21. No Strings Attached

Chapter 21

No Strings Attached

HUNTER

W atching Megan try to hide her excitement as she looks out the small window of my private jet is worth me taking a pause in my own life. I think it's safe to say that she and I are making small increments of progress with each other. After all, I would think that visiting Paris is on every art student's bucket list.

It's cute how she's so horrible at hiding her emotions, and it's clear that she wants to stay awake for the whole plane ride, but she's tired and falls asleep next to me pretty quickly. She's probably exhausted from the arguments she threw my way about not going, yet I have to say the pushback wasn't as hard as it has been in the past. So, yeah, I definitely think we're making progress.

I tell the attendant to dim the lights and cover Megan with one of the cashmere blankets I keep stocked on board. It's not like I expected her to completely agree to hop on a plane with me without hesitation, but it's easy to wear her down if you know which buttons to press. It's either mental warfare with her or straight-up kidnapping. I chose the legal route, although I'm not averse to doing the other when necessary.

Even in the dim lights, I can see the exhaustion on her pretty face. She desperately needed the rest. I curl a strand of her hair around my finger and watch her lax expression as her head leans into the window.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

I've met plenty of beautiful women in my life, but there's something about Megan that draws me in like a moth to a flame. Like a faulty pilot light on a stove, there's a fire within her that keeps trying to go out, yet she makes it blaze again with just her willpower. She refuses to call it quits, even with the whole world against her. She's fierce and beautiful, and while she's still young, she can go far in life if she doesn't ever give up. But the world is a cruel bitch, and it's going to try its best to crush her. A part of me doesn't want to see it happen.

She shifts in discomfort in her sleep, and her head slides in the opposite direction to rest on my shoulder. She mumbles something.

I freeze.

The innocent way she snuggles into me and the warmth radiating from her is so addictive. It's something I fear I could get used to. Even as I tell myself not to, I gently pull her closer to make her more comfortable until her head is resting on my chest and her arm is draped over my stomach.

She smiles in her sleep, burrowing into me, and I feel a strange sensation under my ribs. The cold, empty hole in my chest, where my heart used to be until it was ripped out by the fire that took my family from me all those years ago, throbs.

"You're a dangerous little thing," I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead, knowing she won't wake up. "You might just be my undoing, Miss Taylor."

I've been to Paris multiple times on business but I've never looked at the city quite in the way that Megan does. Her eyes are wide with excitement as she looks around when we land, as if she's desperate not to miss a single thing.

I have an apartment in the city, so we drop off our things and go for breakfast. There's a charming little café with a view of the Seine River near the apartment, and I take Megan there. To me, food is just something to consume for energy. I do enjoy certain foods, but once again, clearly not with the enthusiasm that Megan does.

I find it adorable how she keeps trying to contain her excitement and fails so miserably. Her eyes are shining as she takes in the sights. I've come to this café quite a few times over the past few years, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed a simple breakfast of coffee and croissants more.

"So, why are we really here?" Megan asks, sipping her coffee.

Her nerves have died down now that her belly is full, and I can sense a hint of that familiar wariness that she displays around me.

"You're an art student, right?" I shrug before gesturing around us. "You should be able to appreciate all the art Paris has to offer."

Her hand holding the coffee cup falters. "So this trip is for me?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Because I wanted you to have this experience."

I expect her to blow up at me as she has done so before. I expect some level of accusation of me trying to get into her pants, but she surprises me once again.

"No strings attached?" She asks quietly, looking at the waterfront with a wistful gaze before shifting her eyes back at me.

At this moment, even if I did have some ulterior motive, it vanishes. I am the seasoned adult in this relationship, and right now, she looks like a child who has been given a toy but is scared to touch it for fear of it being taken away from her.

"None," I say calmly, sipping my coffee and watching her.

She swallows, and I can see the struggle on her face.

"So, you're just being nice to me?"

"I wouldn't say that," I murmur.

"Well, this is what one would call a grand gesture. What else would you call it?"

"I get to spend time with you."

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself, and her eyes turn wide, and she blushes fiercely.

"What?"

Now that it's out there, I can't exactly take it back, so I take another sip of coffee and allow her to process what I've just admitted.

"I don't get it–" Megan cuts herself off, a tight smile on her face. "No, you know what? I'm not even going to ask. Because the answer is probably something that I don't want to hear, this might be the only chance I get to come to Paris. I willingly got on the plane. We're here. So, I'm going to enjoy myself."

