Page 33 of Good Girl's Bad Lessons

Desmorais paused.

His assistant reappeared carrying a tray with three mugs of what looked like tea. Carefully, Desmorais leaned and grabbed one of them, thanking her in French, then glanced at the contents inside the mug.

Emma peered at Nico before taking her own tea and bringing it to her lips.

He needed a much stiffer drink than that. Maybe Desmorais hadn’t answered right away because he’d heard about his family’s tragedy and didn’t know how to respond. After all, how could he not? His mother had committed suicide, and his father turned into a functioning alcoholic. Ashamed, he and Marco had left for the United States after high school, to secure as much distance from their father as possible.

“I can show you around,” Desmorais said. “Soon.”

“I appreciate that, thanks.” Nico reached for the mug and took a drink of the tea. A sense of purpose filled him. What if he used his sob story to get Desmorais to sell him the property? A shameless dirty trick, sure, but if it worked, why not? Didn’t Emma complain he never told her much? Nico rocked back on the sofa. She’d better be ready for what’s coming. Maybe he’d screw her rapport with Desmorais after all was said and done. But fuck, he’d come too far to retreat.

Retreating had never been an option.

…

“More?” the cook asked, after dashing out of the kitchen to receive the compliments.

“No, thank you,” Emma said in French. “Lunch was perfect. I may need a crash diet after eating so much. Seriously,” she said, earning a smile from the short man in his forties. Desmorais joined in on the fun and smiled.

Lunch had been interesting, with them talking about Mauritius’s lifestyle and economy. Nico had done his homework; he was a successful businessman, after all, and had asked questions to engage Desmorais and keep him speaking to him. She chimed in whenever needed, but let Nico be the ringmaster as much as possible.

Still, tension stiffened her shoulders. Desmorais was hard to read. She’d almost expected him to mention the sanctuary project when they discussed his love of dogs, but he’d been tight-lipped about the subject, so she followed his lead. When she translated business dealings, he always held a damn good poker face until the last minute. So, besides his apparent acquiescence, there was a strong chance he wouldn’t give up the place he loved for any amount of money in the world.

Could she blame him? She loved her childhood home, and when her mother decided to downsize after the kids were up and out, she’d missed it terribly. If she had been rich, she’d probably have bought it for some stupid sentimental reason, too. Because that had been the house her father had lived in. Her heart squeezed for a moment. Nico wasn’t so crazy after all, with his hell-bent need to buy this place.

A part of her tensed up, because she didn’t want him to suffer with bad news. I’m such an idiot. He’d spelled out his not wanting any kind of attachment and here she was worried about the outcome for his sake. Besides, if Desmorais learned she’d told Nico about the sanctuary and brought him here to annoy him as he tried to buy the one property Desmorais probably would never part with…there was a good chance Desmorais would consider her unethical. She’d always prided in excelling at customer relations and now—

“How about that tour?” Desmorais asked, and Nico stood immediately.

She slapped her forehead. Oh, the poor bastard. He wanted this so badly. Nico pulled out her chair and she rose to her feet, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

Soon, Desmorais took them on a stroll through the immense property, taking them to the second floor, where most of the rooms were located. She appreciated the airy, open floor plan allowing lots of natural lighting through the colonial-type blinds and large glass windows.

A glint hit Nico’s eyes and remained there as he walked alongside Desmorais. She paid more attention to his reaction than the extraordinary décor of the house—if a little extravagant for her taste.

“May I?” Nico asked in front of one room with the door closed.

Desmorais shrugged. “Of course. Why don’t you reminisce? I’ll be waiting in the backyard. Take your time.”

Desmorais marched out of sight, and she heard him going down the stairs. Nico opened the door and entered the room she imagined had been his in the past. She inhaled and entered the space without asking him if he wanted her there. This time, she wasn’t going to give him an option.

“Hey,” she whispered softly.

A nicely made bed occupied the corner, with two nightstands, one on each side. A vintage-looking dresser and a white armoire completed the furniture, and a couple of landscape pictures adorned the walls. This could easily pass for a hotel room, yet judging from the emotion in his eyes, it’d meant so much more.

“What did it use to be?” she asked, unable to tame her curiosity any longer.

He touched the armoire, playing with the small handle then opening it. What did he expect to find?

“A playroom. We spent a lot of our time here.”

“Nice.”

“My mom had picked bold colors, not a common thing back then, and painted the walls herself. She’d made rainbows and clouds,” he said, his voice wavering. He perched his hands on his waist and studied the place.

She stood by his side. His eyes seemed glossy, sad.

Her fingers tingled to touch him, to squeeze his shoulders or stroke his forearm. If she did, he’d retreat. So she remained still and silent, hoping her nonverbal support would prompt him to continue his reminiscing.

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