Page 27 of Zero Pucks Given (Las Vegas Angels 1)

A half hour later, I was walking up the steps of their mansion. It was a sight. They’d really gone all out. Large, Mediterranean-style stone columns sat to each side. A balcony to my left and right—reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet set—stood above me.

The huge, black doors opened right after I knocked. “Mademoiselle, entrez, s'il vous plaît,” their butler, Henri said as he waved his arm out.

“You know better than that, Henri,” I said with a smile on my face. “Give me a hug, I missed you.” I gave him a big squeeze and he reciprocated as always. He’d been their butler ever since I could remember.

“Ah, I missed you, too. It’s been too long,” he said before letting me go. “If you could wait in the living room for your hosts, please,” he said, guiding me into the elaborate front room.

After practically shoving me inside, Henri shut the French doors behind me.

Oh fantastic.

Beau sat on one the couches at the far end of the room.

“Great,” Beau muttered to himself, but it was loud enough for me to hear.

“Hello to you, too,” I snipped, choosing to sit on a chair that faced the front window. That way I wouldn’t have to pretend to make conversation with him.

I pulled my phone out of my purse, wanting to text Jillian and tell her who was here—but I stopped myself. Deal with this like an adult. If he wanted to act like a child, let him.

There were more emails than I could count that I had to answer, so I took the time to do that.

“Why do you think they called both of us here?” Beau asked, his voice surprisingly civil.

I sighed and said, “Well, I imagine they likely want to congratulate you on six consecutive days without getting into a bar fight.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he growled at me.

“I try,” I said, giving him a sarcastic smile as I clicked onto my next email.

He opened his mouth to respond, but his phone rang, and he answered that instead. Oh crap. He started speaking French in his delicious accent and I nearly fainted on the spot.

Beau speaking French was my kryptonite.

Every time he spoke it during an interview, my knees got weak and my pulse quickened.

I was in so much freaking trouble.

Beau

If my brotherwere here right now, I would kiss him for giving me an excuse to avoid Gigi. I spoke in French to hopefully piss her off—as well as so she couldn’t understand what I was saying.

“Hey, Brother, what’s going on?”

“Going out tonight?” Lucien asked me.

“No, Marcel and Angelique invited us over for supper. My knee’s been hurting like a bitch, so I’m going home right after to ice it.”

“Us? Who’s ‘us’? And are you getting that damn knee looked after?”

“What’s up? Tell me before they walk in,” I answered, no longer wanting to discuss the state of my knee.

Gigi peered over at me a few times, but then went back to whatever she was doing on her phone. I’m sure she hated the fact she couldn’t understand my conversation.

“Mom wants to know about Thanksgiving. Are you coming home?”

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Tell her I’m not sure yet. I have to talk to our coach and see what he’s got planned. Hopefully, I can come for a day or two.”

“She also wants to know if you’re bringing that little ‘tart’ we’ve been seeing you with on social media,” he said, chuckling.

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