Page 149 of Bottles & Blades

Their faces pale.

“Ciao,” I say after I’ve told them they’re idiots for not knowing who was sitting in the room with them. But I only get to enjoy their shock for a second before Jean-Michel takes my hand and we walk out into the late afternoon sunshine, Marie at our side.

I wait until we’ve rounded the next corner to explain what I overheard the men saying to each other as he and Marie were reading contracts.

Basically “the dumb Americans think this is a good deal, but we’re going to squeeze them out.”

Obviously, it was more than that, but also, it was basicallythat—this company thinking they can take advantage of my man.

“That’s not going to happen,” I declare and have the pleasure of seeing Jean-Mi smile.

“Baby.”

“It’snotgoing to happen,” I snap. “Even if I have to learn a dozen languages.”

Though, truthfully, that sounds like fun.

Jean-Mi grins now, stroke his knuckles over my cheek “Thank you, buttercup.”

His gratitude for me, his pride in me—they settle deep. “I don’t think they’ll make the mistake of trash talking before the deal is done again,” I say softly.

“No, I don’t think they will,” Marie agrees, winking at me. “We’ll have to get sneakier when we put our translator to use.”

I wink back. “Damn right.”

Jean-Mi opens his mouth, probably readying to ask Marie if she’s up to making new arrangements.

She beats him to the punch.

“I’m on it,” she says, her eyes bright, clearly ready for the next challenge. “Just…” An exhale, her gaze turning toward the beautiful city all around us. “I’ll get on that tomorrow.”

“Monday,” Jean-Mi corrects.

Her mouth quirks, but she doesn’t argue, just gives me a squeeze then juts her chin up at Jean-Mi. Though I don’t miss that something passes between their eyes before she actually leaves.

They’ve worked together so long that they can speak without…well, withoutactuallyspeaking.

Usually I can glean what they’re saying—or at least the gist of it.

But today I’m distracted from my studying of their silent language when I’m bumped from behind.

Frowning, I spin around, scanning the sidewalk.

Then freeze.

Because the woman who jostled me…she looks like Angela.

Mouth falling open, I turn further, stare going down the road, gaze scouring for further sign of Jean-Mi’s ex.

But I come up empty.

By the time I really start looking, there isn’t a single blond in sight.

And by the time I realizethat, the silent conversation behind me is over.

“What is it, buttercup?” Jean-Mi touches my jaw, concern in his eyes.

I shake myself, realize that Marie has left, and focus back on my man. “Nothing. I thought I saw?—”

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