“Congratulations,” Harold kissed me awake. It smells like a combination of old boiled eggs, last night's gyros, and coffee. My stomach turns, but I hold back. Yes, I made the decision to end our contract quickly, but I didn't think it would be smart to do so right before my birthday. My father has many faults, but stinginess is not one of them. Moreover, I need time to think: I want to keep growing like a little kid with preferably one high-profile permanent client and maybe a few sweet freebies like Tim the popular singer. Not the mess in the margins, but also not the stranger I met in Paris.
In fact, Harold looks at me kindly: apart from a few minor annoyances, he seems happy that I've moved in with him. “I really appreciate the kindness you give me,” he said recently. I smiled gratefully and bit my tongue not to say that living with him was too boring. He is very tired, playing the role of the woman of his dreams twenty-four hours a day. But – I must admit – this Trophy Girlfriend Lifestyle It doesn't cause me any harm either. “I saw your not-so-subtle wish list, on your vision board on your dressing table,” Harold laughed. Then he showered me with packages: the YSL bag I wanted, with a matching wallet. Chanel sunglasses, a Hermès silk belt and scarf, and an envelope containing a credit card.
I looked at Harold questioningly: “You know, I recently realized that it's been years since I've been on vacation. He really was on vacation. So, for your birthday, you can book the trip of your dreams for the two of us. We'll be leaving on Tuesday and we can have a good week away. About “Eight days. Or nine. What do you say?” Harold looks at me happily: he is very happy with this idea. “Money is nothing,” he whispered, his head moving closer. Damn, he wants a French kiss, too. But I would be happy to pay that much for a luxury dream trip.
