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

“It was just there,” I snapped. “In my face.”

“In your face?”

“My God, you know what I mean.” My hand scrubbed over my eyes and shot through my hair. “Are you sure we can’t get another nanny.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“You will?”

“No. Get a hold of yourself, man.” My friend laughed. Laughed. He thought this was all some huge joke. It wasn’t a joke. She had set my equilibrium completely off balance. I gave him a look. The look. The one I gave people in the boardroom who couldn’t answer a direct question. The look that told him how very thin the ice was.

Evan raised his hands. “Forgive me. But will you listen to yourself?”

“I am. Now if you would too, that would be grand. What do I pay you for, anyway?”

“To keep you safe and entertained.”

“Does your protection not extend to my sanity?”

Evan pressed his lips tightly together, expelling a breath through his nose, almost choking in his attempt to curb a fresh bout of chuckling.

I snorted in disgust and stalked over to my desk. “And now I have to put her in front of my father.” My father, the philanderer, had boned almost every nanny I had growing up. When I was thirteen and no longer in need of one, my mother finally got sick of pretending she didn’t know. So of course, her husband started to venture farther afield. Who knew if he was still into the help these days, and I hated that it was automatically where my mind went. I think he liked the power dynamic, which made it sick as fuck.

“Maybe leave her and Dauphine behind?” Evan suggested.

“I promised Dauphine. Plus, it’s her grandfather. I’d rather get a visit between them out of the way. It will also give me a reason to get out of there early. No, they have to come with me today.”

I didn’t want to put into words what happened to me when I was in Josephine Marin’s vicinity. I was acutely aware it was most likely a simple case of abject lust. An extreme one, sure. And I also knew it had a lot to do with not having been with anyone since Arriette died, and even for a while before that. And Ms. Marin was amusing, warm, and smart. And beautiful, of course. But in an utterly natural and down to earth way. A vision of the three of us strolling through the streets of a small village looked too much like a family for my stomach. She was sweet and gentle with Dauphine. Never dismissive. It was her job, of course. But she had a way with—

“Are you even listening to me?” Evan said, exasperated.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I got the background info on her. She quit her job. After looking at the reputation of one of the partners, I think there was likely some sexual harassment.” So she quit instead of sleeping her way up. Good for her. And fuck the guy who put her in that position. And that was why, as her current boss, I needed to keep my head around her.

I gave my head a quick shake to clear it. “Anything about her stepfather?”

“Her mother remarried. Apparently, her stepfather perpetuated a massive fraud and got himself jail time. The guy is from Charleston. By the sounds of it, a lot of who’s who in the city invested with him. Did you ever hear the name when you were there?”

God, poor girl. She’d shared as much with me. I was glad to have it corroborated by Evan. But I knew what it was like to have a father who embarrassed you.

“No, I don’t think so.” I’d only been there a few days, checking on the more eco-friendly yacht I’d commissioned. I’d be sad to say goodbye to this boat, but honestly I wouldn’t be sad to leave the memories of Arriette behind. “But that does remind me, “I added. “I need to respond to the email from the yacht company. I’ll reach out to Marie Louise, get her to follow up. Did you get any more background on the bridge project my father wants me to invest in?” I asked.

“Nothing more than what I told you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Should be a quick lunch then. Because obviously the answer is no.” Hopefully my assistant at my office in Sophia Antipolis had gotten us an out of the way table. I was beginning to hate the who’s who feel the beach club Le Cinquante-Cinq had. People wanting to see and be seen. It was worse at this time of year, right after the Cannes Film Festival, too. It helped that my family had been going there every summer for over fifty years, back when it was the only beach club of its type on Pampelone Beach, otherwise getting a reservation would have been a joke. Of course, it had new owners now. They’d tried hard to keep the laid-back atmosphere. I wondered what Josie would think of it. I didn’t think money and celebrity turned her on, but of course, I’d gotten that wrong about women before.

“I’ll meet you on the back deck,” Evan said.

Christ, I couldn’t think of anything without my mind wandering to Josephine Marin. I nodded at him absently.

“Papa?” Dauphine darted into the room, brushing past Evan who ruffled her hair.

“Yes, mon ange?”

She flung herself on my bed and began to chatter. Of course, it all centered around Josie. Josie was so nice. Josie was so talented. Josie was teaching her English, and Dauphine was teaching Josie French. Josie had been teaching Dauphine to draw. Dauphine might want to be an architect like Josie one day. Josie was running out of blank pages on her sketchbook, and Dauphine wanted paper as fine as Josie’s because the paper we used for the printer was not good for drawing. And she wanted watercolor pencils just like Josie’s. It went on like a stream of consciousness.

I smiled to myself at her happiness and exuberance as I