Rich Menace, Paris Edition

Chapter Three — Continuous Integration

“We met this morning, and you’re already bringing the U-Haul,” Allison said as they approached the Bentley. Tim glanced at the collection of shopping bags waiting beside the open trunk, then at the woman responsible for most of them. “I distinctly remember promising there wouldn’t be a truck. I haven’t violated the terms of our agreement.” Allison adjusted her handbag and regarded him with the patience of a woman accustomed to reviewing questionable business proposals. “You’re moving into my house after knowing me for less than twelve hours. The absence of an actual truck is hardly a convincing defense.” Tim considered that while the driver loaded their purchases. “I’m a software engineer. We test in production.” Allison shut her eyes. “No sane software engineer says that.” He smiled. “You met me at a bus stop, put me in heels, and invited me to live with you. I think we’ve both forfeited the right to claim sanity.”

The driver accepted another armful of shopping bags with the discretion of a man who had spent years discovering that wealthy people paid extremely well to avoid having their decisions questioned. There were enough bags to make Tim wonder whether Maison Belle had retained any inventory for its other customers. Allison seemed to be making a similar calculation when she looked at the trunk. “Did we actually buy all of that today?” Tim asked. “You were present for every purchase,” Allison reminded him. “I was busy becoming spectacular. I couldn’t possibly be expected to supervise the accounting department at the same time.” She tried to look unimpressed, but Tim caught the beginning of a smile. He rather liked being able to do that to her.

Regency Hill passed outside the Bentley’s windows as they headed toward Allison’s house. Tim knew the neighborhood well enough to have opinions about its intersections, parking lots, and coffee shops, along with several architectural decisions he considered offenses against common sense. His apartment was only a couple of miles from Maison Belle, and until that morning he’d thought of himself as reasonably settled. Now he was riding through familiar streets wearing clothes he hadn’t owned when he woke up, carrying a handbag he’d grown embarrassingly fond of, and moving into the home of a gorgeous woman who had recruited him for a fake relationship. The handbag was particularly satisfying. His phone fit perfectly, the compartments made sense, and he’d already worked out how to find things without excavating his pockets. Allison caught him inspecting it and laughed. “If you’re considering writing a technical review of that handbag, please don’t send it to Camille. She’ll frame it.” Tim snapped it shut with exaggerated dignity. “It’s a very good handbag.” Allison reached across the seat to take his hand. “You’ve been admiring it for twenty minutes, darling. I think we understand how you feel.”

The Bentley turned onto a quiet residential street, and Tim leaned forward when he spotted the house. It was a handsome Colonial, substantial without being ostentatious, with warm light in the windows and a neatly maintained front garden. The white picket fence caught his attention first. Then he noticed the swing set in the yard and what appeared to be a doghouse near the back. He turned toward Allison with growing delight. “You bought a house with a white picket fence, a swing set, and a doghouse?” Allison followed his gaze and immediately looked defensive. “The previous owners had children. The swing set and doghouse came with the property, and I haven’t gotten around to removing them.” Tim regarded her with exaggerated sympathy. “Of course. You swore off relationships, became a terrifying corporate executive, and accidentally purchased the American Dream starter kit.”

“It is an excellent house, Tim. I liked it, it had enough room for everything I wanted, and the location was convenient.” Allison spoke with the composure of a CEO explaining a sensible acquisition to tiresome shareholders. Tim was having none of it, especially after learning that the house contained three bedrooms and three bathrooms. He looked back at the swing set and informed her that she’d apparently purchased sufficient infrastructure for a future elementary school. Allison reached for the door handle as the car stopped, but Tim caught her hand before she could escape. “You know, for a woman determined never to fall in love again, you’ve made some remarkably optimistic real-estate decisions.” She looked at their joined hands, then at him. “You’re becoming insufferable.” Tim smiled. “And you’re adorable.” Allison opened her mouth, thought better of whatever she’d been about to say, and got out of the car.

Inside, the house was even more revealing. Tim had expected beautiful furniture and expensive finishes, and Allison certainly had both. What surprised him was how comfortable everything felt. Lamps cast pools of warm light across upholstered chairs and sofas arranged for conversation rather than display. Photographs occupied shelves and tables, and there was a folded throw over one arm of the sofa. A paperback lay face down beside a chair, its place marked by a receipt. Tim wandered toward the fireplace, where a photograph of Allison laughing with several other women stood beside a small ceramic bowl full of keys. He could imagine himself settling into that chair with a book without feeling obliged to ask permission first.

Allison watched him from the entrance hall, waiting for a verdict. Tim turned toward her and announced that he hated the house because it had completely destroyed his theory that she was an emotionless corporate predator. Her expression changed just enough to make him regret beginning with the joke. He crossed the room and slipped an arm around her waist. “It’s beautiful, Allison. Really. I can see why you bought it.” She looked over his shoulder toward the room and admitted that she’d spent three months searching before finding it. Her agent had shown her the property four separate times before Allison finally made an offer. “Your agent must have been delighted when you decided,” Tim said. “She sent me flowers,” Allison replied. “I think she was afraid I’d change my mind.” Tim kissed her cheek and told her that persistence was apparently one of her more formidable qualities.

