Hot water flows down my body, caressing my body like licks of fire. I shudder, gliding my hands along the sides of my neck and running them through my soaked hair. A contented sigh escapes me as I recall last night.

I still can’t believe that I cried loud enough for my boss to wake up. And what's more, she actually went into my room, sat down on my bed, and held me. The sheer terror that ran through my very bones when I ruined her blouse with my stupid, weak tears. I had expected her to slap me. After all, her reputation definitely precedes her. Although, any mentions of her laying hands on her employees, whether current or previous, could be considered as hearsay.

A shiver runs through my body when her harsh voice replays in my head. That commanding tone, the way she told me that she doesn’t like liars. And when she asked for my consent to kiss me if the time should come… A part of me hopes that it won’t ever happen, yet another part of me is screaming for it. Begging, groveling as if my life depends on it.

Maybe it's because that is the first time anyone has ever asked me for my consent. The very few guys I've dated briefly never asked, they just did and mostly stopped if I told them no. But giving my permission for someone beforehand?

Why is it so hot to me?

Closing my eyes, her concerned face enters my mind. When she leaned toward me and her full lips were so close to mine, just inches away. The way her red hair fell around her face, her blue eyes gazing at me up and down, almost as if she wanted to--

A heavy pressure on my chest constricts my breathing. I suddenly forget to breathe. Gasping for air as the water dimly continues to flow down every inch of my body, I turn the shower off.

Breathe, Alaina. One… two… three…

I lean against the condensed, warm walls for support as my breathing gradually returns to normal. No, I can’t actually be falling for my boss. I’ve never been with or kissed a woman. Sure, I may have had a few innocent girl crushes throughout the years, but that’s probably what every woman goes through. But what if I actually am—

The sound of pouring water from the other side of the wall cuts through my thoughts. Oh my god, I need to stop ruminating over my hot boss– no, perfectly normal boss for whom I have professional feelings for– shit, no feelings. No. None. Period.

With a groan, I slide open the glass door and step out the shower, the tiles refreshingly cold against my feet. I grab the towel from the rack and start drying myself off as I walk toward the sink, leaving behind a trail of watery footprints. Pressing play on the boombox, 'Brokenhearted' by Karmin starts playing as I step in front of the seven-foot mirror.

I turn my body a little to one side, then the other, drops of water still dripping between my breasts and along my abs. If there's one thing I'm proud of changing, it's taking care of my physical form and my mentality toward it. Well, mostly.

I used to have insecurities about my body growing up. Even spending half my childhood out in the country, I still had access to 2000s pop culture. Seeing those skinny models in magazines, all skin and no meat while the media treated those like Bridget Jones as fat had weighed heavily on my self-esteem. Even today, in freaking 2012, the fashion world is still strict about what is considered as a "healthy" and "motivational" body.

Sure, I wasn’t fat. Maybe an inch here, an ounce there, but I didn’t recognize that back then. There was a show where a fashion model would spew negative words at women who had the same body as me. Well, actually , it's still on today. The funny thing was, they had completely normal bodies. I wasn’t the confident, loving myself type of girl like I am today, although I still feel insecure from time to time. And things haven’t changed much since my childhood, but I’ve discovered ways to keep my body in excellent shape without having to starve myself and live on a diet of ice cubes.

But will Ms. Seydoux love my body?

No, bad Alaina! Concentrate! You have to attend a press conference with your boss in less than two hours, and you have to sell it. If you can’t control yourself now, how will you be able to pull it off?

Prying my gaze away from the beautiful specimen in the mirror (AKA me), I blow dry my hair. The shower from the other room is still pouring, but is drowned by the roaring sound of the hair drier. Before I know it, other worries begin to creep into my mind.

How is Ms. Seydoux so sure that announcing to the world that we’re dating will ward off those gossiping hyenas? I mean, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing, especially considering she has so much experience in the fashion world of gossipers, and she must have dealt with those problems before, but… is there any guarantee?

Alaina, you're doing this, because you're going to get more money and you'll be able to help save this house and it's one step closer to your goal.

Several strands of hair get caught in my mouth. I try to spit them out only for them to cling to my tongue even more, making me put the hair drier on the counter to manually pry them out. The latter went successful. Unfortunately, the former blows off the surface and crashes to the ground, going quiet at the impact.

