by J. D. Fox
“I didn’t have this kind of formal training that you did,” Olivier said, plucking some saucisson sec off of the charcuterie board and wolfing it. “I had to sort of find my way into the correct niveau— I am not sure how you say this in English.” He had deliberately exaggerated his accent throughout their conversation, occasionally hesitating over word choice even when he knew exactly what he wanted to say. It would, he thought, encourage Clint to believe that he was fooled, and easy to continue to fool.
“You seem to have done very well for yourself, though,” Clint said, inclining his head slightly. “You have an excellent reputation.”
“In certain circles, yes,” Olivier acknowledged with a faint grin.
“Those circles are very profitable to run in. My parents never did, but I’ve managed to grow their wealth pretty substantially over the years,” Clinton told him. They chatted about different business interests they had in common, and gradually Olivier got the man to come forward about his most recent ventures.
“I was surprised at the amount of interest you had already found regarding… how to say? Creative accounting?” Clinton chuckled at that.
“I’ve always known people who are interested in that sort of thing,” he said dismissively. “It wasn’t difficult to get them on board.” Olivier nodded at that. Their main courses arrived, and Olivier let the subject simmer as he ate his rabbit and Clinton dug into his steak.
“It’s difficult to go at that type of thing for a long time without getting caught,” Olivier observed. “I think that I remember reading something recently about a married couple who had been caught?”
“Oh yeah, the Coltranes,” Clinton said, nodding. “I knew them.” Olivier pulled back from the topic a bit, discussing some of his own friends who had gotten caught in broad strokes as he ate, before delving into it again as delicately as possible.
“It was strange how they got caught by an anonymous tip,” he said. “Usually there is some, as you might say, honor amongst the thieves.”
Clinton shrugged. “There are some circumstances in which it might be more valuable to make sure someone else takes the fall,” he commented.
Olivier danced around the issue, avoiding entirely the possibility of any chicanery being involved in his own deal, and bit by bit he got Clinton to confirm some of the things that Genevieve had accused him of in respect to her parents— although he never said explicitly that it was him who had done it. By the end of the meal, he was reasonably confident that Genevieve was right about what he had started suspecting himself, and began mentally planning how to go about avoiding the trap. There were a few things that Olivier knew he could do, precautions he knew he could take, but he would have to make them happen quickly.
They agreed to meet up again in two days to finalize everything, and Olivier walked briskly to where Louis would be waiting for him, thinking about everything that had happened in the past 12 hours. He still had a few lingering doubts about Genevieve. He was sure now that she was working to keep him from being screwed, but he wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t had any involvement with her ex in the process. And there was still the possibility that it was all a feint. He would have to make up his mind as to what to do about her.
The drive home took twenty minutes, with traffic a little heavy leaving Rouen. As he sat in the back seat, Olivier tried to work out whether he thought that Genevieve was Clinton’s co-conspirator or not. It just didn’t add up that she should end up working for him right as he was beginning to form a business relationship with her ex-fiancé. But then, Olivier countered himself, why would she warn him if she was working with Clinton? None of it made sense, but Olivier had become fairly sure that he would have to take precautions to make sure he didn’t take the heat for Clinton’s illegal activities. The best place to start would be to figure out what Genevieve’s situation really was.
He came into the house and kicked off his shoes, tucking them into the cubby set aside for him at the entryway, and slipping into his house shoes. Olivier heard talking coming from the kitchen, and a moment later realized that it was Genevieve’s voice. He headed in her direction.
“You know, Clint, I am actually kind of glad that you know everything now,” he heard Genevieve saying, a faint irony in her voice. “It saves me the trouble of having to keep pretending I want to have anything to do with you.” Olivier’s eyes widened in surprise at that declaration. He stopped short of entering the kitchen, wanting to hear more. He knew it was his best chance to find out what exactly had happened since he had left Clinton’s presence twenty minutes or so before.
“Oh please, you were all over me,” Olivier heard Clinton’s voice saying over the phone.
“Didn’t you notice that you managed to fall asleep like a drunk before anything actually happened?” Genevieve laughed, and Olivier had to press his lips together to keep from snickering and betraying his position. He couldn’t quite believe his luck that Genevieve had put the call on speaker.
“So all of this was just to get some intel for your boss? That’s pathetic, Gen,” Clinton said.
“You’re just salty because I fooled your pathetic ass,” Genevieve countered, and Olivier thought she was probably right on that score.
“You have a choice, Gen. We can chalk this up to a post-traumatic stress kind of mistake, and you can come back to the life you know you’re supposed to be leading, or I can just as easily make sure you go down with Laurent,” Clinton said. Olivier found himself surprised for the second time since arriving in his own home, and the novelty of it wasn’t as pleasant as he would have thought.
“The only life I’m supposed to be leading is the one I choose to lead, Clint,” Genevieve countered.
