Page 79 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

“Your dad wants you to call some asshole in France.” He practically growls out the words.

I blink at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Apparently there’s a job you’re hoping to take, and this guy wants to talk to you.”

“Oh.” All the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “I was going to tell you and Caleb about the translation job, I just haven’t had a chance.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to tell us anything.” His voice is gruff, dismissive.

Grabbing his arm, I say, “I do. I want to talk to you about this stuff.”

“Well, talk to the French guy.” Lincoln barely looks at me as he speaks. “Your dad texted you his contact info.”

Asshole. Is he really throwing a mantrum because I have a contact in Paris? Whatever. I grab my phone and see more texts from Troy. He’s been texting nonsense the past couple of days, wanting to “talk.” I don’t want to think about him—I don’t have time for his bullshit. I scroll down to the text from my dad. Antoine Delacroix, and a phone number. Sticking my tongue out at Lincoln, I hit the button to call him.

“Allô,” a man answers.

“Hi, this is Evelyn Riorson,” I say in French. “Am I speaking with Antoine Delacroix?”

“Ouais,” he says, sounding excited. “It’s very nice to speak with you. I’ve heard good things about you from both your father and my mother.”

Antoine is actually really freaking nice. While Lincoln looks on like a sulky teenager, Antoine and I talk about the firm where he works—and where he hopes I will soon work, too.

I’ve only been talking with Antoine for five minutes or so when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. That would be Caleb. Lincoln tears himself from my presence and I hear the two of them talking down the hall. I half-listen to Antoine while Lincoln explains to Caleb who I’m speaking with and why.

Then both men enter my room wearing identical frowns. Caleb has a sparkle in his eyes, though.

I turn around to try to ignore them. I know I could shoo them out of my room, but something about that playful look in Caleb’s eyes keeps me from doing it. Besides, I’m just having a conversation with a potential colleague—there’s nothing scandalous or wrong about what I’m doing. I have nothing to hide from them.

Caleb takes off his shirt. Lincoln does the same. They’re fucking beautiful, the both of them.

I forget French. I forget English. I forget my damn name.

“Evelyn?” Antoine prompts on the other end. “Did the call end?”

“No, no, I’m here,” I say, unable to tear my eyes from the two delicious towers of muscle in front of me.

Lincoln’s scowl has turned into a knowing grin, his dimple barely visible through his whiskers, as he trails a hand over his abs to the fly of his jeans. Caleb’s doing the same.

Whatever Antoine is saying, I respond to automatically. My attention is on the two men undressing before me, a private striptease which feels wrong, so wrong, when I’m on the phone.

Finally, I tell Antoine that it’s been very nice talking to him, but I have plans and have to leave.

“Can we talk again another time?” he asks.

“Of course, I’d like that,” I say.

“Your French is very good,” he says, his tone warm. “I look forward to speaking with you again, and perhaps you’ll join me here in Paris soon.”

“Perhaps,” I say with a smile.

Lincoln is down to his boxer briefs. Caleb is fully naked, his cock hard and ready. As I watch, he strokes himself.

My body is tightening with need, every cell focused on these two men. I quickly end the call with Antoine, promising to talk again soon.

“Is our baby girl talking to a boy?” Caleb asks.

I flush, my face hot, as I answer, “He’s someone I might work with, if I take a job.”

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