Chapter Eighteen

Emile dreamed he was starving to death in a desert, and when he woke, he discovered it was true—except for the desert part, and he probably wasn’t going to die.

When he’d gone to sleep, Amy had been in his bed, but when he reached across the mattress she was gone. He sat up. “Amy?”

“Here.” She came out of his walk-in closet. She’d put on her gown again. Too bad.

He rubbed his eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe.”

“Why are you in my closet?”

“I was putting your clothes in the bin for the drycleaner.”

“You don’t have to pick up my clothes because we had sex.”

“I’m not picking up after you because we had sex.” Laughing, she picked up a pillow from the loveseat in front of the fireplace and threw it at him. The only reason it hit him was because he let it. “I’m picking up after you because I’m the one who sees to it that your clothes get to the cleaners.” The laughing was a good sign. She rolled up his tie, placed it on the dresser, and came to sit on the side of the bed. “We need to talk.”

If he ignored that last thing she said, it might go away. There was a purple ribbon stuck to his chest. He pulled it off. “I forgive you for cutting up my sweater.”

“That’s good of you, since I’m not sorry.”

“Not sorry?” After all they’d just done?

She shook her head. “Not one bit.” She sighed. “We need to talk.” It had not gone away.

“Non. We don’t need to talk. No good ever comes after someone says that. We need to eat. I’m hungry.” She was about to tell him no more sex. He knew it. He was going to distract her as long as possible. She could still forget. Maybe.

“You can eat in a minute. I made you some food.”

Right—the salmon and pasta. His mouth literally watered at the thought.

“I saw the food in the warming drawer. There’s something I don’t understand. Why did you make that beautiful meal for me, if you were so angry?”

She shook her head and raised her hands. “For the same reason that I picked up your suit. It’s my job. You seem to forget that you hired me to do a job.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. He did lose sight of it, but come to think of it, he hadn’t given her any money since that first $500.

“Right. I need to pay you.” The question was, how much? A thousand? Two?

“No. We never discussed salary, so I did some research on what personal assistants for pro athletes make. After I read some job descriptions and took into account that I have no experience, I decided that twenty dollars an hour is fair. I’ve been keeping up with my hours, and I haven’t worked off the advance you gave me yet.”

What the hell? He’d just had the best—the best—sex of his life, and she was talking about an hourly job. Why couldn’t they just not worry about that? She could do what she wanted to help him, and he could give her all the money she wanted and get her a credit card.

She pressed on. “Does that sound fair to you? Twenty dollars an hour? Maybe it should be less since you are giving me a place to stay and feeding me. I can show you my work log.”

“Non.” He waved his hand. “Is fine. Perhaps more . . . ” Something told him not to bring up his good idea about the credit card and all. She wouldn’t go for that. Then he had another thought. “But you must have charged more when you had your business.”

“Yes. But I was charging as an experienced professional organizer. I am working now as an inexperienced personal assistant.”

“But you are organizing for me. I should pay you for that.”

“I cannot work as a professional organizer. I signed a contract.”

“Then we will call you a personal assistant, but I will pay you what you charged before. There are no rules about that.”

Fire shot from her eyes. “More is not fair. I have rules. I am not a prostitute.”

“Baise-moi!” Why would she say such a thing? “Who would think such a thing?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I need you to understand that if I have sex with you, it’s because I want to. It has nothing to do with our work arrangement.”

He sat up straighter and took her by the shoulders. “Amy, I would never think that of you.”

She nodded. “Good. I am a grown woman. I can do what I want. The fact is, I like having sex with you. It’s my right to do it, so long as you want it as well, so long as neither of us is deceiving anyone or each other.”

She waited with a question in her eyes. She wanted him to answer some part of that, but hell if he knew which. He didn’t want to mess this up, because it sounded like she intended to continue to sleep with him, and that was the best news since the shutout.

“Yes,” he said. “I agree with all that. You are right about all of it.”

“I thought last night that having sex was a terrible idea and we shouldn’t do it again—”

“Non! Was the best of ideas.” Was she going to shut this down after all?

“Well. Regardless, as long as I’m here, it’s going to happen. People don’t stop doing what they want.” That was a relief. “And as I said, we’re both adults. We understand there are no strings.”

“No strings?” He picked up a handful of purple ribbons from the mattress. “There are strings everywhere.”

She laughed.

“So . . . ” He bit his bottom lip. “You will come to see me play tomorrow night? Maybe I will have another shutout?”

She looked at him for a long time, but finally nodded. “I will. But on my own terms.”

“Terms? What terms are these? Because I’ve got to say, I will be unhappy if you plan to cheer for the Bruins.”

“I’m serious. First, I will not sit in the WAG suite.”

That made no sense. “But it’s nice. With food, drinks, nice chairs. And Gabriella will be there. She will keep company with you. You will see that Sharon and Noel will be your friends. Some of the others, too.”

She shook her head. “I won’t do it. And I’ll buy my own ticket—”

“What? This is crazy talk! I can get you a seat—a good seat for free. Not as good as the suite, but fine enough. These tickets are expensive. You don’t know.”

“I do know. I have over half the money you advanced me, plus my original $84.38. I bought a few clothes and a pair of shoes, but it was all on sale. I will buy the ticket I can afford.”

“That’s crazy. The ticket I get—I do not pay for. It is a perk.”

He’d almost rather her not go than spend what little money she had on a ticket—but only almost. Cameron Snow was the cause of this. If he were here, Emile might be willing to change his rule. Maybe hitting someone who deserved it so much wasn’t barbaric. Maybe it was the most civilized of behavior.

“Those are my terms. I will never put myself in anyone’s control again.”

He didn’t see how getting a ticket for her would put her in his control, but he nodded. “I’ll get you another sweater—though I hope you will not cut it up this time.”

She shook her head. “I’ll wear my own clothes.”

She had almost no clothes. But there was nothing he could do.

“Understood?”

He nodded. “Oui.”

She rose and held out her hand. “Then come on. You need to eat—protein and carbs. And I made you some Jell-O.”

“And after I eat?”

“Yes?”

“Will you come to my bed? To sleep? With me?”

“Yes. I’ll do that.”

He followed her to the kitchen.