“Shit…” I mutter, gathering up the broken object and placing it on the counter. My hair is still a little wet, but it should dry off by the time we leave. 'Lights' by Ellie Goulding fills the bathroom as I turn on the sink.

Taking a deep breath, I throw water over my face. I look at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. The girl staring back at me has bags under her eyes, which contain remains of the pain from last night when those words from social media finally consumed me in a suffocating blanket of torture. But I have to keep my head up and move forward, as difficult as it is.

Being sensitive is not going to get me anywhere. If I want to run with the wolves, then I have to become one. If I remain docile and submissive in the real world, then I'll end up like Bambi’s mother.

Turning off the sink and leaving the boombox on, I wrap the towel tighter around me and exit the bathroom, making my way toward my closet. I rummage through my outfits until I find a dark-red blouse and black trousers. Flinging them over the arched back of the chair, I throw off the towel and slip on my panties.  Just as I put on my bra,  a blast of warm energy bristles my bare skin. Whipping my head around, I find myself face to face with an already dressed Ms. Seydoux.

The sight of her takes my breath away. The rising sun peeks in through the opened windows, immersing her auburn hair in a rich, warm light. It cascades loosely round her face, accentuating her sharp features and her mesmerizing blue eyes, pulling me into her deep ocean and drowning me in waves. She’s like a dangerous, beautiful siren, shrouded in burning flames.

A cool breeze suddenly kisses my back, and I come back down to Earth as I realize that I’m practically naked. In front of my boss. Who is looking right at me with amusement tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Oh my god, I–” Scrambling to grab the towel from the floor, I trip over the shoes I had already laid out. My hand flies out to grab the bed covers, only for me to drag them down with me as I crash to the ground.

“Merde, are you okay?” Ms. Seydoux asks, concern etched in her voice at the same time as an amused, low chuckle rumbles through the room, sending tingles down my spine. Hugging the towel close to my body, I scramble back to my feet, feeling very much exposed as a burning flush spreads over my face.

“I-I’m…uh… I’m f-fine,” I stutter, barely managing to get those words out.

She scoffs in disbelief. “Are you fine? Come on now, I’ve seen a woman naked before. Are you afraid I’ll bite?”

What if I want you to?

“Excusez-moi?”

“Hm?” I ask innocently while panic courses through my body. Did I just utter that out loud?

Ms. Seydoux raises an eyebrow at me in curiosity before glancing at the chair beside me. Hold on…

“Um, what are you doing in my room, Ms. Seydoux?” I ask, tightening my grip on the towel.

She nods toward the laid out outfit. “Are you wearing that today?”

Avoiding the question, aren’t we?

“Yes… Is there something wrong, ma’am?"

“Well, you are my partner now and must dress the part. I won’t have you walking in cheap $100 outfits." But they still look good! "And I can tell simply from standing here that everything else in your closet is trash." Excuse me, trash??  "Now come, I'll let you borrow a few of my outfits for the time being until I can buy you something." She beckons for me to follow.

I hesitate. Did she just say she'll buy me outfits? No wait, she's going to let me borrow a few of her outfits? What...

“But–”

“Do not make me tell you again. Now get your ass over here.”

Not like you ever let me speak anyway.

“Yes, ma’m,” I mutter under my breath. Tightening the towel around my body, I follow her back into the guest bedroom. The two luggage bags are standing at the foot of the bed, the zippers visibly open. Staying near them, I glance toward the covers where a stained white blouse lays on top.

The same one she had worn yesterday. And which I had ruined.

"Um, Ms. Seydoux, I want to apologize again for... for ruining your blouse..." I say quietly.

Ms. Seydoux's head peeks out from behind the closet door, her eyes looking at the bed. "Oh, that's fine. Like I said, you'll pay it out of your new salary.'

Relief floods over me. "And how much? $500? 600?"

Laughter bursts out. "Oh, mon chérie (my darling), I'd never wear anything that cheap."

Cheap?? What in the world?

Panic overtakes me again. "Um... Then how much?"

"$1,200."

My jaw drops. That would practically make the whole deal for nothing if I have to pay that. How... What...

