Page 27 of Catching Trouble
I adjusted my sunglasses and flipped over on the sumptuous sun lounger. It was probably comfier than my bed in the annex.
Sophie and I had spent the morning together at the beach. Well, if by using the word “together” I meant “existing in the same geographical location,” then we’d hung out.
She sat on another lounger with her back to me, drying in the sun. She’d spent most of the morning in the sea and drinking the club out of orange juice. I dared not tell her father how many sacks of sugar she’d likely consumed.
Her hair gleamed a deep chestnut brown in the light, and I ran my hand through my mop of chaotic curls. My shower was still broken. According to Fifi, the local repair men could take days to respond. I’d resorted to borrowing Sophie’s shower, or the ill-fated outdoor one. But only when Maxime wasn’t there.
Maxime.
Butterflies shifted in my belly as an image of him swept through my mind. I didn’t want him to find me here, “taking iteasy.” He’d spoken to me yesterday about doing more “nanny things.” I didn’t know exactly what “nanny things” entailed, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find aninwith Sophie. A chink in her armour.
As if Lucifer himself had marked me for a bit of havoc today, Maxime’s voice broke through my daydream.
“I didn’t know I employed you to work on your tan.”
I peeled one eye open to see him standing on the beach in front of me. I swallowed. Hard.
He stood there in shorts that had no business being so clingy in all the right places. He practically glowed in the sunlight. With his tanned skin, windswept hair, muscles and tattoos, he looked like a sexy colouring book. I smiled. Someone hand me a box of markers and let me loose.
With that image forever locked into my brain, I could almost forgive his scowl.
“Am I amusing you?” he asked.
I pushed up to sitting, meeting his gaze head on. “Oh no, far from it.”
His scowl deepened.“I keep finding you here, horizontal. Can’t you find something more productive to do, preferablywithmy daughter?”
I tapped my nails on the wooden edge of the lounger.
“Two things. Vitamin D is essential to life. If you want me to stay alive and look after Sophie, I need sun. Second, she’s spent the entire morning glued to her phone. I’ve been meaning to ask; what are your expectations about device use?”
He glanced at Sophie. “What’s she doing on her phone?”
I strongly suspected she was doom scrolling, waiting for the zombie apocalypse, or plotting how to get rid of her annoying nanny. “I think she’s listening to audiobooks,” I lied.
He tilted his head to one side. He didn’t believe it, either. “What books?”
“Well, I haven’t asked, but what would you have me do? Confiscate all means of contacting the outside world? Have her march up and down the beach in lederhosen?”
I thought he’d smirk at my call-back to theSound of Music, even crack a full-blown smile—but no. He scowled even harder, shook his head and stalked off down the beach, muttering something about tides and profits.
I took a breath and hauled myself to standing, ready to suggest Sophie and I go for a walk when a sharp, wordless cry tore through the air. Its rawness scattered a group of loitering seagulls.
It came from inside the club. I scooped up my towel and headed inside. When I made it to the bar, Fifi stood next to the coffee machine, her head in her hands.
“What?”
She looked up, waving a piece of paper under my nose. “Read this.”
I tried, but even if written in English, I’d struggle to decipher the handwriting.
“Oh no,” I groaned, hoping my response was in line with whatever it said.
Filling in the blanks by watching others? That was one of my superpowers—kind of like a con-artist or a TV psychic. It was amazing how much context people gave away without knowing.
“He’s quit, without a word. Just left me a note.”
Bingo! Okay. Barista down, with no hope of resuscitation.