“Give up on this crap, and you can come back to the states. Marry me, drop this crusade nonsense, and you’re safe.” Genevieve laughed again.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s just sad,” she said. “I know for a fact now that you’re the one that got my parents arrested and convicted for fraud and embezzlement, and now I know what you’ve got planned for this business venture you’ve got going on. I’m not just going to sleep on those things.”
“Your choice, Gen. If you’re willing to go down right along with this guy, then you can.” The call ended then, and Olivier just stood in the hallway outside of the kitchen for a moment, considering how to deal with the information he’d just overheard.
“I take it you heard at least some of that,” Genevieve called out, just loud enough for Olivier to hear without it carrying to the rest of the house. He chuckled and stepped into the kitchen. “How did you know?”
Gen gave him a wry smile. “I heard you come in, but I didn’t hear you go into the office or Mathilde’s room,” she replied. “I think you can trust that I didn’t just do that for your benefit, right?”
Olivier nodded. “Unless you have perfect timing, I cannot accuse you of plotting with him to lull me into security,” he agreed. He looked Genevieve up and down, realizing that she had had time to clean herself up a bit from her night out, and she’d changed into a short dress and leggings, more in keeping with her usual style. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and Olivier’s thoughts turned to the question that had lingered in his mind between when he’d left her and when he’d arrived to have lunch with Clinton: had nothing at all really happened between Genevieve and Clinton?
“I’m glad at least that you know now that I wasn’t just playing you,” Genevieve said. “I guess if you still want me to leave because I violated your rule, I’m okay with that. But I had to make sure you knew to take precautions.” Olivier had spent days doubting himself and his judgment, but he thought that he had been right— at least at the core of the matter— all along.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Olivier said. He moved just a bit closer to her and felt the same pulse of heat that he had every time he was close to her, the heat that had spurred him to grab her wrist
in his anger— and the one that had inspired their first tryst. He took a slow breath, pushing the idea out of his mind; he had to focus. “I want you to help me bring him down.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For a moment, Gen could only stare at Olivier in shock. “You want me to help you bring him down?” She hadn’t dared to hope that he would go that far in changing his opinion of the situation; at best, Gen had thought that he might reconsider firing her, and acknowledge that she had been right to be concerned.
“You know him much better than I do,” Olivier pointed out. “And you have had more time to review what his plans will be. And you can read all of that ridiculous legal language in the documents.” Gen chuckled and noticed for the first time just how close Olivier was to her— that he had slowly inched closer since coming out of hiding and entering the kitchen. She remembered the reaction Olivier had had to think she’d gotten physical with her ex, and how she’d been thinking— before Clint had even called her— that the whole problem with Olivier was that he’d reacted poorly to them sleeping together.
“You want me, don’t you?” Genevieve licked her lips unconsciously. “This whole mess— you firing me and everything— is all because you want me.”
“I don’t know if we can blame it all on me wanting you,” Olivier said, raising an eyebrow. “After all, I have had you once already.” Gen felt a flush of heat start up in her face and somehow travel down through her body, making her tingle all over. Remembering her sex with Olivier, before he’d even come home, had primed the pump; as she stood there, meeting her boss’ gaze, she couldn’t help remembering the event even more vividly.
“You make it sound so poetic,” Gen said wryly, unable to help the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “You had me, eh? But then you immediately pushed me away.” Olivier almost flinched, and Gen felt a little thrill at the sense of power she had in realizing that Olivier regretted what he’d done. “Maybe I don’t want you anymore.” Olivier’s eyes widened slightly at that.
“I think that you do,” Olivier said, recovering his confidence. “I can see that color in your cheeks, mon chaton.” As if her blood itself was under his command, Genevieve felt the heat in her face intensifying, spreading down onto her chest.
“Oh, we’re at the pet names phase now?”
Olivier chuckled. “Do you object?” Gen tried to swallow and found her throat was shockingly dry. Her heart was racing from the combination of her argument with her ex and the unexpected situation she’d found herself in with the boss she couldn’t stop wanting.
“You’re calling me your kitten,” Gen said, not quite able to muster the kind of indignation she thought she should have.
“Because you are very like a little kitten,” Olivier told her, smiling slowly.
“How am I like a kitten?” Gen scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. But that just made it even more evident to her that she was already turned on, her nipples beginning to harden underneath the layers of fabric of her clothes.
“Tu aimes les caresses,” Olivier explained, moving just a little closer to her. “Et t’as la confiance d’un chat…” He was only inches away from her and Gen felt again— just like the first time they’d had sex— as if every nerve in her body was awake, tingling with a mild, electric kind of fire. “Et bien aussi, je sais comment te faire ronronner.” Gen pressed her lips together firmly. You love to be touched, and you have the confidence of a cat… and then, too, I know how to make you purr. She wanted to be offended— but the way Olivier’s voice had dropped lower when he said that he knew how to make her purr made the heat simmering through her veins even more intense.
“Well, I guess by those standards, it makes sense,” Gen said, trying to force her mind to clear. How could Olivier turn her on so easily? It wasn’t fair. “And that would make you a wolf.” She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and remembered irrelevantly how, before the first time they’d had sex, she’d ended up drinking almost a third of a bottle of wine because of how her mouth and throat had felt in his presence.
