My boss drew his leg in the passenger side and slammed his door closed. His shoulders seemed rigid beneath his linen blazer, and the cool and roomy interior of the car suddenly felt stifling like his presence took up four seats. The white of his starched collar glowed against the tanned skin of his neck. I might even say he was flushed, but what did I know? It was probably the heat. We rode in silence from the train station.

Dauphine sat in the back seat with me, her arms still folded. She watched me curiously, but as soon as I met her eyes she lifted her chin and looked away, pretending to be uninterested, only for her eyes to wander back seconds later. If only I knew how to get along with kids, I could open conversation. What had Tabitha and Meredith been thinking convincing me to take this job?

I looked at the rearview mirror to share a look with Evan but based on my angle was instantly snared in a set of ice blue eyes belonging to my new boss. Flustered, I looked away

The car purred through the unfamiliar streets. I tried to focus on the town outside the windows.

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake.

This was a huge mistake.

Scratch that.

I’d make the best of the fact I’d always wanted to come to the South of France. I closed my eyes and imagined visiting small little villages and strolling weekly markets. I’d sit, sipping a café on a small and charming town square shooing off little sparrows hopping around on the cobblestones, waiting for the crumbs of my croissant. Perhaps I’d be listening to the church bells to tell the time and then walk over to the churchyard and read the tombstones, imagining times long past.

I wouldn’t let a grumpy boss ruin France for me. Besides, Tabitha had called him grumpy, sure, but she’d also called him sad. Grieving. I’d try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I opened my eyes, feeling calmer, and tried to watch the city go by, but soon it was just highway and buildings that had seen better days. The ocean was nowhere to be seen.

A throat cleared from the passenger seat. Mr. Pascale’s shoulders seemed to go down as if he was forcing them to relax. I glanced up and caught his gaze again. God, his eyes were really quite arresting.

“Was your flight pleasant?” he asked, breaking the silence, and then cleared his throat again. He must hate uncomfortable silences as much as I did.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

“And the train?” he asked.

I frowned. “It was fine. Thank you.” Silence stretched. “I appreciate you coming to pick me up,” I added.

“It was on the way.”

“On the way?”

“To my yacht.”