The driver finished bringing in the shopping while Tim reached for several bags himself. Allison caught his arm before he could take the heaviest ones, reminding him that he’d been in heels for hours and had nearly died stepping off a curb earlier. Tim gave her an injured look and insisted that the incident had occurred several hours ago, during which time he’d accumulated additional experience. She remained skeptical but allowed him to carry the lighter bags. “You copied the way I stepped off that curb,” she said as they approached the stairs. Tim adjusted his grip on the bags. “And I did it very well, eventually. I would appreciate it if you’d judge me by my most recent performance.” Allison laughed, took another bag, and led him upstairs.

Her bedroom was large and comfortable, with a sitting area near the windows and an attached bathroom that made Tim wonder why anybody ever built houses with inadequate counter space. He paused in the doorway and surveyed the room with the attention of a building inspector. “My God, Allison. It’s an actual bedroom. I’d been preparing myself for something involving a moat.” She swatted him with a shopping bag and reminded him that being wealthy didn’t make her medieval. Tim rubbed his arm theatrically and said he’d been looking forward to defending the drawbridge. Allison stepped past him and opened the closet. “You can defend something useful by putting your new clothes away before the bags take over my bedroom.” Tim followed her, delighted that she could give as good as she got.

Watching Allison make space in her closet was unexpectedly absorbing. The clothes and shoes surrounding them belonged to the woman he’d spent the afternoon watching at Maison Belle, and he recognized how much of her confidence came from knowing exactly what she liked and how to wear it. She moved several garments to another section, cleared a drawer, and began arranging his new purchases alongside her own. Tim expressed surprise at being given an entire drawer, but Allison refused to let the gesture become a production. “I have plenty of room, darling, and I’d prefer not to spend tomorrow stepping over shopping bags.” He suggested that she might have presented the invitation more romantically. “If you need romance, I’ll buy flowers. Right now, I need you to hang up that dress before it wrinkles.” Tim took the dress from its protective cover and studied the space she’d opened, finding the arrangement remarkably natural considering the speed with which they’d arrived here.

He was about to hang the dress when a practical problem occurred to him. “Allison, if I’m going to be your girlfriend, introducing me to people as Tim Johnson is going to create some interesting conversations.” She stopped rearranging hangers and turned toward him. “We’ve planned an international trip, bought an enormous wardrobe, and arranged for you to live here, but somehow neither of us considered what my girlfriend should be called.” Tim observed that it was an embarrassing failure of quality assurance and suggested filing an incident report. Allison leaned against the closet door and asked what his report would recommend. He looked at the dress in his hands, then toward the mirror beyond the bedroom. For the first time that day, he didn’t have a joke ready.

He had enjoyed every unexpected turn of the afternoon. He liked the clothes, the shoes, the way people responded to his appearance, and the growing ease with which he was learning a different social language. He liked being beautiful, although he was still getting used to how readily he admitted it to himself. More than anything, he liked discovering that none of it felt particularly strange once he stopped thinking about it as an experiment. The prospect of returning everything to its previous arrangement after Paris was becoming difficult to imagine. Allison waited while he studied his reflection, making no attempt to influence the decision.

“Chloe,” he said at last, trying the sound of it. “I think I’d like to be Chloe Johnson.” Allison repeated the name softly and smiled. “Chloe Johnson. That’s lovely.” Hearing her say it made Chloe smile before she could think of anything clever. She tried the name aloud herself, enjoying how naturally it fit. “Chloe Johnson, she and her. I think that settles the outstanding documentation issue.” Allison sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her with open affection. “I met a man at a bus stop this morning, took him shopping, fed him dinner, and somehow came home with a beautiful woman who’s moving into my house.” Chloe joined her, still holding the dress, and suggested that Allison might want to review her unusually aggressive onboarding process before recruiting anyone else.

Allison laughed, then took Chloe’s hand. “I want to make sure you’re genuinely happy with this. I was attracted to you before any of the clothes or makeup, and I don’t want you to feel you have to become someone for my benefit.” Chloe appreciated the question enough to consider her answer carefully. She told Allison that she’d enjoyed being Tim and had thirty-five years of perfectly good memories attached to that name. Those experiences didn’t need to disappear because she’d discovered something wonderful about herself. “But I like being Chloe,” she finished, “and I’d like to keep being her after Paris.” Allison studied her for a moment before leaning forward to kiss her. “Then I’m very happy to meet you properly, Chloe Johnson.” Chloe set the dress aside so she could return the kiss without worrying about what it might cost to have the fabric pressed again. “Likewise, Allison Kensington. You’ve made an excellent first impression.”

