Page 34 of The Stranger

“And to make matters worse,” she continues regardless, “you deprived Emmy of statutory vacation time so you could go to a sex club.”

It’s not quite the coup de grâce she imagined, judging by the way her cheeks now match her neck. My impressions of her last night were correct. She can’t even say sex club without turning red.

“I wasn’t aware I need to explain myself to you.”

She folds her arms under her lovely chest. “Is that because you can’t?”

“What do you want me to say—that I regret being there? Because I don’t. Do you?”

“We’re not talking about me,” she replies icily.

“You’re right, we’re getting off track. I brought you here to say that, after some consideration, I’ve decided to let you stay.”

She gives a tiny snort. “That’s generous of you.”

“It suits us both, no? You would like Emmy to keep her job, and I’m now sufficiently convinced both you and Emmy are innocent.”

“Still doesn’t sound like an apology,” she mutters

“And by staying here with us is how you’ll help Emmy achieve this.”

Her brow flickers. “By staying for the weekend.”

I say nothing. Primrose is ideal, really. Loyal to her friend. Reliable and obviously experienced with children. She’s made a good impression with Sylvie and is tolerated by Felix. She’s educated far beyond the remits of the role and is from a perplexingly good background. She doesn’t need money, she seeks no relationship, nor notoriety, and will be with us only temporarily.

The fact that I’m attracted to her is the one glitch. Because she is lovely, all angry-eyed and prickly. Rosy, tender lips, and soft curves.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers furiously. “Just because last night we⁠—”

A cold clarity falls over me. “Last night meant nothing.” It can mean nothing.

“I should’ve trusted my first impression of you. You’re nothing but a thoroughly unpleasant man. I can’t believe I let you kiss me,” she mutters angrily.

“I think you’ll find you kissed me first. I trust it won’t happen again.” There’s nothing to be gained from bringing mentioning any other form of kissing. It’s best we both try to forget it. Forger her sweet pussy.

She’s suddenly on her feet, her palms pressed flat to the table. “You are despicable, and I find you nothing but repugnant, and⁠—

“I’m not sure anyone has ever been murdered by a butterknife.” My eyes drop to where her fingers are curled tight around that particular piece of silverware.

“Don’t tempt me.” She drops back to her seat, perhaps coming back to her senses. “You’re not worth going to prison for.”

“Not to mention how that would look on your résumé.” She is fiery, and I like that. Not that I have any intention of doing anything about it. “I’m glad to learn you’re no longer attracted to me.”

In answer, she glowers.

“I find it preferable for our working relationship.”

“Thirty-six hours hardly constitutes any kind of relationship.”

In thirty-six hours, I could rock her whole world. What is with these intrusive thoughts?

From the kitchen, there comes the sound of running and squabbling before my children practically tumble out onto the terrace. Well, Sylvie tumbles. Felix is far too sophisticated these days to be seen having fun.

“Primrose!” Sylvie announces, throwing her arms around the woman’s neck. “Do you like to play Nomopoly? Emmy, she plays Nomopoly with us.”

“Monopoly,” her brother condescends.

“We play the English one.” Sylvie carries on as though he hasn’t spoken. “With the Pall Mall and the Marie-le-bon,” she says butchering Marylebone, “and one day she says she will take us to all the places in London.”