"Oh mon dieu, calm down. You look as if you have seen a ghost." Ms. Seydoux sighs before returning her attention to the closet. "You'll take it to dry cleaning today and they'll take care of it."

My panic ceases as I let out a deep exhale. Ms. Seydoux rummages through her clothes, mumbling some words that I can’t decipher. I need to make a mental note to learn some French if I’m going to continue to work for her. 

“Ah, parfait.” Ms. Seydoux brings out a black mini skirt with slim leather straps and golden button,  silk white blouse, and black pumps with golden… stuff around them. Damn it, I still need to learn a lot about fashion.

“I… I don’t think I can wear this…”

“Well, I’m having doubts myself whether or not I can trust you to keep this $3,400 skirt spotless.”

My jaw drops. “$3,400? What is it, made out of diamonds?”

Instead of snapping at me,  she laughs. “Perhaps. But I warned you. Now put them on.”

I take the clothes from her. My breath hitches when the soft material cradles my hands. Smooth and reeking of luxury. The golden straps and buttons glint under the sunlight as I lay them down on the bed, careful not to create any wrinkles. Glancing up, Ms. Seydoux already has her back turned toward me, her red hair cascading down her black blazer like a waterfall rippling with burning flames.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I quickly throw off the towel and slip on the skirt, which fits perfectly around my thirty-five inch hips. If this is her clothes… then we actually have the same… measurements… except for chest size… why do I even care? Argh, Alaina, focus!

Pulling in the straps, I put on the silk blouse, the fabric as soft as goose feathers. It caresses my skin, flowing along it with a smooth feel. God damn, if this is how luxury feels like, then the amount of discipline, endurance,and tolerance required to gain that is worth it. And maybe the price tag makes sense now.

My hands tremble a little as I try to button it up. I’m nervous. I don’t know how I can manage to build all those three traits up if I’m such a sensitive, weak doeling who bursts into tears, because some people that I don’t even fucking know or ever saw in person called me a slut.

“Here, let me help you,” a gentle, husky voice says above me. Long, slender fingers touch mine. Letting my hands drop to my sides, I look up at Ms. Seydoux’s serious face and creased forehead as she buttons up my blouse. Scorching warmth radiates from her, hitting me like heat waves. All I have to do is just lean forward, and a little up, to kiss her. She glances at me, her eyes landing on my lips for just a brief second before meeting my stare. Something flickers in them, like blue flames on water before extinguishing. I must have imagined it.

“There, now tuck it in your skirt,” she says firmly. Shaking away the thoughts, I comply as she watches my every move. The knowledge is both thrilling and brings on jitters as I worry if I’m not tucking it in the right way, despite having done so a thousand times.

“Like this?” I breathe.

The corners of her lips actually flinch into a small smile. “Yes, you’re doing so well.” Her hand reaches out to swipe my bangs to the side. “How long have you had these curtains?”

“Um… for a while.”

She stands back to take a look at me. “Have you considered getting them removed?”

“Not really, no…”

She frowns. “Hm… Perhaps we’ll change that later today.”

“Are you going to get me contacts too?” I blurt out without thinking. Heat creeps up my face. Oh my god, why did I just say that?

She tilts her head. “Why? Do your glasses not work anymore?”

“No, Ms. Seydoux. I mean,  they do work, but I assumed that you might not want me to–”

She laughs. “Alaina, removing them is not necessary.”  She readjusts them, her hand brushing slightly against my cheek. “You’re beautiful with or without them. Besides, I don't want anyone to see how pretty your eyes are. Save them for me.”

My heart flutters into heaven when she calls me beautiful. She called me beautiful.

I know she's faking it, just warming us up for when we have to act in public. But a part of me wants to believe that it's real. Heck, it feels real.

“And from now on…” She gently adjusts my collar. “Call me Mylene, especially when we’re around other people. Understood?”

I nod. “Yes, Ms. Sey– Mylene.”

A smile of approval spreads across her face. “Good. Now hurry up. We must leave in five minutes or the press conference won’t happen.” She turns around and mumbles something else in French.

God dammit, why did I not take French lessons? My brain scrambles to remember her words so I can look them up afterward, but to no avail. So my eyes stay glued on her back for another reason.

Her gorgeous, perfect millionaire dollar ass.