The practical implications occurred to Chloe a few minutes later, while she was organizing her new things. She stopped with a blouse halfway onto a hanger and looked toward her handbag. “I should probably tell Human Resources before Monday. Turning up at work as Chloe without warning would make for an unnecessarily complicated morning.” Allison stared at her, astonished that she intended to email HR before they’d even finished unpacking. Chloe retrieved her phone and explained that giving them advance notice seemed considerably easier than trying to sort everything out at the reception desk. When Allison leaned over to inspect the screen, Chloe tilted it away. “Privacy, darling. We may be sharing a bedroom, but I’m still entitled to correspondence.” Allison folded her arms and retreated with a theatrical expression of injury while Chloe composed a concise message explaining the name and pronouns she’d be using at work.

She read the message carefully before sending it, then returned the phone to her handbag. Allison watched the entire operation with a look Chloe couldn’t quite decipher. “You didn’t even hesitate,” she said. “I proofread. That’s a form of hesitation.” Allison shook her head and returned to the shopping bags, although she was smiling as she did so. Chloe knew there would be practical complications later, because organizations were very good at turning simple information into complicated procedures. For tonight, the message was sent, the dress still needed hanging, and Allison was already accusing her of taking too long over her clothes.

They continued making room together. Allison cleared another drawer and rearranged her hanging clothes while Chloe unpacked the purchases from Maison Belle. Chloe still had an apartment, furniture, computer equipment, sewing supplies, and thirty-five years’ worth of possessions elsewhere in Regency Hill. They hadn’t decided what to do about any of those things, and Allison had made it clear that she wasn’t expecting a truckload of furniture to arrive without discussion. Tonight they were simply putting away the clothes bought for an extraordinarily ambitious weekend experiment, which seemed entirely manageable until Chloe opened the bag containing her lingerie. Allison found her preparing to fold a bra in a way she clearly considered unacceptable and gently took it from her hands.

Chloe inspected the garment with professional interest while Allison demonstrated how she wanted the cups supported rather than crushed. “I hadn’t realized bras came with storage specifications. Camille neglected to provide the documentation.” Allison handed it back for Chloe to try, observing that Camille had apparently assumed somebody competent would be supervising. Chloe followed her example and conceded that the result was an improvement, although she accused Allison of having an occasionally authoritarian management style. “My management style gets things done,” Allison replied, pointing toward the shoes Chloe had abandoned beside the bed. Chloe explained that she intended to wear them again and saw little value in unnecessary handling. Allison insisted they belonged on the lower shelf and would be perfectly accessible when she wanted them. Chloe collected the offending pair with exaggerated resignation, then caught Allison watching her with a smug little smile. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” she said. “I’ve barely started,” Allison replied.

By the time they went downstairs, Chloe had removed her jewelry and exchanged her heels for the relief of stockinged feet. Allison curled comfortably into one end of the family-room sofa while Chloe sat beside her, leaving a polite amount of space between them. She considered the distance for several seconds before deciding it was entirely too polite for the relationship they were supposedly preparing to demonstrate. Chloe shifted closer until their thighs touched, then rested against Allison’s shoulder. Allison turned her head and asked whether there was a technical justification for the arrangement. Chloe considered inventing one before deciding that honesty might be more entertaining. “I like you, and I wanted to sit closer.” Allison smiled. “You could have led with that.” Chloe settled more comfortably against her, pleased when Allison put an arm around her without requiring any further explanation.

They stayed together for a while, talking about the day and laughing over the remarkable quantity of clothing Camille had persuaded them to buy. Eventually Chloe realized that for two women who were apparently living together, they knew remarkably little about each other’s ordinary lives. Attraction and compatible senses of humor were excellent beginnings, but she doubted they’d be sufficient when somebody eventually asked Allison how her girlfriend took her coffee. Chloe raised the question, and Allison gave her a suspicious look. “If you’re about to produce that notebook, I’m taking it away from you. I’d prefer to learn about my girlfriend without feeling as though I’m being interviewed for a job.” Chloe protested that a notebook could be useful, particularly when preparing for Paris, but Allison was unmoved. After a brief negotiation, Chloe agreed to conduct the conversation without written documentation. Allison immediately demanded to know how she took her coffee, demonstrating that she was perfectly capable of conducting the interview herself.

They started with coffee and drifted into other preferences, discovering how easily an ordinary question could turn into a story. Chloe learned details about Allison’s mornings, including how much conversation she tolerated before she’d properly woken up. Allison wanted to know whether Chloe actually enjoyed cooking or merely considered it another engineering challenge. Chloe explained that she liked feeding people because it was one of the easiest ways to make them comfortable, and Allison admitted that running Kensington Logistics sometimes left her with little patience for deciding what to eat after work. “I can cook, you know,” she added, anticipating Chloe’s response. “I simply don’t always want to.” Chloe assured her that she was happy to cook when she felt like it, provided Allison understood that having a girlfriend didn’t entitle her to a full-time housekeeper. “I already employ people to do that,” Allison said, enjoying Chloe’s expression. “I was hoping to have a girlfriend because I actually like you.”