“Ah oui?” Olivier leaned in a bit, and Gen thought he might kiss her right then— but he didn’t. “How am I un loup?”
“The look in your eyes right now,” Gen told him. Olivier grinned, and it did nothing but emphasize the wolfish look in his eyes.
“C’est vrai que j’ai un faim de loup,” Olivier told her. “I could devour such a tiny kitten as you easily. But you already knew that.” Gen felt the slickness between her legs, the tight heat deep down in her hips, and glanced down as quickly as she could to see if Olivier was suffering the same way she was. She could see the ridge that had formed at the front of his pants, and when she brought her gaze back up to Olivier’s face, she saw that he had noticed her looking at him.
“But this kitten you would have to convince; you can’t just hunt me,” Gen pointed out, breathless with desire. “And why should I allow a wolf to… to devour me, if you’re just going to push me away again?” Before she could anticipate it or react, Olivier had reached for her, his hands gentle but insistent on her shoulders, her back, pulling her to him, pressing her body against his.
“I am a very clever wolf,” Olivier murmured, his breath hot against her ear, against her neck. “I made a mistake before, but I do not intend to repeat it.” Genevieve trembled, feeling his lips just barely against her skin, his hands tight on her back. “But if mon petit chaton does not wish to be devoured…” he began to pull back just slightly, and Genevieve, acting on impulse, reached up and pulled him back.
“On one condition,” she said, smiling to herself. “If you mess up like that again and push me away with some stupid rule, I will be allowed to torment you by walking around in nothing but lingerie whenever Mathilde is asleep or away, and you cannot so much as touch me. And you are not allowed to fire me for it, either.” Olivier smiled against her skin, and Gen’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his teeth lightly graze her.
“You will have a job with me for as long as you like,” Olivier said. “I will write it down if you wish it. And if I am so stupid as I was before, you can torment me as you like, for as long as you like.”
“Then I suppose I can let you devour me,” Gen said, trying to keep her voice casual. Olivier kissed the spot underneath her jaw where her pulse fluttered and then brought his lips up to hers. He shifted against her, and his hands moved on her body, and for a moment Gen wondered what he was doing, but the next instant he had lifted her up off of the ground, and she pulled away from his lips with a startled gasp.
“Mathilde is napping?” Gen nodded. “Then we do not have much time.” Olivier lifted Genevieve up more securely against his body and carried her out of the kitchen. But instead of going to his room upstairs, or even to her suite, Gen realized that he was taking her to the guest room.
They tumbled onto the bed together, and Gen managed to focus enough to begin unbuttoning Olivier’s shirt as he got to work on her clothes; both of them knew that Mathilde could wake up at any time, and she would come looking for an adult. Olivier kissed her again and again, and Gen let her hands roam over his body as their clothes fell away bit by bit, tossed across the room or dropped haphazardly. She moaned out as Olivier’s hand slid up between her legs. He pressed the heel of his palm against her slick vulva, rubbing slowly.
“Already wet,” Olivier murmured against her lips, and Gen could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice.
“You’re already hard,” she countered, reaching blindly and finding the bulge at the front of his jockey shorts. Gen shivered slightly, remembering from their first time how thick it was, how good it had felt inside of her.
“Oui, tu me fait bander,” Olivier told her, his hips bucking in reaction to her touch. “Comme je veux prendre la chatte de mon chaton.” Gen chuckled at that breathlessly.
“That is some poetic dirty talking,” she said, gasping as Olivier’s finger
s slipped between her outer labia and found her clitoris. You make me so hard. How I want to take my kitten’s pussy!
“And now,” Olivier murmured, nibbling along the column of her throat, “whenever I call you mon petit chaton, ma minette, all you’ll be able to think about is that I really, really want this.” One of his fingers slid inside of her, followed quickly by a second, and Gen moaned again, her hand tightening on Olivier’s erection through the thin cotton of his shorts.
“I hope I’m not just a walking sex toy for you,” Gen said, part of her resenting the implication. Olivier chuckled lowly, bringing his lips to hers once more.
“Of course you are not,” he said. “I will think of something else to call you when I am not thinking about how much I want to be inside you.” His thumb pressed against her clitoris and Gen pushed her hips down, groping to find the waistband of Olivier’s shorts to get full access to his cock. She tugged the offending material down over his hips, and Olivier wriggled the rest of the way out of them, all the while working her with his fingers.
“Maybe— Oh!… God— maybe you should teach me some words for the bedroom too,” Gen suggested playfully, twisting her hips to get better contact with Olivier’s teasing fingers. He pulled back to grin down at her.
“Oh, I can give you quite an education,” he promised. Gen slid her hand up and down along the length of his erection, and she could feel the slickness of his fluids already beginning to flow from the tip. Olivier’s fingers wriggled inside of her and brushed up against her g-spot, and Gen cried out, muffling the sound against his shoulder.
