Daddy's Secret Deal

by J. D. Fox

  ​Genevieve chuckled wryly. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said.

  ​“Stay there; I’ll get the wine,” Olivier told her. He went into the kitchen and wondered if something harder—maybe brandy or eau de vie—for the conversation he wanted to have with her. But that might not be a good idea either, Olivier told himself. He settled for a bottle of Jurançon from the fridge instead and grabbed two white wine glasses to serve it in.

  ​“Okay,” Genevieve said when he had come back into the room and poured the wine. She raised her glass, and so did Olivier, and both took the ritual first sip. “Tell me what this is about.”

  ​“I read about your parents,” Olivier said, reasoning that it was best to get the most difficult part out of the way first. “It explains why you would want to leave the world of business, at least.” Genevieve’s eyes widened, and she stared at him for a moment before drinking down about a third of her glass of wine.

  ​“Yes,” she said. “It was kind of a nightmare. I can only imagine how much worse it was for my parents; of course, they kind of brought it on themselves, but still.” She smiled ruefully.

  ​“It must have been horrifying for you,” Olivier pointed out. “To know your parents are criminals.”

  ​Genevieve shrugged. “I wasn’t...entirely shocked,” she admitted. “They raised me to do whatever it took to ‘win,' whatever winning meant. So it isn’t surprising that they would engage in some kind of illegal activity to improve their own bottom lines.” Olivier thought wryly that, put that way, he was not so very different from her parents. Then, too, he was engaged in a scheme that was not all that dissimilar from what the Coltranes had been caught doing. They had ultimately been found guilty of fraud, embezzlement, and obstruction of justice, all of which carried long sentences.

  ​“Still, it must have been difficult to watch them go through that,” Olivier said, “as their daughter.” Genevieve looked away for a moment.

  ​“What made it difficult was the fact that I basically became radioactive,” she explained quietly. Olivier raised an eyebrow, knowing that his au pair was being metaphorical but not entirely sure what she meant. “Radioactive?”

  ​Genevieve chuckled, and there was a bitter note to it. “Or contagious, you might say,” she explained. “When my parents were disgraced, I was too—I quit my job before they could fire me, and all my friends sort of suddenly became too busy to meet up with me or come see me.” Olivier nodded.

  ​“Ah, yes: I am familiar with that,” he said. “Like the rats fleeing a sinking ship, as they say.” Genevieve finished off the wine in her glass, and Olivier poured her more, drinking down some of his own.

  ​“So I decided that it was probably a good idea just to leave that world altogether, and try something completely new,” Genevieve said.

  ​“It is brave of you to have done so,” Olivier said. “Not everyone would have the—what’s the word? Intrépidité?”

  ​“Intrepidity? Fearlessness?” Genevieve looked doubtful at the suggestion.

  ​“Yes, this,” Olivier said. “The intrepidity, to leave all things behind and start a new life.”

  ​“Real bravery would have been to face it down,” Genevieve countered, but Olivier shook his head.

  ​“No, it’s just a different kind of bravery,” he insisted. “It takes courage to move to a new place, where you barely speak the language, to do something entirely different with your life.”

  ​“It just seemed like common sense to me,” Genevieve told him dismissively. “I wasn’t going to get a decent job in finance again—at least not for years to come.”

  ​“We can argue over your courage later,” Olivier said, smiling at her slightly. The wine had brought the color back up into Genevieve’s cheeks, and he had to admit—very, very privately, where not even all of his brain would notice—that there was something so intriguing, so endearing about the sight of this composed woman blushing.

  ​“So what else did you want to discuss?”

  ​Olivier finished off his first glass of wine and poured himself another. There was enough left in the bottle for maybe another glass for each of them, but he intended on savoring the second glass more slowly. “In light of what I was able to discover about you,” Olivier said, considering his position. “I wanted to ask for more of your help with the deal I am making.” Genevieve’s eyebrows rose again, and she sipped her wine quickly before setting it down.

  ​“You want more of my help?” Olivier nodded. He knew—especially given Genevieve’s background—that he would have to be very careful with what he showed her. But he also knew that there were few people more likely than Genevieve to recognize if something was off in the paperwork he’d gotten. Of course, he knew that there were things that would legally be questionable in the execution of the plan he had with his associates, but that wasn’t for her to know.

  `​“Having gone through that experience, seen what your parents’ contracts were like, I would think you would know best whether my American partner is trying to set me up,” he explained. Genevieve looked into her wine glass for a few moments, and Olivier would have paid good money to know what was going through her mind. But he knew that she would either agree to help him or not; it was only for him to be patient.

  ​“If I agree to help you, I need to know more about what you are doing,” Genevieve said, finally meeting his gaze. Olivier looked at her in surprise.

  ​“What do you mean?” Genevieve’s lips curled upward slightly at the edges.

  ​“What I mean is that I need to know what you’re actually doing in this deal if you want me to make sure you’re not getting screwed,” she replied. Olivier stared at Geneviève, suspicion rising up in him.

