After the press conference, Alaina and I didn't have time to talk about what happened. Although, there wasn't much to discuss anyway. It was a performance for the public, to sell our relationship to the ever-hungry media. And considering she hasn't attempted to ask any questions, it's apparent she wants to avoid the subject.

The rest of the morning blows by quickly, but not a minute passes without me thinking back to that kiss. Ingrained in my mind, my skin, her voice and litle moan stubbornly clouding my every thought.

Except, well, of course my meetings with clients and preparations for the upcoming fashion show, and yet, she still manages to sneak into my mind here and there like a persistent little bug.

A cute, stubborn little bug.

Alaina tasted so… sweet. Not how I'd imagined she would, but so, so much more. Her delicious, steamy breath exhaling into my mouth, floating down my throat like a fluffy, soft cloud from heaven. Her tongue, dancing around and connecting with mine so… perfectly.

It has taken me almost all of my will power to throw her far, far into the back of my mind. Even though we are dating, fake dating, that doesn't mean I have to think or act that way around her, especially behind closed doors when nobody can see us.

Well, technically nobody can, because as a CEO of my own company, people who really want to get anything they can lay their hands on will sniff out any possible entry into my life. Including cameras.

As per my predictions, the rumors have stopped. The only new headlines and social media posts were about the announcement and of course, the kiss. Those hyena bitches are latching onto the girlfriend part but no longer calling Alaina a whore or slut. Those vile words that I absolutely cannot stand.

I meant what I said when I told them that if they call Alaina a slut one more time, their lives will never be the same again. Which means plummeting to the bottom of the ocean with a block of cement chained to their ankles.

And I am not joking.

I suppose they do have a reason for spreading those nasty allegations since it's common for a woman to sleep her way to the top. All those male corporate sleaze bags forcing them to have sex in exchange for a promotion. And more often than not, the only other choice is that woman's reputation and career washing down the drain.

Because unfortunately, most men have egos. Disgusting egos.

I've never had to do that. Despite growing up with a middle class immigrant French family, I've acquired all my knowledge and connections while spending years abroad in Paris with my grandmother since I was ten. She taught me everything, from the ways, rules, and loopholes of the corporate and industry world to how to intimidate men and show them I'm not the kind of woman they would want on bad terms with.

Strong. Confident. Brave. Relentless. Determined. Ambitious. Those are the words that Time magazine and countless others have used to describe me. I've become exactly who I’ve wanted to be. And making my little sister proud of me is an additional accomplishment.

I glance at the time. 2:18 PM. I had made sure to set aside the rest of the day to take Alaina on a trip to the salon and a designer store. After all, she needs to look and dress the part of a CEO’s girlfriend. And I'm not lending her my clothes ever again.

Although, truth be told, she looked, and looks, ravishing with a part of me on her. Seeing her shocked face when I told her the value of the outfit had shown me how little she seems to know about the cost of being on top.

Because as of this moment, she looks like a dishevelled assistant. Which she is, but in order for people to not ask questions and lessen the chances of the fucking paparazzi catching anything, her current appearance will not do.

My gaze lands on her, sitting on the couch in my skirt and blouse, traveling from her ankles and high heels up along the length of her body until it settles on her face, or what is visible of it behind the brown hair curtains draping over it. 

As if her bangs covering the rest of her pretty face isn't annoying enough.

Her hand lifts to tuck in a few strands behind her ear, rewarding me with a view of her concentrated expression before she resumes typing on the laptop. Her fingers work fast, flying across the keyboard at a rhythmic pace.

My mind once again returns to a few hours ago. That wild look in her eyes when she locked them on me at the end, darting across my face and filled with confusion. And questions. Questions about what just happened. Merde,  just thinking about it is heating up my chest as if there's a fire roaring inside my rib cage.

Alaina's teeth tug at her bottom lip. My mouth tingles, aching to taste her once again, to run my hand across the small of her back. The desire to feel her body tremble against my touch, to hear the shudder of her breath…

Et j'ai dit "amour” (and I said "love"). Even if it was for show, for the perverted reporters and fucking bitches who called her that vile word. But somehow, sitting here, a part of me is wondering…

Et si je le pensais vraiment... (What if I really meant it...)

I cannot afford to have feelings for my assistant. Screw the fact that our fake relationship is out in the world. I simply cannot allow any distractions. My career is too important for me to mess it up.

And to have my trust betrayed once again. Torn out of my chest, cut into tiny pieces, and ground into mush under a boot heel. I've made a promise to myself that I will never give myself to anyone ever again, and to never let them into my life.

That's the cost of being a successful businesswoman. The one time I let someone close, they tried to destroy me. That's why our worst enemies are the ones we keep close. Casual one-night stands and disguising myself with a blonde or black wig to eliminate my distinctive red hair and some makeup works for me.

“Are you finished with the paperwork?” I ask, startling Alaina as she glances up at me.

“Uh, no, Ms. Seydoux. I have one page left–”

“Leave it for now.” Placing both my palms on the smooth surface of my desk, I push myself up, the chair rolling backward. “You can finish it tonight before the midnight deadline, can you not?”

Her face draws together in confusion. “Um... yes, Ma’am, I can but what--?"

I heave out an exasperated sigh. “Shopping, Alaina. It’s time to go shopping so people can see that you’re indeed my girlfriend and not my servant. Now.” I walk around the desk and approach her, the sound of my high heels echoing through the office. She looks up at me when I stop above her, her hair falling back and giving me a full view of her rosy cheeks and anxious mocha brown eyes.

Inhaling deeply at the sight of her face, I lean down and close the laptop with my finger before placing it on the table behind me. “Are you ready for your transformation, princess?”

Her nose wings dilate as she takes a deep breath and nods. “Yes, Ms. Seydoux. I’m ready.”

I tilt my head to the side. "Call me Mylène when we're behind the scenes as well. Otherwise it will be harder for you to remember which name to call me and when. Make it a habit, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. Ms. Sey-- Mylène," she stammers.

I extend my hand, letting a light smirk to creep up on my lips. She looks down before grasping it, her warmth caressing me like the gentle touch of the early morning sun.

"Where are we going first?" she asks when I pull her to her feet. She stumbles against me, her other hand landing once again on my breasts. One of them, that is. She quickly withdraws her hold. "Oh god, I'm ... I'm so sorry, I--"

I smile. "Do you know what we need to stop making a habit of?" Alaina blinks at me, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink. "Your sorries. Stop apologizing all the time."

"I'm sorr-- I-- but I... I did touch you innap--"

"Do you see me complaining?" Leaning forward, I whisper in her ear. "And I know you liked it. So stop apologizing, especially when you don't mean it. It's a fucked up female habit."

I can hear the faint beats of her heart. The hitching of her voice. The heat radiating from her body.

Pulling back, I await her response, her eyes darting across my face as she bites her bottom lip before nodding once.

"Yes, Mylène."

"Good girl. Now let's go, or we will be late."