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

“Ow,” he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Wow. Pulling out the old firing you card, X? Things must really be hard.” He raised an eyebrow. “Pun intended.”

“Fuck you.” And he was the only one I let call me X, instead of Xavier or Monsieur Pascale. And only when it was the two of us.

“Sorry, that was crass.” He didn’t look sorry at all. “Anyway, here’s her contract and non-disclosure if you want to look at it before she signs. It just came through from the lawyer.”

I took the paperwork but stayed quiet since I was incriminating myself. I knew it was unfair to send the girl home just because I couldn’t stop the thrum that slid through my deepest core with one look at her. And now I’d admitted my weakness to Evan and confirmed all his assumptions.

Also, beyond the fact that I had no time nor willingness for distractions, it was also reminiscent of my father lusting after my nannies growing up. Except my father acted on those impulses. I blew out an annoyed breath to cover my cringe, trying to get my head away from her and back into business. It would be fine. She was just an attractive woman. I’d spent time with plenty of those. No big deal. I’d give it a couple of weeks. I focused in front of me. “The reports for the meeting look good. I’m ready.” I shuffled the pages needlessly. I knew the results were solid. I didn’t need to re-read the reports this morning to know.

“Good. I’d like my goose to keep fattening. I’m not ready for the foie gras just yet.”

“Such a strange expression.” Every year, instead of a bonus, I gifted Evan a small amount of stock in my company. It had been his idea, and he was building up a nice retirement. It was a symbiotic relationship—his skin in the game if you will. He protected me since I was, literally, his investment.

“Sometimes, I like to fantasize you protect me because I’m your friend and not because I’m making you rich,” I said.

“That’s cute,” he deadpanned. “Okay, also on your agenda. Your father sent another request to meet for this bridge project he wants you to look at.”

My stomach tightened. “Invest in, you mean. I was hoping he wasn’t pushing that.”

“Pas du tout. He’s anxious to share some numbers with you.”

“He’s convinced that now we have our hand in some boutique hotel projects I’d like to get into infrastructure too.” Newsflash, I didn’t. Save the government building contracts for the unscrupulous. There was practically no way to avoid the systemic corruption, and I wanted no part in it.

“He’s setting up a lunch,” Evan went on while I brooded at how my father couldn’t ever take no for an answer. “Next week. Marie-Louise put it on your schedule. She just put a bug in my ear to ask if you’d seen it.”

My poor long-suffering assistant who had to contact Evan because I was playing a game of avoidance with my own father.

I flipped open my laptop and after passing the facial recognition software opened my calendar to see how Marie Louise had shaped up my next two weeks. Luckily it was fairly clear, like I’d asked her to keep it, apart from a couple of meetings, a visit with my late wife’s estate attorney and the lunch with my father. At least Dauphine would be happy. The lunch was at Le Club Cinquante-Cinq, her favorite. I gritted my teeth and hit the confirm button on the invite. “Fine. Done.” Sometimes it was easier to keep the peace and invest a bit here and there with him.

“Okay, the other update is that we got some chatter from one of our contacts in the port that there was a guy asking about us, which is why we took precaution yesterday. He surmised it was just a journalist.”

“Mais?”

“But, what?”

“I’m asking you. You have the look like your spiders are tingling.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Spidey-sense. When will you get that right?”

“Evan.”

“Sorry. Yeah. You’re right. Something feels shifty. I looked into Michello.” Evan paused. “He was released.”

“He’s out? Shit.” Arriette’s stepbrother. My stepbrother-in-law. He’d been arrested for possession outside a nightclub and briefly taken off the streets. But he’d always been a bad seed. Always hitting his sister up for extra cash when he was short. I blamed Ariette’s addictions on his enabling. He’d spiraled after her death, presumably thinking he’d be inheriting her estate, racking up IOUs with the type of people who liked to tie up loose ends when they didn’t get paid, or even when they did. And sadly, they were also the type who knew I was his relation. Michello was a wild card. I didn’t like wild cards.

“Okay. Keep an eye on him.”

“Already got someone on it.”

I nodded, satisfied, and glanced at my watch, hoping Evan wouldn’t wind back around to my comments about the nanny. “I’ll be ready to go shortly.”

Evan didn’t move.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just thinking that it’s been a really long time since I heard you laughing like you did last night.”

“Oui, maybe it was overdue. They say time heals, no?”

Evan cocked his head to the side. “Maybe. Anyway, just give her a chance.”

Internally, I knew what I’d asked about having her sent home was ridiculous. And I could have come to this conclusion on my own instead of clueing Evan in on my struggle. I waved my hand with a chuckle as if I’d been joking all along. “Apparently I don’t have much choice, do I? It was difficult enough to get a nanny at such short notice anyway. Did the background check come in?” Despite The Tabitha Mackenzie Agency always promising vetted placements, I’d be a fool not to do my own research. Especially when Dauphine was involved.

“Preliminary is clean. Couldn’t find a driver’s license but she has a birth certificate, social, and passport.”

“Maybe she doesn’t drive?”

“Maybe. She lives in downtown Charleston. So it won’t be hard to figure out a