Page 43 of The Stranger

“It is pretty swish,” I concede. It’s not my first time flying private, but I’ve only done so for family holidays. In other words, when Leif is paying. But he doesn’t have a bevy of staff. He doesn’t even have a nanny. Which is just as well, or he’d need a jet the size of a commercial plane given the size of our family.

While I’m loath to admit it, this flight has been a step up from the annual family vacay. M. LDH’s jet is large, and swanky, all cream Nappa leather and mahogany.

Zoe sighs and fluffs her auburn updo. “I could get used to travelling like this, but then I travel coach back to Vancouver, I remember my place.”

I smile. And keep my mouth firmly shut. Money makes people weird. They tend to treat you differently or stiff you with the bill for dinner, as though I’m the one who founded a bank and. not my brother.

“Madeline usually stays in the Paris house as the Mallorca estate has its own caretakers, domestic staff, and security. But the vibe is more relaxed there.”

“And Jacques?”

Zoe’s attention skims by me to where he’s seated in the other aisle. There’s something in that look that I can’t quite make out, though it doesn’t look wholly pleasant. “He always travels with the family. He’s like, concierge, personal assistant, and close contact security all rolled into one.”

“He’s security?” I repeat, surprised.

“Deadly with my hands.”

At the sound of his deep voice, I glance across the aisle. Not that he looks up from his laptop. But I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant to sound like a threat.

I give a deep sigh. I’m not exactly happy to be here, but the short of the situation is, I capitulated. I gave in. Bowed to his high and mighty (bleurgh) demands. In other words, I agreed to stay for the month. Under sufferance and with loud complaint. But honestly, I still can’t quite believe that I have.

At the dinner table in Paris, I denied and complained as Sylvie danced around the garden doing her impersonation of Disney’s Snow White, charming the birds.

But he knew he had me.

He’s had me?

He could’ve had me.

Bah! I wouldn’t touch him with Zoe’s fingers after this.

The bottom line is, once Emmy told me about the house she’s buying for her parents, I was stuck. She sounded so proud, and I couldn’t risk ruining her dream. Her big achievement. Especially when her dad is currently recovering from a heart attack.

What kind of friend would that make me? One who’d have to explain how she’d found herself in a sex club being pleasured by her bestie’s boss, no doubt. The merciless Monsieur LDH.

I should’ve jabbed him with that butter knife when I had the chance. I would’ve liked to have heard him squeal a little after watching him sit there, all superiority, cool and composed. Meanwhile, my hair probably curling at the audacity. And probably the humidity. Maybe something else.

“I like the idea of punishing you a little.” That voice, so low and velvety. It’s sex on the ears. And I really didn’t need to be reminded how good he smells as the scent of his cologne brushed by on the breeze. It just pinged in my brain, reminding me exactly how he made me feel in that darkened basement. Until I remembered the door again.

Get on board, senses. We gots to remember we hate the man!

I stifle a sigh. At least it’s not going to be a difficult job. Looking after kids is hardly brain surgery. And a month of Emmy’s salary is not to be sniffed at.

“Which leaves me,” Zoe says. My attention jerks back. “I tag along because he likes my food.”

“I’m already a big fan myself.”

She makes an aw, shucks kind of gesture and I find myself still thinking it seems a bit excessive (read: a bit wanky) to take an army of people wherever you go.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you two?” She gives a meaningful glance toward a certain dark head.

“There is absolutely nothing going on between us,” I reply emphatically.

“Well, I didn’t mean that,” she says with a knowing grin. “But the man is a total snack.”

“With the personality of Attila the Hun, hon.”

“Who?”