Family proved more entertaining. Chloe mentioned her parents, Steve and Dot Johnson, and her sister Allison, which earned an immediate reaction from the woman sitting beside her. Allison objected to discovering that Chloe had a sister with the same name and demanded to know whether any other surprises were waiting in the family tree. Chloe reminded her that they’d met that morning and she hadn’t yet finished telling Allison everything that had happened during the previous thirty-five years. Allison conceded the point and introduced her own family: her parents, Gary and Jenny Kensington, and her sister Renee. When Chloe repeated Gary’s name, something familiar tugged at her memory. Her father had occasionally mentioned a Gary Kensington from school, and Allison recognized Steve Johnson’s name almost immediately. They compared what they remembered and established that the Johnsons and Kensingtons had known each other in school, although they’d moved in different social circles.

Allison looked toward the ceiling. “My mother is going to have a field day with this. She’s spent years telling me I work too much and ought to find somebody, and now I’ve apparently brought home the daughter of people she already knows.” Chloe pictured two families arriving to celebrate an engagement nobody had discussed and suggested postponing introductions until they had some idea what they were doing. Allison approved of that strategy with unusual enthusiasm. “I would like to enjoy at least one weekend before my mother starts asking whether you’re bringing your sewing machine over permanently.” Chloe warned her that Dot Johnson was quite capable of planning Thanksgiving before finishing a conversation about the weather. Allison considered the prospect of their mothers meeting and declared that the two women must never be left alone together. Chloe reached for her coffee, wondering whether they might already be too late.

Friends supplied an entirely different kind of threat. Chloe had five close friends, none of whom had been consulted before she rearranged her life that morning. Allison, meanwhile, had six women from her sorority years who formed what Chloe privately classified as an organized social intelligence network. Allison introduced Julie, Natalie, Becca, Sam, Lauren, and Megan while Chloe listened with growing interest. “That’s a complete operational roster, and I haven’t even asked about their capabilities,” Chloe observed. Allison protested that they were simply her friends, but she couldn’t maintain a serious expression when Chloe wondered aloud whether they respected boundaries and minded their own business. Julie, the bride whose wedding had started this adventure, was particularly difficult to contain when she believed she’d discovered something interesting. Chloe considered that information alongside what she’d learned about both families. “I’m beginning to understand why you’re so good at handling difficult people,” she told Allison. “I’ve had years of practice,” Allison replied.

Chloe suggested that they could simply introduce their two friendship groups and get the inevitable chaos over with, but Allison rejected the idea immediately. “Absolutely not. I’ve spent years preventing certain people from meeting each other. I’m not throwing away all that work because you’ve developed a social experiment.” Chloe asked which combinations frightened her most, and Allison declined to provide any information that might be used against her. The refusal only increased Chloe’s curiosity. She promised to respect Allison’s wishes, although she made no commitment to forget the subject. Allison narrowed her eyes and accused her of planning something. Chloe denied it, reasonably pointing out that she hadn’t been given enough information to plan anything effective.

The conversation turned toward hobbies, and Allison was surprised when Chloe mentioned sewing. She initially assumed Chloe meant occasional repairs, but Chloe explained that she made dresses, including prom dresses for girls who couldn’t afford them. Allison straightened and regarded her with fresh interest, recognizing at last why Chloe had been so fascinated by the seams at Maison Belle. Chloe retrieved her phone and showed her photographs of several finished dresses. Allison took her time examining them, occasionally enlarging a detail to inspect the construction rather than offering the polite compliments Chloe usually received from people who knew nothing about sewing. One deep-blue dress with delicate embroidery caught her attention, and she asked whether Chloe had done the beadwork herself. Chloe admitted that she’d sworn never to attempt anything so labor-intensive again and then promptly made three more dresses with similar details. Allison laughed with the appreciation of a woman who understood the irresistible appeal of difficult projects.

They spent several minutes discussing fabric, cut, and the way small changes could make an inexpensive garment look extraordinary. Allison knew more about fashion than Chloe had expected, and she seemed delighted to have somebody who could discuss the construction behind a design rather than simply admire its appearance. At one point Allison suggested a different neckline for a dress Chloe had been considering, and Chloe examined the photograph while thinking through the adjustment. The suggestion was excellent, although she insisted she’d need to test the construction before committing to it. Allison accused her of being constitutionally incapable of conceding that another person might be right, which Chloe considered a gross misrepresentation of her position. “I’m perfectly willing to concede the point once the evidence is available,” she said. Allison laughed. “Camille is going to regret introducing us. Between your sewing and my taste, we could spend an appalling amount of money.” Chloe glanced at the photographs on her phone. “I think you’re overlooking the possibility that we could also make something wonderful.”

While Allison was talking, Chloe’s attention drifted toward the photographs arranged around the family room. They weren’t displayed as trophies or carefully curated decorations. Family pictures stood beside photographs of unfamiliar places, and several showed Allison laughing with friends. One included a beautiful woman standing close enough to Allison that their affection was obvious. Chloe studied it for a moment before looking back at her companion. Allison followed her gaze and identified the woman as Clara. She offered to put the photographs away if they made Chloe uncomfortable, but Chloe shook her head. “Why would I want you to erase somebody who mattered to you? You had a life before this morning, Allison. I rather hope it was a good one.”

