Page 257 of My French Love Affair

I already know how this ends.

“It’s funny, you know, because we had anagreement-”

“I -” Jacques starts, licking his lips, his hands shaking at his sides. “I just need a few more days, alright? I can get it -”

The first man laughs, a sharp, cold sound. “No more time. You’re out.”

Jacques freezes. His breathing turns ragged, his fingers curling against his sides, panic written all over his face.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Iknewthis was coming. I fucking knew.

Here I am.Again. Stepping in to save his ass.

What am I supposed to do, though - what other option do I have? Despite his troubles, Jacques isn’t just some washed-up has-been trying to live like a king in Monaco - he’s the only one who ever believed in me when no one else did.

When I was just a kid desperate to prove himself, when my own family didn’t give ashitabout my career, about racing, aboutme. The Moreaus had their wealth, their name, their expectations - and motorsport wasn’t a part of it.

But Jacques saw something. He helped me when no one else would.

He trained me. He made connections for me.

And I’ll owe him for it forever - even if he’s running himself into the fucking ground.

“I told you, I don’t have any money -”

It’s painful to watch him scramble like this; but before I can say a word, another voice breaks through the tension.

A softer voice.

“What do you mean, you don’t have any money?”

Jacques stiffens, his face flickering with something almost desperate as he turns toward her.

Poppy’s friend - the girl that was sitting on his lap yesterday.

Ah,fuck.

She looks confused and completely oblivious to what’s goingon as one of the men smirks darkly.

“Yeah, Jacques. What do you mean, you don’t have any money?”

That’s it - I’m not giving them the chance to stir shit up more.

I step forward, my voice smooth and controlled.

“Back off.”

The men glance at me, recognition flickering in their eyes. Of course, they know who I am.

“This doesn’t concern you,” one of them starts, but I cut him off with a sharp look.

“It does now,” I grit out, shoving a hand through my hair. “How much does he owe you?”

The taller one grins. “You covering his debt again,champ?”

I don’t say anything, and Jacques doesn’t even look at me.

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