Page 10 of Oyster

“Nope. I swear. Soccer is a total mystery to me. Don’t know my bicycle kicks from my nutmegs.”

And then I winked at her—putain, Iwinkedat her, like she was any other woman, and we were mildly flirting. Christ knows what came over me. Nerves, I guessed. I was a nobody oyster farmer in the presence of fucking soccer royalty.

Moreover, she fucking giggled back! Like she was any other pretty tourist letting Nico, the grubby, good-looking oyster guy, flirt. The hand gripping the cushion in her lap loosened.

“Can I ask why you aren’t in Paris, getting ready for the game? Don’t PSG have a big match against Lyon tonight?”

“I thought you didn’t follow soccer?”

As we kept the banter going, her hesitant smile widened. She had a chipped incisor, from a collision with a goal post in a memorable Champions League final two years ago, against Real Madrid. So famous that bloody tooth even had its own Instagram account. Éti scored the winner, but never had the tooth fixed; at the time she’d vowed to keep the damage as a reminder of one of her greatest goals.

“Mon dieu, non. My younger brother is a huge PSG fan. But not me. Definitely not me.” I played along, still flirting, relieved some of the awkwardness had drained away. We’d both been on edge from the second I walked out of the oyster shed.

She rubbed underneath her thigh. “I’m missing that game and the one after. I tweaked a hamstring.”

Hence the painkillers for herpoorly, poorly leg.

“Nothing major,” she continued, “but the club wanted to keep it quiet, so they reported I have gastric flu. If I have an injury, even a minor one, it drops the share price.”

“You’re kidding me.”

She shook her head. “’Fraid not. When it boils down to it, I’m nothing but a valuable commodity to them. A number followed by lots of zeros.”

“Well, I hope the gastric flu improves soon. Although I’m not sure half a bottle of vodka is a suitable cure. PSG needs Salvador in the team.”

“Is that your younger brother’s opinion?”

“Of course! I mean, from the odd moment here and there I’ve watched… um… I suppose Salvador’s having a pretty decent season.”

She managed another small smile. As Étienne, she must receive much bigger compliments all day every day. “I shan’t tell Étienne you said so. Your secret is safe with me.”

“As is yours with me.”

Her eyes dropped to her untouched coffee. “Ah. I was coming to that. It’s the reason why I needed to see you again.”

I waited for her eyes to fix back on mine. When they did, all traces of sweet teasing had gone. The chipped incisor vanished, replaced by a thin-lipped frown. The expressive eyebrows stilled. “And I’d appreciate if you didn’t fuck with me because I need to get this wrapped up as soon as possible. If you name your price, Nico, I’ll triple it.”

CHAPTER 4

Sieving through my thoughts, I’d anticipated a version of this conversation. I’d have been an idiot not to. Nonetheless, her sudden change in mood caught me out. Stalling, I asked, “Why would I want your money?”

Her eyes rolled skyward. “Don’t be naïve. Or don’t pretend to be. Why the hell wouldn’t you? Étienne Salvador is a very famous person. And also, very rich. Stupidly rich. And you have stumbled over his big secret: that he is a woman and goes by the name Éti. As it stands, only two people alive on this planet know that information, and they are both in this room.”

“What? No one else knows?” I shook my head. “You’re joking.”

Her stormy grey eyes narrowed, and the air temperature dropped. There would be no more flirting. “Do you see me laughing?”

Étienne Salvador had kept his private life private because he was an astute media pro. He’d been in the spotlight for nigh on a decade. On the hop, I was discovering that Éti Salvador was quite adept too.

“No, I thought not.”

She sat back, folding her arms. “So, Nico. How much money will it take for you to pretend you never met me? We can make it a very straightforward transaction. You will sign a piece of paper, I’ll transfer the money immediately, and you’ll walk out of here a much richer man.”

I pursed my lips, still a step behind her and reeling with shock. “Sorry, you’re telling me no one knows? No one at all?”

“No one. And for the time being, I intend on keeping it that way. So, how much?”

“You… er… you said... a woman? So, do you mean…” I stumbled over the correct words. Not because I didn’t approve or accept or judge; when I said live and let live, I meant every fucking word. But up until I discovered her on the beach, I had never met anyone like her and was unfamiliar with the terminology.

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