Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“How are you… here?” She gives her head a tiny shake, and my heart suddenly jerks to life, shock and attraction giving way to something much hotter.
Red-hot seething anger.
She’s looks young. Far too young. To be so calculating.
“Papa, you’re here!” Sylvie begins to run toward me across the wet tile.
“Sylvie, wait!” the temptress calls as my daughter comes careening toward me.
“Attends!” Wait I call out as her little body slams against mine, her wet arms flung around the backs of my legs.
“Come and swim, Papa. Please. Please?”
“What is going on here?” I demand, though it’s difficult to be dignified as Sylvie begins to climb up my legs.
“Papa, we’re swimming, And Felix cheated in the cannonball competition. You should come and show him who the real winner is.”
“I did not cheat!” my son calls from the middle of the pool. “You’re just a bad loser and a bad swimmer.”
“Tais-toi!” she yells back. Shut up.
“You are!” The pair transition to insults in French.
Meanwhile, the woman standing at the other side of the pool appears to come back to herself with a jolt. “You’re… you. You must be.” She plasters her hand to her mouth for a beat, eyes wide above it. Eyes of gray-blue as I recall.
She looks like she’s swallowed a brick. A hot brick, judging by the color in her cheeks. She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that much. But she would need to be to have gotten this far.
Last night, though. There was nothing fake in the noises she made. The way her fingers tightened in my hair as she came on my face.
Fuck. Fuck!
“Engeleesh only.” Sylvie sticks out her tongue, and my children’s squabbling brings me back to the moment and this nightmarish situation. “Papa, this Emmy’s friend, Primrose. She is here to help look after us, but she does not want us to call her nounou.”
Nounou. The nanny. Jesus, no.
“She only speaks English,” my daughter continues. Her brow pulls down so far it leaves a shelf over her eyes as she turns to her brother again. “So speaking in French makes you a rude idiot!”
“I can speak a little bit of…” Her words trail off as I glower.
The knot in my guts deepens. She speaks French? Fuck.
“Schoolgirl stuff mostly,” she adds with an uncomfortable-looking shrug.
The knot loosens immediately. The kind of things I whispered to her last night won’t be found in any curriculum.
“I know you’re an idiot,” my son crows, dragging my attention his way.
“I said you are an idiot!” Sylvie yells in my ear. “A big stupid idiot!”
“You are the one who wanted ice cream for breakfast.” Felix dives under the water.
“I did not. I did not. I did not!” Her final bellow coincides with Felix breaking the water.
“Enough!” I yell, then regret it immediately as Sylvie stiffens. I set her down on the ground. “Felix, get out of the pool,” I command, employing a little tone regulation.
“C’est des conneries.” I ignore my son’s muttered curse as he slaps the water’s surface.
“You shouted.” My daughter turns her reproaching gaze my way.
“Yes, I did.” I brush her damp hair from her forehead.
“You never shout.” Tears brim at her lids.
“Everyone shouts sometimes.” I can feel my blood bubbling, and my cock is confused. “Go and shower. Get dressed, then we’ll eat ice cream together.”
“Before dinner?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Of course, if you don’t want to…”
“No—yes. Last one to get dressed is a loser!” She peels away as Felix clambers out of the pool after her.
“No running on the tile,” Jacques says from behind. I’d forgotten he was here. “I’ll go…” Behind me, his shoes scuffle. I hear the door closes. And now we’re alone, staring at each other over the pool.
“Bloody hell,” the woman mutters, pushing a wayward lock from her face.
“You,” I command, pointing an angry finger her way. I’m angry that she’s here. Angry with my warring children. But most of all, I’m angry at my body’s continued reaction to her. “My office. Now.”
7
LUC
“C’est le bordel.” My hand twinges suddenly, so I loosen the vise-like grip on the door handle before realizing the manila folder Jacques handed me moments ago is receiving the same treatment.
“What’s a shit show?” Jacques’s tone is carefully low, though not out of deference to me. It’s not to protect my children’s sensibilities either, given they’re upstairs with one of the maids. “What the hell is going on?”
“That’s what I’m about to find out,” I retort. “And after I’ve dealt with it, you and I are going to discuss how the hell this happened.” Not that there will be much to discuss except perhaps how his ineptitude contributed to his dismissal because he’s definitely fired.
“How what happened?”
I glower as my grip tightens once more on the handle.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you right, but you know this isn’t right.”