  ​“Why would you need to know that?” Olivier knew—deep down—that he should have been expecting a question like that, but it actually coming up was enough to bring up a whole host of emotions he hadn’t anticipated. Fear was one of them; somehow, though, her question also brought up the memory of Charlotte, and her own curiosity about his business ventures. He’d never gone into much detail about his business with the woman he’d loved, knowing that the knowledge would put her at risk, too—and knowing that she wouldn’t approve.

  ​“If I’m going to determine the level of risk you’re exposing yourself to, I need to know the details of what you’re actually doing,” Genevieve said firmly. Olivier scowled.

  ​“I’ve told you what you need to know,” he countered. Genevieve shook her head.

  ​“No, you haven’t,” she said. “If you thought I could help you based on what my parents went through and did, then it has to be because you are doing something you know is shady.” She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze levelly, and Olivier felt his mixed emotions settling on one: irritation.

  ​“I ask you to help me because I know that you have knowledge of this sort of thing,” Olivier said. He knew he was losing the sharpness of his accent, that his pronunciation was shifting into French against his wishes; but Genevieve’s insistence on wanting to know his business was frustrating.

  ​“How can I help you if I don’t know what risks you’re taking on purpose?” Genevieve continued holding his gaze, and Olivier realized in a flash that the woman he had hired was suspicious of him. One way or another, even before he had asked her for her help moments ago, she had come to some kind of conclusion that he was up to something.

  ​“Why should you think I am taking any risks on purpose?” Olivier stood, unable to contain the frustration he felt. He remembered—barely—that Mathilde was in the house, that she was sleeping, and that they both needed to keep their voices down.

  ​“Why are you being so defensive when you’ve basically admitted to me that you’re not certain the documents are legitimate? Why would you refuse to tell me about the true nature of your business when you want my help in protecting yourself?” Genevieve rose to her feet as well, and the flush in her cheeks was even more alluring than it had bee
n before. Olivier couldn’t help but notice how the fabric of her pajamas clung to her curves, even if she had put on a jacket to obscure it somewhat.

  ​“Because I have told you that my business is private,” Olivier said.

  ​“But now you’re asking for my help!” Genevieve gave him an irritated smile, shaking her head. “How can you not understand that to help you I need to have as much information as possible?”

  ​“You should only need the relevant information,” Olivier insisted.

  ​“And this is relevant! How can I check for every possible source of danger to you in a contract or an agreement if I don’t know what it is you’re doing?” Genevieve was making a good point, but Olivier didn’t want to admit it—even to himself. He reached down and picked up his glass of wine, knocking it back without even tasting it.

  ​“Forget it,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no reason to get you involved in this.”

  ​“You already have me involved,” Genevieve countered. “There’s no reason to cut me out of it now.”

  ​“There’s every reason,” Olivier countered. “You want to know more than I am willing to tell you—that is a fine reason to stop your involvement.”

  ​“Why in the world are you so afraid?” Genevieve shook her head in disbelief at him, and where Olivier had been irritated, he now started to feel insulted; he couldn’t help it, with his pride now at stake.

  ​“I am not afraid,” he insisted. “I have nothing to fear from the likes of you.”

  ​Genevieve laughed and shook her head again. “Spoken like someone who’s trying to hide something,” she said. “Just tell me what the actual business plan is!”

  ​“You have no need to know,” Olivier insisted.

  ​“Okay, if you think that, then you have no need of my help,” Genevieve countered. She turned to leave the living room, and before Olivier even realized what he was doing, he reached for her hand, feeling his fingers wrapping around her wrist. She stopped and turned on her heel to face him, and for a moment it was almost as though his wife was looking through her eyes at him.

  ​“Let go of me,” Genevieve said with a kind of deadly chill in her voice; there was nothing threatening about her words or demeanor, but Olivier felt a new respect for the woman he had hired.

  ​“I am sorry,” Olivier said. He released her wrist, but reluctantly; there was something about touching her that had sent a jolt through him, that made him want nothing more than to touch her more. “I should not have done this. I wanted only to tell you not to leave.”

  ​“Next time, use your words,” Genevieve said firmly. Olivier met her gaze for a moment, knowing that she was right.

  ​“I will never do anything like that again,” he promised.

  ​“You had better not,” Genevieve said, but the color was still in her cheeks, despite the scowl on her face.

  ​“Why were you trying to walk away?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ​Gen wondered how her mouth could possibly be so dry, considering the wine she’d been drinking. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she wasn’t afraid; even Olivier’s move to grab her wrist hadn’t scared her—she was a veteran of pushy Manhattan men—but, instead, had angered her even more than his insistence that she help him without first getting the full details from him about what his business was. She wasn’t even sure she understood why it had annoyed her that he was unwilling to be upfront about what his work consisted; it was jumbled up between Sadie’s oblique warnings about the shady nature of the Laurent fortune, and the fantasies she’d been indulging, and the dream she’d had.

  ​“Because if you’re not willing to be upfront with me about what it is you’re doing, then there’s no point in discussing the possibility of me helping you any further,” Gen said, trying to make her voice as matter-of-fact as she could.

  ​“Why are you so insistent on knowing? You never were before,” Olivier pointed out, and somehow the tension between them had changed, all in the span of a few moments. Gen took a deep breath, struggling to find her composure, struggling to make her brain function along rational lines.

