Page 71 of The Stranger

“Okay.” He pauses, though he isn’t done. “It’s as hot as balls out here.”

“So go inside.”

“I will.” When he’s said what he really came out here to say. “I see the nanny situation is going well.”

“Situation?” My attention glides his way with the caustic lift of one brow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a chuckle. “I mean, I hate to say it, but I told you so.” Hates to say it so much his smile is audible.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“The kids seem to like her. Sylvie’s calling her her new best friend, and even Felix seems to tolerate her presence. And bonus, she doesn’t wilt when you look her way.”

The corner of my mouth kicks up. She scowls. Sometimes she purses her lips. Other times she resolutely ignores me. Once or twice, she’s even rolled her eyes, like she finds me the most tiresome man in the world. She does smile, just not for me. I enjoy those moments anyway.

And then earlier today, I caught her looking at me in an altogether different way. I thought I’d imagined it, but no. I saw desire burning in her eyes—like recognizing like. Her gaze was meltingly seductive without her say-so and, perhaps without her understanding.

It’s clear she doesn’t know how hard she is to resist. Not that I’m cataloguing her responses. The minutiae of her expressions. But things these past days have felt a far cry from the flight out of Paris when I swear I could feel her plotting my demise from her seat behind mine.

“How are you finding her?”

I slide him a withering glance despite the semi-pornographic images that flit through my head. The ways I’d like to find her. To have her. But I’m not a slave to my impulses.

I need to focus on other things. Perhaps get laid. I’ll be in Barcelona to close a deal soon. Maybe then.

“Emmy doesn’t wilt,” I answer eventually, casually, returning to the previous thread.

“Not now maybe. I did wonder once or twice if we might’ve lost her in the early days. Poor girl would literally quake every time you walked into a room.”

“But she stayed.”

“Because you pay the big bucks.” He chuckles. He knows full well what I expect and why I pay premium.

“Relatively speaking. Emmy’s remuneration doesn’t include stock options, of course.”

“No need to tell me how fortunate I am,” he replies. “I know my place.”

“Sometimes,” I mutter. “Spit it out. Whatever it is that’s making you hover.”

His fingers touch his chest. “I’ve got nothing to say. Other than dinner times seem to be, dare I say it, enjoyable.”

I turn my head and spear him with a look. “You also enjoyed the tumbet?”

“Zoe’s food is always amazing,” he says, patting his flat stomach. “I’m gonna need to step it up in the gym.”

“See you there in the morning, then.”

“Luc, come on, man. Some of us need to sleep.”

What I wouldn’t give to be able to sleep more than a few hours at a time.

“Are you enjoying dinner?”

“What are you asking, Jacques?”

“Nothing. It’s just… Emmy doesn’t eat with you and the kids every night.”

“Emmy eats with the children most nights, as do I when I’m home. Sometimes we have dinner together. Other times, it means we do not. Correlation does not equal causation.” As I speak, my mind is yelling for me to shut the fuck up. Since when have I felt the need to explain myself to him?