Allison settled back against the sofa. “I loved her,” she admitted. “Things became messy when we separated, but she was important to me for a long time.” Chloe looked at the photograph again and told her that she was glad Allison had pictures worth keeping. There was clearly more to the story, but Chloe had no desire to interrogate her about it. Instead, she picked up a different photograph and admired the composition. Allison acknowledged that she’d taken it herself, along with most of the other pictures displayed around the room. Chloe asked where it had been taken, and Allison began telling her about a weekend trip she’d made years earlier. By the time they reached the third photograph, Allison had nearly forgotten the one that had started the conversation.

Photography had once occupied more of Allison’s free time, but after Clara she’d thrown herself into work and gradually stopped making room for it. Chloe looked through several more pictures, asking about the places and people in them while Allison recalled the light, weather, and occasional difficulty of getting the shot she’d wanted. Chloe asked whether she still had her camera and suggested they find an afternoon to take it out again. Allison looked at her, surprised. “You really would enjoy spending an afternoon watching me take photographs?” Chloe smiled at the question. “I’d enjoy spending time with you, and I’d get to see you doing something you love. That sounds like a pretty good afternoon to me.” Allison began suggesting places they might visit, but the doorbell interrupted them before they could make a decision.

Allison looked toward the hallway and admitted that she wasn’t expecting anyone. Chloe accompanied her to the front door, prompting Allison to ask whether she intended to supervise every aspect of her domestic life. Chloe explained that unexpected visitors were an excellent opportunity to discover embarrassing secrets about somebody she’d only recently moved in with. Allison laughed as she opened the door, then found herself facing a woman who immediately transferred her attention from Allison to Chloe. The visitor looked between them several times before announcing, with evident outrage, “Oh, fuck you, Allison Kensington. You’ve been hiding something absolutely spectacular from me.” Allison closed her eyes briefly and offered Julie a greeting considerably more restrained than the one she’d received. The woman barely acknowledged it before approaching Chloe with the intense interest of somebody inspecting a newly discovered treasure.

Julie introduced herself, and Chloe shook her hand while confirming that she was the bride whose wedding had become the organizing principle of her unexpectedly eventful weekend. Julie laughed and assured her that the wedding was still on, although she might reconsider Allison’s invitation if her oldest friend continued behaving so disgracefully. She turned toward Allison and demanded to know how she’d managed to find such a spectacular fake girlfriend without giving anyone the opportunity to offer an opinion. Allison reminded her that she’d only met Chloe that morning. Julie stopped smiling long enough to look genuinely astonished. Chloe explained that they’d met at a bus stop, spent the afternoon shopping, had dinner, and then decided to move in together for the weekend. Julie stared at her, turned slowly toward Allison, and accused her of U-Hauling a woman in less than a day. Allison protested that Chloe’s apartment still existed and no furniture had been moved, but Julie considered the absence of furniture a hopelessly inadequate defense.

Chloe offered Julie a drink and led her into the family room while Allison muttered about treacherous friends. Julie accepted the hospitality but showed considerably more interest in the couple than in the wedding she’d supposedly come to discuss. Chloe sat beside Allison and rested a hand on her knee while explaining the purchases at Maison Belle, including Camille’s enthusiastic intervention and the substantial wardrobe now occupying part of Allison’s closet. Allison covered Chloe’s hand with her own without interrupting. Julie noticed, paused for a fraction of a second, and then turned to Chloe with a question about the wedding. She was smiling when Chloe answered, but her teasing had softened.

Julie eventually demanded the romantic origin story they intended to tell people in Paris. Allison began to protest, but Chloe answered before she could invent anything. They didn’t need a fictional history when the truth was already entertaining enough: they’d met at a bus stop, Allison had approached her with an outrageous proposal, and Chloe had been curious enough to listen. Julie seemed delighted by the account, particularly the discovery that Allison had needed public transportation rather than her considerable fortune to acquire a girlfriend. “I didn’t acquire her,” Allison objected. “She came home with me voluntarily.” Julie regarded the shopping bags she’d seen on her way upstairs and questioned whether the afternoon’s purchases might have influenced that decision. Chloe laughed and assured her that the handbag alone had been a persuasive argument, although Allison had contributed several appealing qualities of her own. By the time they’d finished the story, Julie was shaking her head. “I came here expecting to discuss a fake girlfriend, and instead I’ve discovered you’ve acquired an actual one.”

Allison tried to insist that the arrangement remained complicated, but Julie looked at their joined hands and refused to be distracted. She announced that Chloe was coming to Paris as Allison’s plus-one, regardless of whatever ridiculous explanation the two women were using for their relationship. Chloe accepted the invitation with genuine pleasure, and Julie promptly warned Allison that if she managed to ruin things, Julie intended to keep Chloe herself. Allison pulled Chloe closer. “You can find your own software engineer. This one’s spoken for.” Chloe objected to being discussed as transferable property, although she admitted she was willing to entertain attractive competing offers if Allison’s management style deteriorated. Julie found that hilarious, while Allison accused Chloe of encouraging an already dangerous woman. Chloe responded by kissing Allison’s cheek, which did nothing to discourage Julie from grinning at them.