  ​“Because the way you’re talking to me about it now makes me think that you only want my help since you think that I was somehow involved in my parents’ scheming,” Gen said. “And that makes me think that you have some scheming of your own going on.” She raised one eyebrow for further emphasis. Do not even hint at the fact that you’ve heard he’s less than fully legit, Gen reminded herself. Even if it was only a rumor, it wasn’t a good thing for an employee to tell her boss.

  ​“What I read about your parents makes me think you would be able to detect if I was going to be…I don’t remember how you say it in English. Arnaqué?” Gen shook her head, uncomprehending. “The ruder way to say it— forgive me— is I want you to make sure that they are not going to try to fuck me.” Gen choked on the saliva she previously hadn’t felt in her mouth at that blunt phrasing.

  ​“The slightly less vulgar way to say that in English is that you want to make sure they’re not trying to screw you,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat up more than they had so far. God, I’m probably red as a tomato, Gen thought, taking another deep breath to try and steady herself.

  ​“Why are you blushing so much?” Olivier’s voice dropped low as he spoke, and something about the tone, combined with the way he was looking at her, sent a thrill of heat through Gen’s body.

  ​“I wasn’t exactly expecting my boss to say the word ‘fuck’ in front of me,” Gen said, though privately she had to acknowledge that Olivier wasn’t the first of her bosses to cuss like that in front of her. In fact, though her mind was swimming right then, she thought it was entirely possible that she had had a boss say something about making sure someone wasn’t trying to fuck them before, almost exactly as Olivier had.

  ​“I did not think you had such a delicate sensibility,” Olivier told her, a faint smile curving his lips. There was something in his eyes that belied the concern in his words— something that told Gen that he was pleased he’d gotten a reaction out of her.

  ​“I don’t,” Gen protested and realized she was blushing even more. “It was just shocking because I don’t think you’ve ever used that particular word in front of me before.”

  ​“So you’re embarrassed because you didn’t think I knew it? Or because it’s shocking that I would say such a thing in front of you?” Olivier’s smile spread wider on his face. Oh, he’s definitely enjoying how flustered I am right now, Gen thought, annoyance warring with the rising current of desire that had started simmering somewhere deep down in her veins earlier, when she’d thought about the R-rated dream she’d had.

  ​“I’m not embarrassed,” Gen protested. “I’m just... just…” she couldn’t come up with the proper word to describe how she felt in that moment.

  ​“Dans tous tes états?” Olivier all but winked at her, and Gen wanted to scream.

  ​“How did we get so far off the topic?” She took a deep breath.

  ​“Do you remember what the topic is? Because je t’assure, je l’ai totalement oublié.” Gen forced herself not to shiver at the slight purring note in Olivier’s voice as he shifted into French to tell her that he couldn’t remember what they’d been speaking about any more than she could. She wouldn’t let herself think about how good the language sounded in his voice, especially when he almost murmured it, low and almost… sweet.

  ​“Are you seriously seducing your nanny right now just to change the subject?” Olivier’s eyes widened, and Gen felt her heart stutter, not entirely stopping in her chest as she realized how blunt she’d been. Had she read the entire situation wrong?

  ​“Ça dépend,” Olivier said. Gen raised an eyebrow, too nervous to speak, but wanting him to continue. “Is it working?” She stared at him for a moment, torn between laughing at his audacity and being angry at him for it.

  ​“I should probably just go to my room and get to bed,” Gen said. �
�Neither one of us is doing the right thing right now.”

  ​“And what would be the right thing to do right now?” Somehow, even though Gen was sure that Olivier had meant it when he’d said that he would never grab or try to restrain her physically again, she felt cornered— pinned down, like helpless prey. But instead of feeling afraid, she was excited. It had been years since she had felt like that; even with Clint, the sex had been more a matter of form; something she did because it was what she was supposed to do. It wasn’t that she hadn’t felt any desire for him at all—more that she had quickly grown bored both with his lack of attention to her pleasure and the lack of any obvious motivation on his part to learn what she liked best.

  ​“The right thing to do would be for us to remember that I am your employee and that none of this is appropriate,” Gen said, licking her lips and wondering how her mouth could be so dry that it felt parched right after she had choked on her own saliva. Of course, her blood seemed to be doing rather interesting things inside of her body as well; rushing through her veins and yet seeming to pool in odd places all at the same time. She knew that she was turned on. Before Clint there had been a few others; boys that had been far more skilled, or at least far more interested, in making her climax. But Gen couldn’t remember the last time that she had been as aroused as she was in that moment, face-to-face with Olivier.

  ​“Why isn’t it appropriate?” Olivier’s voice was so innocent-sounding; his expression, however, told Gen that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  ​“You know good and damned well why it isn’t,” Gen said irritably. She could feel the slickness spreading along her labia, the heat and tension building deep down between her hips. It wasn’t fair at all how easily Olivier had turned her annoyance with him back into desire.

  ​“Do you never do anything inappropriate?” Olivier had somehow moved closer to her, and Gen almost imagined that she was breathing his breath, that he was breathing hers. “You don’t seem to me to be the type to live your life so strictly.”