She sounds so determined that it's adorable, and I smile into my cup. "Go crazy. I won't stop you."

She takes out her phone and starts searching for something.

"It's the weekend, so some museums and art galleries have free entries. You have to wait in line, but we can still get in, and–"

"I assure you I can afford to get you a fast pass into any museum in the city," I say, feeling a little insulted, but Megan isn't listening.

"There's a coupon for a lunch menu in–"

"Megan!" I growl at her, and she looks up.

"I brought you here on a private plane. I'm funding this trip. Stop looking for coupons and free entries. It's a waste of time and energy when we only have a few days here."

She frowns now. "No, that'll make it seem like I'm using you for your money."

"Not when I'm offering it." I stare at her. "Plus, I have plenty of it."

She looks back down at her phone and continues to scroll whatever tourist discount site she's on.

"I don't like you because of your money, and I don't want you getting that idea."

Her words are thoughtless, and I blink, absorbing them and their meaning.

"Come again?"

"What?" She gives me a distracted look.

"You said you like me."

I don't know why her words make me feel so taken aback but also, dare I say, they make me feel good?

This time, when she blushes, she shrugs a deliberate movement.

"Well, you're nice to me a lot, even when I yell at you. And you haven't shot me even once, although you shoot other people. And you took care of me, twice by my count, even though I can sometimes be a complete bitch."

"I never once thought you were a bitch," I say with a smirk, wondering why her words sound so pleasant.

"But you're still my boss, and I'm not shitting where I sleep or whatever the saying is," she promises with narrowed eyes over her coffee cup.

"I'm not your boss here," I say plainly.

She deliberately looks down, refusing to meet my gaze. "Yes, well, you'll still be my boss when we return."

I don't know what compels me, but I am leaning forward. "But we're not back yet. We are in Paris. And I'm not your boss in Paris."

"Then what are you?" She looks a little hesitant, as if she knows that she's treading in dangerous waters but can't stop herself.

I shrug, giving her a small smile. "We'll find out."

Approaching Megan is like approaching a wary kitten. I can't win her over until she trusts me. This trip had been an impulse, and I was second-guessing my own actions during the plane ride here. But seeing her here like this, so filled with life and excitement and away from the pressures of Los Angeles, all my doubts fade away.

It's also a good distraction for me. This weekend will give me the chance to sort out my head and come back to tackle the whole situation going down with Johnathan with a clearer mindset.

Resting my cheek on my palm, I watch Megan attempt to plan out an entire itinerary. I really did try to stay away from her, but it never seems to go my way when it comes to this woman. That one week that she stayed home drove me wild. I couldn't forget the taste of her lips. The soft sounds she had made still echoed in my ear. I lived with a hard-on for her most of that week. It was both disturbing and intoxicating.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this fiery little kitten, but staying away isn't an option. Fucking her senseless would be my favorite option, but something tells me that if she figures out what's running through my head, she'll run straight for the hills. I need to find a way to either get her out of my system or just keep her around me until I get tired of her.

Damn, I hope I get tired of her.

‘I don't like you because of your money.'

Although words are the most meaningless thing in the world to me, Megan's statement has me smiling. There are only a few people in my life, a mere handful, who have looked past my bank account and really at the person I am.

However I thought this trip would go, Megan continues to prove me wrong. Where I assumed she would want to at least shop at some of the famous flagship stores and enter the most vied-after boutiques, I see that she genuinely isn't interested in any of them.

She refuses to use the private car so we mostly walk around the city. It's nice for me, too, because I don't need security in Paris, so Lars and Parker are home keeping an eye on things in LA.

I'm free.

Instead of going to Galerie Viviene, which is a paradise for shopping for expensive clothes, she drags me to a labyrinth of alleyways that is home to small Parisian markets and stalls. She takes pictures but not once does she buy anything. Every time I catch her with a wistful look in her eye, she moves so quickly that I don't even know what she's looking at. She doesn't let me splurge on an expensive restaurant lunch but instead insists on buying me a sandwich. We sit on the waterfront, eating a baguette with ham, tomatoes, and cheese, and it's the most satisfying meal I've had in a long time.

"Take a video of me." She thrusts her battered cell phone into my hand and quickly steps back towards the entrance of Notre Dame. "Press record when I jump!"

Amused at her eagerness, I do as she says. However, I don't expect the scolding that follows.