Julie finally stood to leave, having accomplished almost nothing related to her original purpose. At the door she remembered one last wedding detail and turned toward them with renewed enthusiasm. Both women would be participating in the bouquet toss, she announced, and she wanted promises before either of them invented an excuse. Allison immediately objected, but Chloe assured Julie she’d be delighted to participate. Julie waited patiently until Allison surrendered as well, then suggested that she might need to arrange two bouquets just in case. Allison stared at her in disbelief and asked her to leave before she revoked her invitation to Paris. Julie hugged her, then surprised Chloe with an equally warm embrace. Before departing, she offered Allison one last affectionate look. “I’m happy for you.” Then she grinned, repeated the word “U-Haul,” and escaped before Allison could respond.

Chloe was still laughing when she turned toward Allison. “I like her. She has excellent instincts, and I appreciate that she immediately recognized how attractive I am.” Allison shook her head. “Of course she recognized it. She has eyes.” Chloe stepped closer, delighted by the compliment, and asked whether Allison had finally abandoned the pretense that this was an entirely professional arrangement. Allison looked briefly annoyed with herself, then reached for Chloe’s waist. “I bought you lingerie, invited you into my home, and have spent half the day trying not to kiss you in public. I would have thought my opinion was reasonably clear.” Chloe smiled. “It is now. I particularly appreciate the clarity of the latest statement.” She kissed Allison beside the front door, enjoying the absence of an audience and the fact that neither of them had to pretend the gesture served a useful purpose.

Allison responded immediately, her hands settling comfortably at Chloe’s waist. They’d kissed before, but the quiet of Allison’s home gave this one a different feeling. Chloe could smell the perfume she’d grown familiar with during the afternoon, and Allison seemed perfectly content to let the kiss continue. When they finally separated, Allison brushed a strand of hair away from Chloe’s face. “You’re becoming dangerously good at that.” Chloe suggested that she’d benefited from excellent instruction, although Allison pointed out that she didn’t remember teaching her that particular technique. Chloe concluded that she must therefore be naturally talented. Allison looked as though she intended to argue, then apparently decided that another demonstration would be considerably more satisfying. Chloe was delighted to cooperate.

Later, upstairs, Chloe surveyed the bed and the doors leading toward the other rooms. Allison noticed and asked what she was considering, prompting Chloe to explain that they hadn’t actually discussed where she would sleep. There were three bedrooms in the house, after all, and Chloe thought it reasonable to ask which one she was supposed to use. Allison looked offended by the suggestion. “I wasn’t planning to put you in another room. This is supposed to be twenty-four-hour training, and I can’t possibly supervise your nighttime and morning habits if you’re sleeping at the opposite end of the house.” Chloe folded her arms, delighted by the elaborate justification. “You’re selflessly volunteering to share your bed with the woman you’ve been kissing all evening? Allison Kensington, your commitment to professional excellence is inspiring.” Allison lifted her chin. “Leadership requires sacrifice, darling. I’m prepared to make the necessary accommodation.” Chloe assured her that such dedication would not go unappreciated.

They laughed together, but Chloe wanted to settle one thing before they climbed into bed. She took Allison’s hands and waited until she had her attention. “I want to sleep with you, Allison. I also think we should take our time before we have sex.” Allison held her gaze and admitted that she’d been wondering when they were going to talk about it. They’d made an astonishing number of decisions in one day, and neither woman particularly wanted to rush this one. “I want you, Chloe,” Allison said. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But I’d like our first time to happen when we’ve both had a chance to think about it.” Chloe agreed, although she was quick to clarify that postponing sex didn’t mean abandoning the possibility. Allison laughed and assured her that abandoning the possibility hadn’t occurred to her at all.

Chloe was equally determined that the agreement shouldn’t make them awkward with each other. She liked being close to Allison, enjoyed kissing her, and had every intention of sharing the bed they’d just negotiated. Allison wrapped her arms around Chloe and informed her that if kissing was the main concern, she could put her mind at ease immediately. Chloe accepted the invitation, but only after reserving the right to steal blankets during the night. Allison warned her that blanket theft was the one boundary she intended to enforce without negotiation. Chloe regarded that as unreasonable and promised to appeal the decision. Allison laughed and kissed her before reminding her that the appeal would almost certainly be denied.

The next challenge was getting ready for bed. Chloe stood in Allison’s bathroom surveying herself in the mirror after a day that had begun in jeans and ended with an entirely different wardrobe. Her makeup needed removing, her feet hurt, and she was tired enough that the practical details demanded more concentration than she’d expected. Even so, she liked the woman looking back at her. She wasn’t preparing for a boutique fitting or performing for strangers. She was getting ready for bed in the home of a woman she liked very much, and she was looking forward to doing it again tomorrow. That thought pleased her almost as much as the nightgown waiting nearby.

