Page 42 of The Stranger

His lips twitch. “I’m glad.”

“Are you on something?” I demand. “There’s no way I’m doing this.”

He studies me with an intensity that makes my vision go a little hazy, before leaning back in his chair as though thoroughly pleased with himself. “I think you will.”

“And I think you’re delulu.”

He lifts his glass in a mocking toast. “Is it a delusion when I always get my way?”

All out of retorts, I imagine his head exploding.

12

PRIMROSE

“You know, staring at the back of his head isn’t going to make it blow up.”

I snap back to myself and the hum of the private jet’s engine to find Zoe leaning back from her furtive whisper. “Shush!” I glance down at the flaxen head in my lap.

“Please.” Zoe pulls a face. “That child sleeps like the dead. And she snores.”

While Felix chose to sit with his father, Sylvie took the window seat next to me. After showing me photos of her pony on her tablet, she waxed lyrical about Casa Alegría, the house, telling me it’s her favorite of all the family’s houses because it was named after her mother, Allegra. Which apparently means joy.

I have so many questions, but nanny or not, even I know you can’t interrogate a six-year-old. I’m sure most people would’ve googled this family already, but I’m not a fan of the internet invading people’s privacy.

Anyway, Sylvie must’ve tired herself out by chattering because her head is in my lap, and as Zoe said, she’s currently sleeping like the dead.

“She’s drooling on your jeans.”

“Ah, well.” I slide away a few golden strands from her cheek and look up. Slobber or no slobber, she looks too peaceful to disturb.

How did she get to be such an angel when her father is such a… such a… colossal dickhead? I wonder if he’s rude to everyone. If he uses everyone? He’s the stereotypical rich arsehole and someone should’ve clocked him one before now. Right on his conventionally handsome chin.

There’s still time, I suppose. And given the right motive⁠—

“Rose?”

My stomach drops. Rose is the name I used to sign into that stupid party.

“Or do you prefer Prim? Or Primrose?”

“Rose is fine,” I say, trying not to sound prickly. Prim is who I am to my family and friends. The person I am when I’m not here. Yes, that works for me.

“Great.” She smiles. “So Rose.” She leans in. “Is there a particular reason you’re trying to detonate the bossman’s head?”

My gaze slides to the back of his head again, his hair more salt-and-pepper flecked than Friday night would’ve had me believe. But that’s not the reason I’m staring. What possible reason could I have for hating on it. Maybe because he’s a vindictive arsehole who threatened to take my friend to court. Or because he pretty much blackmailed me into being on this jet. Or even because the man gave me the orgasm of the decade before shoving me out the door like I was trash.

Hmm. Any or all of the above.

I hate his stinking’ guts.

“Sorry.” I school my face as I forcibly move my attention back her way. “What was that? I must’ve zoned out.” It’s better than admitting I’m trying to manifest his painful demise from my seat two rows behind.

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” she says with a smirk.

“Does he always travel with a full retinue?” I can’t seem to stop myself from asking as I glance around. As well as the family, myself, and Zoe, Jacques is also present.

“I’m not complaining.” She rubs the leather armrest appreciatively.