Page 33 of The Stranger

“I imagine it’s a rare day when you capitulate.” Because she has the tenacity of a terrier as I’ve already found. “I received an update from Emmy.”

“I just spoke with her too.” Bet she rang me before she rang you, the challenge in her gaze says.

“I understand you’ve known each other since you were children.”

“That’s right.” She lifts her hands to her lap, her gaze following the motion of my index finger as I tap the manila folder I’d carried from my office. I feel the weight of her gaze as I flip it open and study the page. Or make a show of doing so as her floral perfume reaches my nose, courtesy of the warm breeze that blows my way. I resist the urge to deeply inhale.

“What’s in the folder? My life in a nutshell?”

“I’m sure your brother vets his employees with the same kind of diligence.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she says lightly, though I sense a thread of tension there.

Twenty-eight years old. A degree in psychology, then a medical degree. Must’ve changed her mind. “You don’t get along with your brother?” I lift my gaze but not my head and try not to get sucked in by the sight of her again. She looks younger than her age. And that makes me feel exceedingly old.

“Isn’t that in the folder?” she asks pertly. I temper my smile as glance down again. “We get along just fine,” she adds after a beat. “I get on well with all my brothers. I’m just not used to being scrutinized. Or doubted, for that matter.”

That I can well believe, now at least, after having had the benefit of time to read the report. Top of her class, commendations for clinical competence, charitable works, the list of her achievements go on and on. It would seem Primrose Whittington is as well regarded as she is accomplished.

“And you came to Paris to spend time with Emmy prior to a starting a new job.”

“Yes. We were going on holiday—a European vacation. It was to start yesterday.” This she adds a little pointedly.

“Unfortunately, there was an issue with the agency nanny.”

“That seems to be a recurring theme,” she murmurs, removing the napkin from her plate. I wonder if it’s anger or embarrassment that has caused the patch of red at the base of her throat.

“She was thoroughly vetted before arriving at the beginning of the week to facilitate a handover.”

“So Emmy said.”

“Which gave her ample time to settle in. And then for her to be caught rifling through my office.”

“Oh.”

“And then last night, I found her naked in my bed.” She blinks, and the color on her neck travels higher. “So you see how I might’ve jumped to conclusions.”

She squints across the table at me. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“It’s an explanation.”

“It’s part of one, maybe. Though an actual apology would be nice.”

“Nice is not a word often associated with me.”

“Shocker.” Her brows rise on her smooth forehead. “Let me put that another way,” she adds, leaning back in her seat. “An apology is required.”

“For what purpose?”

“Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath. “I deserve an apology for the way you treated me earlier. At the pool and in your office.”

But no mention of last night.

“I was a little overzealous.” I bring my hand to my chin. “But I seem to recall you gave as well as you took.” The double entendre was unintended, but the look I send her? I’m not sure.

She snorts. “You jumped to some pretty wild conclusions, and your behavior was wholly unacceptable.”

“Don’t let our surroundings fool you, Primrose. I’m not the gentlemanly type.”