She was less successful with the makeup removal. Allison appeared in the doorway just as Chloe began rubbing at her eyes with an enthusiasm better suited to cleaning an engine component. She looked genuinely alarmed. “Darling, what exactly are you doing to your face?” Chloe explained that she was removing her makeup, which she’d understood was a required part of the evening. Allison gently took the cloth from her hands. “It is, but there are less aggressive ways to accomplish the task. Here, let me show you.” She demonstrated the proper technique, then watched Chloe try it herself. Chloe adjusted her movements in response to the corrections and admitted that the gentler approach was substantially more effective. When she accused Allison of being insufferable about being right, Allison smiled at their reflections. “Only when the evidence is overwhelming.”

When Chloe finally emerged wearing the nightgown, Allison was already in bed. She looked up from the pillows and stopped whatever she’d been about to say. Chloe enjoyed the reaction enough to pause in the doorway and let Allison take a proper look. She asked whether Allison cared to provide a technical assessment or whether they’d exhausted her professional vocabulary for the evening. Allison shook her head, smiling slowly. “I think you look beautiful, and I would appreciate it if you’d stop reminding me that I bought that nightgown specifically for this situation.” Chloe glanced down at the fabric and concluded that the purchase had been thoroughly justified. Allison lifted the covers in invitation. “Come to bed before you discover another reason to be impossible.”

Getting comfortably beneath the blankets while managing the unfamiliar nightgown required a little experimentation. Allison offered practical advice, Chloe made an adjustment, and they settled beside each other with the awkward amusement of two women learning an entirely new routine. For a while they lay looking at the ceiling, apparently struck by the same thought. Chloe finally turned her head and began recounting the events of the day: moving into Allison’s house, choosing a new name, emailing HR, and being threatened with a double bouquet toss at a wedding in Paris. Allison laughed into her pillow and reminded Chloe that she hadn’t even met her mother yet. According to Allison, Julie was comparatively restrained, which Chloe found a deeply unsettling prospect. She asked whether they should revise their plans for tomorrow to accommodate the threat. Allison assured her that any attempt to prepare for Jenny Kensington would be an exercise in futility.

They turned toward each other as the conversation quieted. Allison brushed her fingers against Chloe’s cheek and told her how beautiful she looked. Chloe returned the compliment, pleased by the softness of Allison’s expression. Allison admitted that she’d been attracted to Chloe before any of the clothes or makeup, and Chloe teased her for repeating something she’d already made abundantly clear. “Well, I thought you should hear it again,” Allison replied, looking entirely unrepentant. Chloe assured her that she didn’t mind hearing it and leaned forward to kiss her. When they parted, she rested her forehead against Allison’s. “I’m trying very hard not to fall in love with you before midnight.” Allison glanced toward the clock. “Then you’d better stop talking and kiss me again. We don’t have much time.” Chloe laughed and obliged.

They settled into bed together, Allison’s head resting against Chloe’s shoulder. Their conversation wandered through card games, baseball, morning habits, and the irritating things their families did with the very best intentions. Chloe discovered that Allison could become intensely competitive over activities she claimed not to care about. Allison learned that Chloe enjoyed looking after people but had no patience for being ordered around simply because somebody else thought they knew best. That observation produced a spirited disagreement about the difference between offering assistance and issuing instructions. Allison informed Chloe that she was going to be difficult, and Chloe reminded her that she’d known that since the afternoon. Allison confessed that she’d been hoping Chloe might improve with training. Chloe suggested that Allison might achieve better results if she learned to ask nicely.

Allison lifted her head and looked at Chloe for a long moment before asking, with exaggerated courtesy, whether Chloe would please kiss her before she said something that started another argument. Chloe laughed and congratulated her on the improvement. They kissed, and Allison settled comfortably against her again. Eventually their conversation slowed as exhaustion caught up with them, and neither woman made much effort to stay awake. Allison was nearly asleep when she spoke again, her voice warm against Chloe’s shoulder. “I really do like your name, Chloe.” Chloe kissed the top of her head. “I’m rather fond of it myself.” Allison smiled against her shoulder, and before long they were both asleep.

Saturday morning arrived with the unhelpful realization that Chloe was trapped beneath a very beautiful woman. Allison had one arm across her waist and a leg tangled with hers, and she showed no inclination to surrender either. Chloe enjoyed the arrangement for several minutes before the need to use the bathroom became difficult to ignore. She tried to move carefully, but Allison tightened her hold without opening her eyes. Chloe whispered a polite request for permission to escape, which Allison rejected on the grounds that Chloe was warm and she was comfortable. Chloe looked at the woman curled around her and decided that her bathroom could wait another five minutes. Allison smiled without opening her eyes and informed her that she drove a hard bargain. Eight minutes later, Chloe finally managed to negotiate her release.

