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)
“Who?”
“Murderous tendencies? Heads on spikes? Doesn’t matter,” I mutter.
“There’s got to be a reason you’ve been trying to kill him with your eyeballs.” She makes a v of her fingers and points them at her eyes then his head. “Laser beams.”
“I suppose I’m just finding this difficult. Finding him difficult. And by difficult, I mean despotic.”
“Tell us what you really mean,” she says with a soft laugh.
I slide her a glance. “I thought I was being diplomatic.”
“You’ve never worked for the rich before, huh?” Her gaze drifts to the front of the plane. “So easy on the eyes,” she murmurs, “but the personality of a bad trip. At least he cuts a very decent paycheck.”
“Yes, at least.” As if that excuses his character deficits.
“Madeline mentioned you’re Emmy’s best friend.”
I nod. “We’ve been friends forever.”
“I like Emmy. She’s sweet, and so good with the kids.”
“She is genuinely one of the nicest people I know.”
“Well, you must be nice too, stepping in for her like this. Super lucky you were in Paris, though. She said you were going on vacation together?”
I bob my head in agreement.
“It’s good to hear her dad is going to be okay. I guess you must’ve been between gigs yourself,” she adds, barely coming up for breath. “Feel free anytime to tell me to mind my own.” Her grin is wide and unapologetic.
“Between jobs, yes. I have a new one, but I don’t start my until September.”
“Good timing, huh?”
“I’m not usually a nanny,” I admit with a little discomfort. “I’m a doctor. Or I will be come September.” It’s a weird sort of in between period. Like, I have all the qualifications and the title, but until I’m on the ward, I don’t really see myself as a proper doctor. I know it’s silly.
“That it so cool! A doctor in the house. It makes sense why the boss asked you to extend your term.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Especially after what happened with the previous nanny temp.”
“Did something happen?” I only have his version of events, though I do believe him, I think. Regardless, I feel my eyebrows inching the way of my hairline, so I force them back again.
“Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. Madeline told me the woman was marched from the premises. Another gold-digger, I guess. Or a fame hound.” She shrugs. “Maybe a journalist.”
“A journalist?”
“The things they’ll do for a good story.”
“But why? What on earth does he do?” I whisper, glancing back at his dark head.
“You’re not big on celebrity culture, huh?”
I shake my head.
“The du Beaumont name is synonymous with luxury goods—has been for more than a hundred years, apparently. The group owns designer brands, champagne houses, hotels, and all kinds of other goodies. That man has his fingers in all kinds of lavish European pies.”
“Oh.”
“Hmm, pie,” she adds. “Didn’t you see the bag after monogrammed bag being loaded into the plane?”
“I’m not into luxury.”
“I like it. I just can’t afford it,” she replies airily.
“Has that happened before, with the nanny and the journalist, whatever. Just because he’s rich?”
“Rich and scandalous.”
The plot thickens. “How’d you mean?”
“Girl, did you not google this family before you started working for them?”
“You can’t believe the stuff you read on the internet,” I say with a shrug. If half the things written about my brother were true, he’d be suffering from terrible chafe from all the women he’s supposed to have bedded, when the truth is he’s besotted with his wife and bonkers for family life. But the truth rarely travels as fast as a good tale.
“Well, I’ve heard stories.”
“Stories you won’t repeat.” Both our heads swing right at Jacque’s low interjection. “Right, Zoe?”
“You’re just jealous no one wants you for your money,” Zoe retorts.
“That’s because the ladies want me for my sparkling personality.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Alone,” she snipes.
“Primrose is right.” Jacques leans around her to look at me. “The tabloids don’t know shit.”
“But they have all the fun stuff,” she retorts happily. “And—”
Whatever she’s about to say is lost as the captain announces we’re beginning our descent.
Great.
13
PRIMROSE
I’ve been to the Balearic Islands before, though I’d avoided the Ibiza party scene, despite it being a rite of passage for many a British twenty-something. But I’ve never been the high-energy-dance-from-dusk-’till-dawn type of girl. Not that we’re in Ibiza but Mallorca. On the du Beaumont estate.
The house is huge, even by mansion standards, and in the traditional Spanish style. Maybe that should be Iberian with a few Moorish elements thrown in? Anyway, it’s beautiful; blond stone and terracotta-tiled roofs, exposed beams and vaulted arcades. With the mountainous view to the Serra de Tramuntana range, the property is set within lush grounds of date palms, cypress and almond trees, and offers views all the way to the ocean. There are tennis courts, extensive stables, an equestrian arena, guest cottages, and a pool area to rival any five-star hotel.