Through all that, Philippe never stops smiling, and it makes his eyes twinkle. It makes him way more attractive too, and my va-jay can’t take it. The office closes in around me, overwhelming me. I need to get out of here.
“Good to know. I’ll take notes.”
“Go freaking eat a gluten-free bagel,” I fume. “Have you been getting your own lunch all week?”
“I have.”
“Why?”
“Because you basically pointed out that I should be capable of doing it. Also, I didn’t want to risk anything getting licked.”
“That is not fair.”
“I got your size because I phoned your grandma. You mentioned it once, and I remembered thinking it was kind of nice, if slightly old fashioned. Opal. She has the same last name as you. I am capable of using the internet, so I looked it up. She has a landline, and she gladly gave me your size.”
“I’m impressed.”
“That I remembered your grandma’s name?”
“That you’re actually computer literate.” Philippe’s smile stays strong, so I do my best, without even thinking, to destroy it. “Did you go to the appointment on Tuesday?” I called a top-rated therapist on Monday morning, and it just so happened she had a cancellation on Tuesday morning. The smile that is turning me inside out disappears, and I’m glad for the reprieve, but I feel like an ass for making him unhappy. He looks cautious now, on edge and broody.
His eyes flick back to his open laptop. “It was fine.” Non-committal. Clipped. Aggravated.
I should stop, but I never was very good at knowing when to quit, and this matters, even if I get that he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Do you need me to book you another one? A follow-up? Or find someone else? Or if you liked it, I could call back. Did it help? Was it okay? There are lots of other people out there if you need—”
Philippe slams his laptop closed hard enough to make me worry about the replacement cost for it. A vein throbs at his temple, and his nostrils flare. “My dad is dead, and I’m still trying my hardest not to fuck up his company, and no, one appointment didn’t fix it, and no, I didn’t get medication to dope myself up with because I actually need to focus so things here don’t go to complete shit, and no, the meditation exercises are not helping.”
I freeze. If I was in a forest and had just accidentally lodged my foot up a sleeping bear’s ass and had it turn around on me with its bear jaws bared and its huge, gleaming fangs aimed at me, I don’t think I could be more alarmed.
Philippe swipes his hands over his face. His shoulders slump, and when he looks at me, he actually looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just stressed about the wedding, and it’s making everything worse.”
“Why are you stressed?”
“Because I’ve been an asshole to everyone. I was mean, and it’s why I need a fake girlfriend in the first place. To try and make it all better.”
“I don’t understand. Are you just secretly angry because your real name in your secret diary is actually Purple Glitter Fart Cloud?”
Philippe snorts. “I wish. I just, for once, want to be the son who makes his mom happy instead of disappointed.”
I can’t take it anymore. I walk over to Philippe’s desk and set my hand on his shoulder. He starts at the touch. I think I do too. He’s warm. Solid. So amazing. I think I can die whole now. He doesn’t ask me what I’m doing. He doesn’t tell me I’m crossing the line again. He doesn’t mention this is how nothing got started. Or that this is how babies are made.
He leans into my touch, and I get brave and sweep his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “I like that you have long hair. It suits you.”
“Why? Because the devil has long hair?”
“How would I know what the devil’s hair looks like?” I brush my fingertips daringly over his cheek “This is practice, by the way,” I clarify. “For the wedding. Since we didn’t actually do any of this before, is it believable?”
His eyes flutter shut, and he hums low in his throat. “Yes. I think everyone will believe it. And don’t be mad about the dress and stuff. Once you meet my family, you’ll understand why I had to pull out the big guns.”
“Because they have expensive taste?”
“Hardly. I just thought if I bought you something nice, you’d feel obligated to go through with it and stick it out when things get weird, and when my mom starts trying to kiss you and blubber all over you and sit you down for a talk about grandchildren.”
My heart flutters oddly. “I’m used to that.” I go for glib, but it comes out all wrong. “You have to remember that my grandmother has been giving me the birds and bees talk since I was around twelve.”
“I didn’t even know what the birds and bees metaphor was when I was twelve.”
I set my hands on his broad, firm shoulders and massage gently. I’ve never actually done this for anyone before. I can feel how tight the knots there are. Stress. He said he was stressed. And it’s bad. He practically purrs when I work the knots a little harder.
“You’re too hard on yourself. You’re not going to eff anything up. With the company or anything else. I’m sure your
