Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance Natasha Boyd (i read books .TXT) 📖

really all you have?” He motioned to my bag with a smile, revealing cute dimples.

I shrugged, pinching my t-shirt away from my body to let air in against my skin. “It’s hot here, I figured I didn’t need jeans and sweaters.”

“Evan,” Monsieur Pascale reprimanded loudly from the passenger door that was still open, one long denim-clad leg idling on the asphalt.

Evan hurriedly closed the trunk and went to open the back door for me on the other side of the car. “Normally quite a friendly chap,” he whispered to me, his eyes rolling. “Must have accidentally sat on a carrot.”

I snorted a laugh at the ridiculous assessment as the door opened but quickly swallowed it and climbed in. The door closed and Evan got in the driver’s seat in front of me.

My boss drew his leg in the passenger side and slammed his door closed. His shoulders seemed rigid beneath his linen blazer, and the cool and roomy interior of the car suddenly felt stifling like his presence took up four seats. The white of his starched collar glowed against the tanned skin of his neck. I might even say he was flushed, but what did I know? It was probably the heat. We rode in silence from the train station.

Dauphine sat in the back seat with me, her arms still folded. She watched me curiously, but as soon as I met her eyes she lifted her chin and looked away, pretending to be uninterested, only for her eyes to wander back seconds later. If only I knew how to get along with kids, I could open conversation. What had Tabitha and Meredith been thinking convincing me to take this job?

I looked at the rearview mirror to share a look with Evan but based on my angle was instantly snared in a set of ice blue eyes belonging to my new boss. Flustered, I looked away

The car purred through the unfamiliar streets. I tried to focus on the town outside the windows.

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

This was a huge mistake.

Scratch that.

I’d make the best of the fact I’d always wanted to come to the South of France. I closed my eyes and imagined visiting small little villages and strolling weekly markets. I’d sit, sipping a café on a small and charming town square shooing off little sparrows hopping around on the cobblestones, waiting for the crumbs of my croissant. Perhaps I’d be listening to the church bells to tell the time and then walk over to the churchyard and read the tombstones, imagining times long past.

I wouldn’t let a grumpy boss ruin France for me. Besides, Tabitha had called him grumpy, sure, but she’d also called him sad. Grieving. I’d try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I opened my eyes, feeling calmer, and tried to watch the city go by, but soon it was just highway and buildings that had seen better days. The ocean was nowhere to be seen.

A throat cleared from the passenger seat. Mr. Pascale’s shoulders seemed to go down as if he was forcing them to relax. I glanced up and caught his gaze again. God, his eyes were really quite arresting.

“Was your flight pleasant?” he asked, breaking the silence, and then cleared his throat again. He must hate uncomfortable silences as much as I did.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

“And the train?” he asked.

I frowned. “It was fine. Thank you.” Silence stretched. “I appreciate you coming to pick me up,” I added.

“It was on the way.”

“On the way?”

“To my yacht.”

I thought Tabs had said we were going to their home first. Clearly, we were headed straight to the boat. “Um. I thought we were going to your home first.” God, I thought I’d have a day to at least get my nerve up to get on a boat. Great.

“The plans changed,” he said.

There was another long silence, and I was suddenly swamped with a sense of homesickness.

My eyes stung, and I gritted my teeth. I was damned if this frozen ice prince would make me cry on my first day. Tiredness and jet lag, that’s all it was. Plus, I hadn’t really processed the fact my career had just evaporated.

So we all sat quietly. Uncomfortably.

Dauphine pulled out a tablet, and my blinks became longer. The car ride was smooth and lulling. The air was cool. The stress of the last few days caught up with me, and despite my nap in the train, I closed my eyes.

The motion of the car woke me. After an hour or so, we’d left the highway and meandered down toward the coast. Again, the arresting sight of the Mediterranean Sea caused me to temporarily hold my breath when I saw it. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. What a view to wake up to.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Dauphine asked from beside me.

Turning to her with surprise, I saw nothing but a new curiosity on her face. “No,” I whispered and shook my head.

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Uh—”

Blue eyes flashed across the rearview mirror. My boss was listening. If there was any chance my new boss had seen my initial reaction to him, it might be a good thing to casually mention I was off the market. Oh, how I wished I could say yes. Maybe I should make one up? Lying about having a boyfriend was just a boundary. Women did it all the time. I had girlfriends who’d put a ring on their wedding finger for girls night out so as not to be harassed in some of the clubs we liked to go to. I called a frantic emergency meeting in my head. Use a real ex? That cheating stockbroker I dated a year ago? Who else?

Crap. The moment had passed.

“But have you had a boyfriend?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Dauphine clapped. “He’s American?”

I nodded.

“What does he do, this American boyfriend? Is he a movie star?”

A laugh burst out of me. Did all foreigners only think of movie stars when they thought of America? “No. He was