Page 15 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

“No, that’s fine. Come,” he said, and held her elbow to pull her closer as they joined the crowd crossing the street.

Just because they were having sex didn’t mean she couldn’t get to know him a bit better, right? Maybe an unlikely friendship would remain after this deal ended. She sat across from him at a table and watched him order drinks at the counter. His pants fit him snugly, cupping his perfect ass and hinting at his long legs. She sighed. No. Friendship might be impossible.

He returned to the table. “Why did you pick translation for an occupation? Seems different.”

She touched the edge of the table, her finger caressing the smooth surface. “It started when I was eleven. I knew some basic Spanish from school and was on a cruise with my family. The crew had a hard time understanding a few Spanish-speaking passengers, and I offered to help for fun. After that vacation, I knew I wanted to work with languages at some level. I loved helping people get the message across. It’s rewarding.”

“Why French and not Spanish?”

She flushed. “There was a lot of competition for translators and interpreters of Spanish when I started. The French language wasn’t as intense. Besides, the language is so—

His lips curved into a mocking smile. “Romantic?”

Busted. Yes, she had seen her share of French movies and read a copious number of French poets as a teenager. God, what a nerd. She glanced around them, looking nowhere in particular. Turn the tables, Emma. She’d asked him for coffee to know more about him, not the other way around.

“What are you thinking?”

Oh. “Er, hmmm, you seem to really want to buy that house from Desmorais. But I still don’t know why,” she said, insisting on bringing up the one subject he obviously didn’t want to discuss. What if she found a way to convince him to buy a different property from Desmorais? The man owned many in Mauritius, and she doubted only one met Nico’s high standards. “Entertain me.”

He frowned, then touched his collar, glanced around them in silence. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable before. “I…”

She should reach across the table and squeeze his hand, say he didn’t have to tell her, because, well, he didn’t. Her heart tightened, and somehow the words never made it past her lips. Shit, she wanted to know, even if it landed her in hot water. “Tell me.”

“I have happy memories about that place,” he said in a clipped, even robotic tone, like he had rehearsed an explanation for an emergency. “I used to vacation in that house with my family before my mother got sick and died.”

Crap. She remembered Zaine had mentioned Nico’s mother had suffered from schizophrenia and taken her own life when he was a kid. She drew in a breath, her fingers fidgety on her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I… My father sold that place without letting us say goodbye to it. He didn’t care how much we loved it there, he wanted all those memories gone.”

“Maybe he was hurting, and that’s how he dealt with your mother’s loss.”

A flicker of sadness gleamed in his eyes. He leaned closer. “You’re romantic, Emma Cavanaugh.” He ran his finger along her cheek. “That bastard Samuel better appreciate you.”

“You mean Simon?”

He waved her off. “Yeah. Whatever. He better give you all you deserve.”

“Thanks… I’m sure in time you’ll meet a dashing European supermodel who’ll convince you to marry and have kids and you’ll end up whipped,” she said.

“Impossible. Kids are not in my future.” The attendant called his name, and he stood, walked up to the counter, and grabbed the two drinks. He gave her the peach iced tea she’d ordered and took a sip of his coffee, his expression neutral.

She played with the lid of her drink, knowing full well she should drop the subject. He obviously already had. She took a gulp of her iced tea, and maybe the sugar encouraged her curiosity, because she swallowed it down, then set it on the table. “Why are you so sure you won’t ever have children? Do you have a crystal ball?” she asked, keeping her tone playful.

A flicker of an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint touched his emerald green eyes. Pain? Regret? She angled closer, wishing she could figure it out.

He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ve had a vasectomy.”

Her stomach curled, like someone had punched it. She blinked, her own reaction confusing her. What did she care? A strange, nauseating sensation cooled her veins. “I. That’s very…final. May I ask why?” A second later, she mentally slapped herself. It’d been his decision, because he didn’t want to have kids—and made sure it’d never happen. His longtime life goal contrasted with hers, and though it shouldn’t bother her, it did. It fucking bothered her.

He shook his head, lifting the coffee cup to his lips. “That’s a story for the next therapy appointment,” he said, in a voice that left no room for arguing.

…

“I’d like some iced tea, please,” Emma asked the bartender of the VIP lounge in the private airfield Nico had taken her to.

The slim blonde turned around to prepare the drink, and within a couple of minutes returned and handed it to Emma.

“How much is it?” Emma asked.

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