Page 117 of My French Love Affair

“Ah,” he muses. “The great Frederic Moreau.”

I offer him a humourless smile. “The one and only.”

“Didn’t expectyouto be the one handling Jacques’ problems,” he remarks.

“Someonehas to,” I reply, leveling a sharp look at Jacques, who still looks far too relaxed for my liking.

One of the others chuckles, shaking his head.

“We don’t want trouble, monsieur,” the first man continues. “Only what we’re owed.”

I exhale through my nose, nodding. “How much?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

I don’t react. What’s the point? It will only bring them unnecessary satisfaction.

I take the cardfrom the shorter one's extended hand. This isn't my first rodeo - I know the drill now - and so I pull my phone out of my pocket, open my banking app, and start transferring the money.

The men watch me carefully, as if expecting me to argue. I don’t.

Because this isn’t about money.

Formula One pays well. Generational wealth pays even better.

And this is about something else entirely.

This is about Jacques being a fucking liability,again.

After a few moments, my phone buzzes, confirming the transaction. The first man checks his own, then nods, taking back the card with the details on it and sliding it back into his pocket.

“All settled,” I say, my voice cool, composed. “And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you stayed the fuck off my yacht in future.”

One of them smirks. “No need to be unfriendly, monsieur.”

I arch a brow, my lips twitching into something that isdefinitelynot a smile.

“No need to fall overboard, either,” I counter. “But we’re still out at sea, so you never know.”

Their amusement fades slightly.

The first man nods once, then glances at Jacques.

“I’d say it’s been a pleasure,” he muses.

Jacques grins, ever the fucking idiot.

The men move to leave us be, and I wait until they’re out of sight before turning to Jacques, my patience fraying rapidly.

“What thefuckhave you been playing at?” I demand, my voice sharp, slicing through the space between us.

“Relax,” he says lazily. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

I step closer, my jaw tightening.

“Dramatic?” I repeat, my voice lower, lethal. “I just had to bail your ass out.Again.”

“It wasn’t that serious,” he scoffs.

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