it been since I hugged another person, had my arms wrapped tight around them? When was the last time I felt the heat of someone scorching through my clothes? When have I ever even felt like this? For so long, I've put up a shield, a nasty vile one, to protect myself and climb the mountain to success that I've forgotten that rushing feeling of warmth. It creeps into my heart, melting away the cold in my heart like the sun beating down on a glacier.

It shouldn't feel so good. So foreign, yet so familiar. A long forgotten memory.

She glances up at me, her puffy red eyes full of hopelessness. “What are we going to do?” she whispers, her voice cutting into my heart like a knife.

I take a deep breath. “There is another option on the table. We talked about it earlier today.”

“The fake dating deal? Do you actually think it will work?”

I scoff. “No, I don't think it will. I know it will. They won't have much to gossip about if we confirm that it's true at the next press conference which I can arrange tomorrow morning. Trust me, those bitches, they'll find someone else to bully.”

Hope makes its way into her eyes as she wipes them away with the back of her hand and sits up. Then she gasps when she looks at my chest.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry about your blouse! I didn't…” Her eyes go wide and she quickly averts her gaze.

I glance down at the wet spot, which has become transparent enough to reveal my black lace bra underneath my blouse. Then with a smirk, I tuck my finger under her chin and then her tear-stricken face toward me.  The warmth from her skin sends heat to pool in my chest, but this time, I don't want to yank my hand away.

“Don't worry about it. You can pay it out of your new salary.” I search her mocha brown eyes, swirling with hurt. And pain. No longer hidden behind glasses. “So, what do you say?”

She hesitates, then forces out a smile. “I… I don't even know what… What would even be expected out of me? Out of us? What if… my parents find out?”

I readjust her damn bangs to the side. “Your parents will be a future problem. I assume they don't watch TV that often?”

“Um… no, actually.”

“Well, there you go. And even if they do find out, we'll figure something out. As for expectations… just a little hand holding here and there, eye gazing, yada yada, and maybe a bit of PDA-”

“P-PDA?” Her mouth drops open a little.

Amusement laces my voice. “A little bit of kissing. But don't worry, nothing much, just if they ask us to or we really need to sell it. Now, do you give me your consent to kiss you if the need to arrives?”

Confusion covers her face. “Consent?”

“Yes… do you give me permission to kiss you at any given time?” I scrutinize her. Has no one ever… asked her for consent?

“I–” She takes a deep breath. “Sorry, no one has asked me that before.” So I was right. As always. “Um… yes. You have my… consent.” she says the last word as if it's a foreign taste.

“Good. Then I have one more question for you.” I stand from the bed and, facing her, lean forward and place my hands on either side of her so my face is inches away from her.

My lips are inches away from her, and despite my best efforts, my eyes betray me and skim down to them. Envisioning what she'd taste like. Probably sweet. Like warm, sun-ripened strawberries.

“Will you, Alaina whatever-your-last-name-is, be my fake partner for three weeks?”

She inhales deeply, then smiles. “It's Levieva. And yes, Ms. Seydoux. I will.”

Her warm breath kisses my skin, tickling my insides as her eyes dart across my face. That's when I notice that they don't hold an ounce of fear. She's the first person in an excruciatingly long time who hasn't been actually scared of me once. And that realization is... overwhelming.

"Very well, Alaina Levieva, you and I are officially partners."

And it sounds so incroyable (amazing).