Taja Wilson doesn't belong on a yacht in the South of France. She's not supposed to be a nanny. And she's definitely not supposed to fall for her hot, brooding, single-dad boss. But even if she can resist Micheal's growling accent, his sweet daughte...
"We need to talk. This isn't working." (That doesn't sound good- especially after last night. It was a roller coaster, from Xavier showing up, to playing drinking games with my boss.) "Is this about... us hanging out last night? Because if I overstepped or anything-" "Oh, no, this has nothing to do with that! Last night is... in the past now. I'm sorry, I meant, all this. This isn't working." Micheal points to a hurricane of papers on his desk, which has only grown since I last saw it. I let out a massive sigh of relief and sink into one of Micheal's visitor chairs. "Apologies for the confusion. I've had a horrible headache this morning. I may have... overindulged last night. And this whole mess isn't helping." "Is this about that personal project you've been working on?" Micheal nods. "Yes. The designer I retained has fallen through. His work is simply not up to par." "Do you want me to recommend another designer? I don't really know anyone in France, but-"
Micheal shakes his head. "No, Taja. I would like you to be our new designer. It involves designing outfits inspired by historic buildings... a perfect project for you." "Me?... seriously, oh my God, I won't let you down. You're actually doing me a favor. I've been itching for something to work on." Micheal chuckles. "Of course. We wouldn't want your remarkable talent to go unused. The project is located in Cannes- our next destination. We'll take Zoe, see the site, make a day of it." I nod. "Do you want me to do anything to prepare? Visual blueprints, maybe?" "I'd rather you see the place in person first. But bring that sketchbook of yours." Micheal stands up and extends an arm across the desk to shake my hand. "Taja, welcome to the team." I clasp his hand, reveling in the warmth of his sturdy palm, getting lost in his deep, sparkling eyes. Finally, I pull away. "I can't wait to get started."
I rush back to my room to get changed. (I'd better dress to impress. Let's see what we got.)
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"A development project in Cannes. This could be a huge professional opportunity for me." I find Micheal and Zoe on upper deck. Zoe stands with her hands on her hips. "If I am on this boat for a single second more, I will explode!" Micheal chuckles. We each take one of Zoe's hands. "We won't keep you waiting any longer, little princess."
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Cannes's sunny, balmy streets are busier than other towns I've visited. Zoe skips gleefully ahead of me and Micheal. "Mon petit, don't run too- hey!" I'm cut off as a man walking the opposite direction bumps into me and mutters something in French. "Putain de bâtard." "What did he say? I didn't catch it." "Something too disrespectful to repeat." "I'll take your word for it. Although I hope it was a compliment, at least." "A comment on your beauty, yes. Not undeserved, but delivered in the most vulgar way possible." Electricity seems to run up my arm as Micheal suddenly wraps his large, strong hand around mine. "It's medieval, but you will be safe from such things if men see you as "taken." Let them think we are together. That way, they won't bother you." I squeeze Micheal's hand slightly in thanks, and he squeezes back. "You don't have to protect me, you know. I can take care of myself." "On the contrary, I very much do. I don't think you see how men look at you, but I do. Every time we go onshore. Like a pack of hungry hyenas. I hate it."
