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

“It is the same word in English. Shopping,” Andrea offered.

“Ah! Oui. Shopping.”

I raised my eyebrows. “We’re … going … shopping?”

“Not just shopping … we are going to the market! Papa said we can go today to the market in Antibes. It is not as good as the one in St. Tropez, mais … that is okay. You will love it! It is my favorite thing!” She was practically bouncing in her seat.

Confused at Dauphine’s excitement, I looked at Andrea for help. “A market has her this excited?”

“Well, the markets in France are a pretty big deal in the summer. Antibes is one of the best. Well, the covered market is there all summer, but they have a street market too where they close down the streets and vendors come from all over to set up their stuff.”

“Like a farmer’s market?”

“Sort of. But better. They sell everything. Even amazing antiques. The one in St. Tropez is famous but pricey. But after you’ve done this stretch of coast a few years, you realize that a lot of the same vendors travel to each place. You can buy linen dresses from Italy, amazing cheeses, unique jewelry, leather bags, cover-ups, flowers … you know what? I can’t do it justice. You’ll understand when you get there.”

“You aren’t coming?”

“Nah. I’ve been to lots. I have no room for any more clothes. Besides, I have a ton of stuff to do on the boat. Chef always goes though, to pick up supplies.”

Rod and Chef emerged from the crew stairs.

“Where am I going?” asked Chef.

Rod helped himself to a plate and sat down opposite me. “Mornin’.”

I nodded at him.

“The market,” Dauphine answered Chef through a mouthful of croissant. She swallowed. “You can get a beautiful new bikini, Josie. Then you don’t have to worry about your top falling off all the time.”

There was a beat of silence where heat traveled up my throat to my face, and eyebrows around me raised.

“Well,” Rod said, giving me a wink. “None of us would mind if you wanted to go topless. All the French ladies do. It’s one of my favorite things about France.”

Chef cuffed him over the head. “That’s a stereotype, and you know it.” He growled at the same time I felt the breeze of the door to the salon open behind me.

“Rod.” Mr. Pascale’s voice was an arctic rumble.

In front of me, Rod’s face suddenly went purple as he swallowed whatever he’d put in his mouth whole.

“Viens ici,” said Mr. Pascale’s low voice behind me. I turned to see him holding the door open and gesturing through it with one hand, his eyes like icicles trained on Rod.

Rod nodded with a gulp. “J’arrive.” He slid out of the banquette. “Sorry, Josie,” he mumbled at me as he passed.

“I—it’s fine,” I said. “I know you were just joking.”

His eyes darted from me to his boss.

Feeling awful for Rod, I chanced a look at Mr. Pascale, completely torn, but not wanting to undermine his authority. He glared at me, and I sank into my seat. Jeez. Was it my fault now? Rod went through the opening, followed by Mr. Pascale, and the door swung shut.

Silence ensued.

“Bien,” Chef said. “I think I speak for all of us when I apologize for Rod’s comment. He just doesn’t think sometimes. His emotional intelligence is still a work in progress.”

I grimaced. “It’s fine. I promise.” I knew it was technically sexual harassment, so I didn’t say anything else.

Chef shook his head and threw his arms up. “I must go and do my list. We should already be there, all the best things will be gone,” he muttered as he exited the galley.

“The Antibes markets are frequented by some of the best chefs,” Andrea explained as I frowned at Chef’s departure.

Dauphine glanced from one to the other of us. “I do not understand why Rod is in trouble. It is true, non? We do not mind if you go with no top.”

“It’s all right.” I patted her hand. “Maybe your dad wanted to talk to him about something else.”

“Hmm,” she said, then slid out of her seat. “I will go and get ready.”

Andrea gave me a tight smile. “Evan said you’re an architect, Josie. What on earth made you ditch that to nanny for the summer?” She gestured around us. “Not that it’s not a sweet gig.”

Dauphine pirouetted out the door.

I grabbed on to the topic change gratefully. “Well, uh, I realized I had no future at the firm. I was passed over for a promotion that should have been mine. Add in the fact one of the partners is a bit of a misogynist. And definitely implied I was easy on the eyes,” I lifted a shoulder, “and, well, I quit. It was hasty. I’m just … I’m not fully to terms with the fact my career I worked so hard for just exploded. And you all needed a nanny. My roommate runs the agency. And Mr. Pascale was convincing.”

“Ha. He normally gets what he wants. But yikes, sorry about your promotion. Wow. An architect.” She laughed, seemingly with discomfort. “I’m impressed. A bit overqualified for this, no?”

Xavier Pascale had said the same thing. I looked her straight in the eyes. “I’d never treat it as something beneath me.”

She nodded. “I never had a chance to go to college.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe she thought I’d feel above her or something. I wasn’t sure how to fix that. I’d just have to work hard to make sure she knew she called the shots and try not to second guess her like I had at dinner the first night about the wine. “Do you have anything you’d like help with. I’d like to be of use if I can.”

She looked around, and I could tell our easy camaraderie might have taken a blow. But I was sure we’d get it back.

“Not really. You guys should go and enjoy the market. She handed me a small flip phone.