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

the gut punch attraction I’d felt to the one person I shouldn’t even look at like that—my new boss. “God.” I flopped back on the bed. “So much has happened in two days. I can’t believe I’m on the other side of the Atlantic. How’s my mom? Did you call her?” I’d asked Meredith and Tabs to check in with her periodically. I hated that I’d had to leave in such a hurry. She’d been shocked when I told her I quit. Even after I explained why, she didn’t seem to understand the choice I’d made. I assured her my trip was just temporary—a paid gig while I found another job and got my career back on track, but all I could see on her face was shock and disappointment. I hadn’t even had the heart to tell her how Tate had mentioned my stepfather, Nicolas.

“Your mom is fine. I called her last night, and I explained everything in more detail. Told her you were helping Tabitha out.”

“She comes from a different generation. Women didn’t quit over handsy bosses or lack of career growth in her day. She thinks I’m a snowflake.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s just a mom worried about her daughter being on the other side of the world.”

I cringed. “Was this a good idea?”

“Stop it, Josie. Yes. It was a good idea. The fricking best idea any of us have had, period. You’re a lucky bitch, you know that?”

“You’re right. If I’m a snowflake about anything, it’s that I’m currently sitting on a yacht in the south of France with a hot, widowed billionaire and complaining about it.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“On that note, you realize he’s a complete paparazzi magnet? What if someone is curious enough about the new nanny to dig up my family history? That would kill my mom, if things came to light again.”

“You’re out of context,” she soothed. “In another country. And it happened so long ago. There’s no way anyone will recognize you. Also, you’re essentially the help. No one pays the help any attention. You’re practically invisible.”

I thought of Monsieur Pascale’s intense scrutiny when he met me and didn’t feel like I was invisible to him at all. More like someone he disapproved of. And he didn’t even know me.

“And even if they did,” Meredith went on, “would any French people care about an obscure financial crime in Charleston? No offense.”

I didn’t have the energy to correct her that my stepfather’s clients weren’t limited to America. “I don’t think my new boss likes me,” I said, trying to change the subject. “I felt like a microbe under a microscope. Do I not look like a normal nanny?” I sat up.

Meredith laughed. “He probably just thinks you’re hot.”

“Shut it, Mer!” I squeaked and heard Tabs say something in the background.

“What did Tabs say?”

“She told me to shut it too. Dang, I was just joking. Maybe he was having a bad day. Hey,” she directed at something Tabitha said again.

“Maybe he was,” I said, thinking even Evan had said he was normally friendlier.

“Tabs wants a turn,” Meredith said. “I love you and miss you, bitch face. Here she is.”

“Love you too, bye.”

“Hey, Josie,” Tabs greeted me. “You get there safely?”

“Yep. All tucked into my watery coffin,” I half joked. “Hey, do you know anything about what happened to his wife?”

“Actually, I don’t. And I haven’t done too much looking into it. There’s not much online. What were you told?”

“Nothing yet. But I’m supposed to meet with him in a bit, maybe he’ll at least give me the lay of the land. At least as far as what his daughter has been told. On that note. I better get myself together. I just hope I can make you proud.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you will. And I know you’ll have a good time.”

“So good to talk to you both. Have fun at your sister’s wedding, Tabs. Hug Mer for me. And tell her please don’t forget about me stranded out here.”

“Ha. Stranded?” Meredith had clearly wrestled the mouthpiece closer to her. “Hardly. I’m here for you any time.”

“Love you, Mer. Love you, Tabs.”

“We love you more.”

We all hung up and I lay back on the soft bed with a grin, then I rolled off the bed and began unpacking into the dresser. The drawers had a twisty latch thing so they locked when closed. I imagined it was in case of turbulent waters. I shuddered at the thought of being trapped in this room during rough weather. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and tried to stay on task.

As I entered the bathroom and caught site of the mirror, I practically jumped out of my own skin.

Shit. Jet lag and a fluorescent white office tan were a rough combo. I was pale with tiredness, my under eyes looking bruised, and my light freckles more pronounced. It felt like a stranger staring back at me. Figuring out the shower took a moment, but it was blissful to step under the hot spray and quickly wash my hair and shave my legs. I imagined the boat had to store fresh water on board so I didn’t dally too long.

I jumped as I heard a beep and a static crackle. Andrea’s voice came through the intercom. I’d left the bathroom door open so I didn’t miss it. “Hey, Josie.”

I scampered out the shower, grabbing a large white fluffy towel on the way. I pressed the button. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Monsieur Pascale will see you up on the top deck in about ten minutes.”

“Ok. Thank you. I’ll be there. Over.” I released the button and cringed.

Andrea’s disembodied chuckle came through. “This isn’t girl scout camp on walkie talkies, ten four.”

“Sorry.” I laughed as I sent the message back.

Then I quickly towel-dried and wrapped my hair up. “Damn it,” I muttered. What did I wear to impress professionally but not look like I’m trying too hard? I settled on a pair of white shorts, unfortunately