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

help in my relationship with Dauphine, perhaps you could explain the circumstances around … her mother’s passing. It’s just Dauphine mentioned—”

“What did she say?” His eyebrows snapped together, and he set the signed paperwork on the desk next to him.

“Just that her mother was sad. And maybe she thinks the sadness had something to do with her death,” I supplied.

Mr. Pascale’s eyes grew unfocused, and tension wound through the seemingly relaxed stance of his body. I could tell by the slight tick under the skin at his temple and the way his folded arms went from something to do with his hands to a tight bind he held against his chest. It was a subtle change, but unmistakable. Like a cage around his heart.

“If you don’t want to talk about her, it’s okay. I’m sorry I asked.” I backed off. “It’s not my place. I just thought, for Dauphine—”

“I’m sure you’ve read internet stories.”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

He snorted, and I tried not to feel offended. But when I held his gaze with sincerity, he seemed to accept it.

The boat’s engine cut off and the sound of a heavy chain clanged dully.

“That’s the anchor,” he said, and it was clear he wasn’t going to answer my question. Not today anyway. Then he let out a small sigh and the tension broke. “We have arrived. What will you two do today?” he asked, moving to sit on the end of the perfectly made bed and facing me.

He braced his elbows on his denim-wrapped thighs and looked at me earnestly. A lock of hair fell forward again.

Blinking, I tried to ignore the image of Xavier Pascale and a bed being in the same frame, impressed with his ability to change the subject so easily. “Actually, I was hoping for some direction. How does Dauphine usually spend the day on the boat?”

“She has some school reading to do and some simple exercises to keep her brain—comment dit-on—?” He circled his hand in the air as he clearly tried to think of the word.

“Active?” I supplied.

“Oui, to keep her brain active before school starts again.”

I gave a nod. I remembered going brain dead during long summers between school years in the Charleston heat. “Wow, sounds fun,” I said, trying to convey a tone of irony.

“But also, I have asked Paco to take the boat over to the little bay at Cap d’Antibes and come back for me later,” he went on. “You two can go swimming. I will have Rod put the slide out.”

“A slide?” I asked.

Monsieur Pascale broke into a lazy grin. “The best boats have toys.”

I rolled my eyes. “The best boats, huh? Trying to impress me?”

“Simply trying to change your mind about boats,” he corrected with a chuckle.

Damn, his laugh was sexy. Husky and warm.

“Is it working?” he pressed.

You have no idea, I wanted to say. But it has nothing to do with the boat. “Not yet,” I deadpanned. “What other toys do you have up your sleeve? I distinctly remember seeing a helipad on one of the other boats. Are you not rich enough?”

He cracked out a loud laugh, his eyes crinkling almost closed with mirth. He was stunning when he laughed. I’d noticed last night, and it caused even more of a giddy jolt inside my chest today. Shaking his head, he pinned me with his gaze. “I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

I swallowed and tried to rein in my smiling lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

“No helipad, I’m afraid.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m not impressed,” I joked. This was flirting, I was sure of it. No. No. No. My lower belly was flooding with fizzing warmth, but alarm bells clanged on my brain. Distance, distance, distance.

There was a sharp, sudden knock at the door.

“Ex?” Evan’s voice sounded. Ex? X, for Xavier?

“Here,” Monsieur Pascale responded.

The door opened and Evan poked his head around the opening.

“Ready to go when you are, Mister Pascale,” Evan said, his eyes switching from me to his boss, then back to me.

A strange sense of being caught with my hand in the cookie jar dowsed all the tightly wound energy inside me. I smiled uncomfortably.

“I’ll be right there,” my boss said, making no move to get up.

I stood. “I was just leaving.”

Evan paused a moment, then retreated and closed the door behind him.

Tension bloomed as my boss stood too. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, seeming embarrassed. Suddenly his face closed down to all business, and he drew a deep breath. “Dauphine has had a difficult time the last two years,” he said, his hands slipping into his pockets. “She needs someone she can trust. I need someone she can trust. Unfortunately, I haven’t always done the right things and reacted the right ways. I have kept her from her grandmother more than I should, a mistake I hope to rectify this summer. Her grandmother would have her most weekends. Or more if she could. But it’s difficult with my schedule, and hers.” He stepped around to the other side of his desk then and sat down, steepling his fingers. “Dauphine needs a friend. She needs privacy and space to just be a little girl and not to be scrutinized by the media. I know you are her nanny, but it’s clear already from the way she interacts with you that you could be a friend too. It seems the chance I took on hiring you without proper background checks coming through quickly was the right one … for Dauphine,” he tacked on after a pause. “Please don’t disappoint us.”

It was a grave and earnest plea. I swallowed, my throat thick.

It didn’t escape my notice how he parsed out himself from Dauphine. I was good for her. By default that meant not good for him. The distinction caught me off-balance.

“Are you okay?” He stared at me.

“No. Yes,” I corrected with a slight voice break. “I, yes. I’m very fond of Dauphine already. I can tell she’s had a rough time from the little she has shared.