Her hair had become rebellious overnight, the nightgown needed straightening, and she was considerably less graceful than she’d been under Camille’s supervision. Allison joined her in the bathroom and watched her negotiate the doorway with a look of professional interest. She observed that Chloe moved differently when she was tired, prompting Chloe to point out that surveillance before breakfast was a rather aggressive addition to their training program. Allison laughed and came closer, showing her one small adjustment that would make the movement easier. Chloe tried it, understood the difference, and repeated the motion successfully. She conceded that the advice was useful but warned that she’d be a considerably more receptive student after coffee. Allison agreed that getting her properly caffeinated should probably become the morning’s first priority.

Downstairs, Chloe began exploring the kitchen while Allison prepared to make her morning coffee. Chloe stopped her with a smile and offered to handle it, although she had to ask where several things were kept. Allison leaned against the counter, entertained by Chloe’s determination to learn a kitchen she’d entered for the first time the previous evening. She pointed out that Chloe had lived there for approximately twelve hours and wasn’t expected to know where everything belonged. Chloe explained that learning was precisely the point, and she’d remembered Allison’s coffee preferences from the night before. She made the coffee as requested and handed it to Allison before starting her own. Allison took a sip and looked at her with pleased surprise. Chloe grinned at the expression and reminded her that she also remembered their disagreement about blanket ownership. Allison laughed and suggested that they confine their morning negotiations to one subject at a time.

Breakfast became a cooperative undertaking, with Allison supplying the knowledge of her own kitchen and Chloe contributing her enthusiasm for feeding people. They worked around each other with occasional adjustments as they learned who was reaching for what, and Allison prevented a minor collision when she opened a drawer behind Chloe. Chloe accepted the correction cheerfully and returned the dish towel to its proper place after discovering that Allison had surprisingly firm opinions on kitchen organization. They disagreed over one of the ingredients, with Allison insisting that Chloe was about to ruin a perfectly good breakfast and Chloe maintaining that her approach would improve it considerably. Allison agreed to let her try, provided Chloe would be responsible for eating the result if she was wrong. Chloe accepted the challenge and carried on with considerably more confidence than Allison thought the circumstances warranted.

When breakfast was ready, Allison took a cautious bite and considered the result. Chloe watched her expectantly, although Allison made a deliberate show of taking another bite before answering. She finally admitted that the food was very good, which Chloe greeted with entirely predictable satisfaction. Allison warned her that enjoying breakfast didn’t mean she was admitting Chloe had been right. Chloe accepted that distinction with the generosity of a woman who had already won the argument. “I’d hate to deprive you of the pleasure of being difficult,” she told Allison, reaching for her coffee. Allison smiled over the rim of her cup. “You’re learning very quickly.” Chloe considered asking whether there would be a formal evaluation before deciding that breakfast was too pleasant to invite another lecture.

Morning light filled the kitchen, catching the edge of Allison’s hair and the white ceramic cup between her hands. Chloe had intended to ask about their plans for the day, but Allison was watching her with the familiar expression of somebody who expected to be kissed. Chloe put down her fork. “I was just thinking about how much I like being here,” she said. Allison regarded her for a moment, then reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m glad. I like having you here.” Chloe squeezed her fingers before suggesting that they discuss breakfast privileges. Allison looked intrigued until she heard the proposed terms: unlimited access to good coffee, reasonable bathroom counter space, and the occasional opportunity to win an argument. She agreed that coffee and counter space were negotiable but insisted that arguments would continue to be decided on their merits. Chloe reminded her that she’d been right about breakfast, and Allison pointed out that one successful morning hardly established a reliable pattern.

Chloe carried the last of the dishes to the table and stood to meet Allison when she came around to her side. She slipped her arms around Allison’s waist, enjoying the ease with which the gesture was already becoming familiar. Allison returned the embrace and kissed her, making no attempt to hurry back to breakfast. When she finally released Chloe, she glanced at the abandoned plates and then toward the stairs. “You know, we have absolutely nothing scheduled for the next hour,” Allison observed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Chloe raised an eyebrow and asked whether that was an invitation. Allison smiled and wondered whether Chloe intended to be difficult about it. Chloe answered by kissing her again, then leaned close enough to murmur, “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

Author's Note:

Thanks for joining Chloe and Allison in a perfectly sensible arrangement between two adults who should know better. Allison has the plan and the credit card. Chloe keeps finding ways to improve the specifications. Neither seems concerned that they're enjoying the assignment this much.

Thank you for reading! BigCloset has been one of my longtime homes as a reader, and I'm delighted to be sharing my own stories here. I've spent many happy hours getting lost in the fiction on this site, so it's rather special to be contributing something of my own.

I love writing characters who discover unexpected things about themselves, find people who appreciate them, and occasionally get into considerably more trouble than they intended. Romance, laughter, friendship, and a little mischief tend to find their way into everything I write.

I welcome your comments, guesses, and suggestions. I can't promise my characters will listen to either of us, but I genuinely enjoy hearing what you think. Thank you for giving my stories a place in your reading time.

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With love,
Jenny