Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance, Natasha Boyd [e reader books .TXT] 📗

Andrea glanced over her shoulder toward the door and back to me. “Just shy of two years. That’s really all I can say. But the family—what’s left of it—they need healing. And this attempt to get back out to sea and spend some time together is part of it. I’m sure you know how the press treats Mr. P, like some sort of tragic prince. That makes Dauphine the poor little lonely heiress. It also makes her a target for unscrupulous types. You’ll be her nanny, but also you’ll never let her out of your sight.”

A chill skidded over my arms. “You mean she’s a target for, like, kidnapping?”

Andrea nodded.

“Yikes. That’s a little above my pay grade, don’t you think?”

“You just have to be another set of eyes and another hand to hold when you all are out and about. Evan was in the Royal Marines and has undertaken bodyguard training.” Her eyes flashed as she said it, and it occurred to me Andrea might have a crush on the affable driver who was clearly a lot more than he looked.

“So he has lots of different roles here,” I said, impressed.

“He’s paid well for it, trust me. And we all go above and beyond and do whatever it takes to keep things running smoothly. We really respect Monsieur Pascale.” I didn’t mistake the advice for me in her simple statement. But I’d never been one to do the bare minimum or shirk responsibility. It was probably why I’d gotten so far ahead at work before I’d crashed into my glass ceiling.

“And I guess we’re all hoping that with you here, Dauphine may be a little less lonely, and maybe Mr. P will start to relax a little bit. It’s been bleak, I’ll tell you. It’ll be a bit different from your last gig, I’m sure.”

I bit my lip. “This is my first one actually. I mean, like this,” I hurried on at her surprised look, not wanting to paint myself as completely clueless on my first day. “I’m not super experienced.” I swallowed.

“Ahh. Well. And on a boat no less.”

“Yeah.”

She smiled and I relaxed. “Well, the crew’s a good bunch. Just a skeleton crew for a boat this size though since it’s only you three. But give a shout if you need help. It’ll be me, Evan, who’s first mate but also triples as security and deck hand, Rod who you’ll meet is an extra deck hand and fills in as steward when we’re thin, Paco the captain, and Andre the chef. On other boats I’m normally one of three or four women. At least I get my bunk room to myself since I worked here. If you need anything, from a soft drink to sunscreen while you’re finding your way, I’m your gal. If you need a tender ride to shore, Evan’s your guy. Anything I should tell chef to avoid for you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I eat almost everything. Where’s Dauphine?” I asked, remembering the reason I was on this boat.

“Probably up on the bridge with Paco. She loves to go see him first thing.”

“The bridge?”

“Boat term. It’s where the captain drives the vessel—wheel, radar, sonar, satellite. All the gadgets that keep this beauty running. Paco has a cabin on the bridge level too.”

I rubbed my palms on my shorts and looked around. “Do I have time to unpack?”

Andrea walked toward the head of the bed where a built-in wooden shelf ran the width of the room and held two bolted down bedside lamps. “There’s an intercom here,” she said, pointing out a brass inlay with a button and slats like on a speaker. “Kind of old school, and we try not to use it unless there’s an emergency. But we’ll get you equipped with your own cell phone. How about you unpack, relax, shower, and I’ll buzz you when Mister P is ready to meet with you to go over Dauphine’s care. I’ll keep her with me for the meantime, and she can help the chef prep for dinner.”

I smiled with gratitude. “That’d be great. Thank you.”

“Don’t nap if you can help it. Jet lag will kill you if you do. Oh, and the Wi-Fi code is in the drawer,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll buzz you when Mr. P is ready for you.”

With a smile, she headed out, and as soon as she clicked the door closed, I went to the window and figured out how to slip it open. Inhaling the briny and oily air of the port, I sucked it in deeply through the four-inch gap. I’d never had textbook claustrophobia, and I was sure it wouldn’t be crippling, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to need to have a window or door cracked with the promise of fresh air. I’d have to ask what the rules were about keeping the windows open. Last thing I needed was for sea water to lap in with a big wave. I bent my neck to glance down and saw my cabin window was pretty close to the greenish and oil-swirled surface of the water. That wasn’t creepy.

My phone buzzed from somewhere, and I dug around in my purse.

Meredith.

Instead of texting, I opened my settings and found the Wi-Fi, and then dialed her number through a Wi-Fi calling app.

She answered on the third ring.

“Jos, you made it?”

“I did. I’m on the boat. I say boat, but a better descriptor would be cruise ship.”

“Oh my God. Is it lush? I bet it’s amazing. Do they have a crew? Of course they do.”

I smiled. “They do.”

“I’m imagining you on the cast of Below Deck. Is there a mad genius chef?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“And are the deck hands cute?”

I thought of Evan. “Yes, the one I’ve met is. His name is Evan and no, before you ask, he’s not my type.” I’d felt nothing in the way of attraction to Evan. Certainly not in the wake of