"No, when I jump!" She tries to teach me. "When I do this, you have to hit this button. The one that says slow."

I have no idea what that means, but I've never enjoyed being bossed around this much by this tiny woman. After a few tries, I managed to get it right to her satisfaction.

However, as the afternoon fades and we make our way to the art galleries, I see a transformation come over Megan. I tuck her arm in mine when we enter one of the galleries on her list, and when she looks at me in surprise, I pretend not to notice. However, she's far too distracted by the stunning pieces of work to protest.

"I used to love painting when I was a child," she says in a quiet tone, as she looks at a dark blue ocean that is framed in black with a small inscription on the side. "I was never allowed to buy paints but I had this teacher in school who took a liking to me. She would always bring extra paints for me.

"She lived a few blocks away from us, and when she stopped being my teacher, I would always find excuses to visit her home. While I always had some raw talent, she taught me how to paint and refine my craft. She also taught me how to use charcoal. She was one of the kindest people I knew, and our relationship always reminded me that there were actually nice people in the world."

"What happened to her?" I ask, noticing the faraway look in her eyes.

The soft smile fades from Megan's eyes, only to be replaced by a bitter look.

"My shitty life happened. My stepmother found out what she was doing, so long story short, I was not allowed to go to her house anymore, and then she was fired from her job."

"Fired? For what?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, but I can bet my parents had something to do with it. They went to the school to make a fuss about her inappropriate behavior outside of school with a student."

The more I hear about Megan's parents, the more I despise them. Some people shouldn't be parents. Some people shouldn't be breathing.

"Did you ever see her again?" I ask.

"Once. It was just before she died. She got liver cancer. When I found out, I sneaked away after school to visit her. I doubt she recognized me because she was in a lot of pain and on a series of medications, but the last time I saw her, she had tubes sticking out of her, and she looked withered and frail. I heard from another student that she died a few days after."

There's a dull acceptance in Megan's voice as she tells me about this part of her past and I look down at the top of her head. She's still staring at the painting, her expression lost.

"She was the one who got me fascinated with art. She had me convinced that I was good at it."

"You are," I tighten my hold on her arm and she looks at me, a small smile on her face.

"I'm not great yet, but maybe one of these days I'll manage to get my work displayed at a gallery like this, and it'll be through my own hard work, and no amount of bribery will be able to rip that opportunity from my hands."

Her tone is fierce, and something dawns on me.

"Is that what happened?" I ask calmly. "Did somebody steal an opportunity from you?"

"You can't steal something that was never mine."

"Megan." There is a hint of reproach in my tone, and she glances at me, frowning.

"It's no big deal. I'm not on good terms with some of my classmates, and after it was announced that my work was going to be one of the pieces on display for homecoming, the teacher took me aside and told me that there was a mixup." She makes a derisive sound. "As if I didn't just see Ashley slip her two tickets to whatever show."

"What does displaying your pieces at homecoming mean for a student?"

"You know how some universities have boosters who support their sports teams? Well, there are graduates who come back to our school who work in major art spaces or who are collectors, and if they see a piece they like, they'll often buy it or even offer the artist a position at a gallery."

My expression turns dark. "So you were cheated out of a major opportunity, then."

Her face tightens. "It doesn't matter. There will be other opportunities, and even if it doesn't happen for me, I'll save up money after college and figure out another way to get noticed. I'm not going to let some stuck-up daddy's princess bring me down. Fuck her and her money."

The last parts are spoken with a sneer.

My brave little soldier.

I want to fight all her battles for her, but I'm slowly realizing that she can fight them on her own.

I pat her hand. "Your time will definitely come. I saw that drawing you made. You have an amazing talent, which I doubt this Ashley girl does. Otherwise, why would she have to pay her way to get approval?"

As I hoped, my words cheer her up. "You're right. Fuck Ashley."

Without doing a deep dive into Megan's personal business, or at least beyond what Parker and Lars have already reported back to me, I'm starting to piece together this whole school situation.

Megan is being bullied by one or maybe several privileged brats who are bored with their mundane lives and have nothing else to do but fuck with her. Who else would she have been fighting with at school? Probably the same girl who bought her way into the homecoming art show.

I suppose there wouldn't be any harm in taking a deeper look at this little shit, Ashley. I want to make sure that Megan's doing fine, of course. Not because I'm irritated that the little bitch had the audacity to take something which was rightfully Megan's. That would be overstepping.

I send a quick text to Parker.