Page 118 of My French Love Affair

“Not that serious?” I echo, exhaling sharply. “They're on my fuckingyacht,Jacques. This is shit I don't need."

"Right, but -"

"Tell me," I interrupt swiftly. "Does the girl who’s been draped all over you the past few days know that you’re abrokefuckingcocaine addict?”

Jacques’ smirk falters.

But I don’t stop.

I’mbeyondpissed with him.

It’s one thing when he’s spending relentlessly on my credit card to treat himself and fuck knows who else. It’s one thing when he’s organising these ridiculous parties and events at my family’s villa and on my family’s yacht.

It’s another thing entirely when he’s bringing trouble with him.

I step in closer, my voice dropping to something that is pure, unfiltered warning.

“Because if she doesn’t,” I murmur, tilting my head slightly, “maybe I should be the one to tell her.”

His jaw clenches.

For a second, just a second, something flickers across his expression - something resembling real fucking fear.

Good.

Then, just as quickly, he exhales, shaking his head with an easy grin.

“You wouldn’t.”

I hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch long enough tomake him think about it.

Then, finally, I smirk. I don’t say another word as I turn and walk away.

Let him stew in it. Let himwonder.

I storm back up to the main deck, irritation burning hot in my veins.

I need a drink - arealone. Not that I can, though.

Not now. Not ten days before Monaco.

Not with my career, my sponsors, my future hanging in the balance.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders as I return to where my group of friends are all still sat, lounging around without a care in the world. Bastien looks up as I approach, his smirk already in place.

“Well?” he drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

I ignore him.

Étienne watches me carefully, eyes flickering with mild concern.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say shortly.

Renaud arches a brow. “That was fast.”

“It was handled.”

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