Page 8 of Bossed By Three Billionaire Brothers

“That’s the French Riviera you’re looking at. Pretty, huh?”

“Pretty” seemed like the understatement to end all understatements. I couldn’t believe howgorgeousthat little piece of France was, the sun hitting the water in just the right way to give the entire vista a sparkling glow as if I were looking at not Earth, but a little slice of Heaven.

“Louveciennes is down there?” I asked, referring to the seaside town where the men lived.

He grinned. “You’ve done your homework. And yes, it’s down there, just north of Nice. We’ll be landing about half an hour from there and will take a car the rest of the way.”

The pilot came onto the PA, informing the passengers that we were just about to start our descent. I kept my eyes glued to the landscape as it grew bigger and bigger in view, and I was able to make out the detail of the rolling, emerald-green hills and the winding streets of the little French towns.

We landed quickly, touching down at a small airport outside of Nice. We rolled down the runway, parking at a gate and coming to a stop. With a soft chime, the flight was over.

I was suddenly giddy. The nervousness I’d felt was gone, replaced by an eagerness to get out of the plane and take in the sights. I turned and was greeted with the sight of Sean in front of me, having already slipped out of his seat to grab my bag. He reached up as he pulled the bag out, the bottom of his shirt rising above his waistline and giving a lovely view of his hip notches and abs. I stared for a moment, the hint of his physique so sexy that I felt myself getting a little wet at just the glimpse I’d been afforded.

“Here you are.” His voice snapped me out of my daze, Sean placing my bag on the side of my seat before flashing me a smile. “Shall we?”

I shook my head, coming back to the moment. “We shall.”

Sean offered me his hand and I took it, the sensation of his warm, rough skin sending another fresh wave of arousal through me. He might’ve been a tech guy, but the texture of his hand reminded me of what a carpenter’s might feel like, the skin calloused in just the right way to let me know he was no softie.

He helped me out of my seat and I stretched one last time before heading down the aisle and off the plane. The gate attendants greeted us with friendlybonjoursas we stepped into the terminal, the building clean and sleek. Sean fired something back at them in what appeared to be perfect French, the attendants laughing good-naturedly as he flashed them a grin.

Of course, he speaks perfect French,I thought.

“Alright.” He put his hands on his hips. “I fucking hate airports. You fly private for long enough, and you get all kinds of spoiled.”

“Is your car here?” I stepped to his side, noticing again just how damn tall he was. He was easily just shy of six-and-a-half feet.

“Nah, we’re not driving. Got someone picking us up. Come on.” He gave me a wink before starting off, slinging his black leather bag over his shoulder and hurrying down the length of the terminal. I struggled to keep up, his long legs making me have to practically run in order to keep up with his pace.

We reached the baggage claim, Sean swiftly moving over to the carousel and effortlessly scooping off his bag, then mine, when I pointed it out. Once that was done, he led me over to a waiting area where a collection of men in sharp, dark suits waited with signs.

There was one driver that stood out, however. Instead of the stuffy black suits that the others wore, he was dressed in a casual white button-up and dark blue slacks, a bit of scruff on his face and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses that were both clearly expensive and slightly gaudy. He was tall and slender and he grinned as Sean approached, the two embracing for a quick, back-slapping hug and quickly conversing in French to one another.

When he turned his attention to me, the man whipped off his sunglasses and regarded me with an expression that bordered on disbelief.

“This is her?” he asked, his English fluent but tinged with a heavy accent. Before waiting for Sean to respond, he swooped in and took my hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a quick, polite kiss on my knuckles. “Mademoiselle, you have no idea how much of a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance. My name is Georges, and if you need anything, I am but your humble servant.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at how over-the-top his introduction was.

“Nice to meet you, Georges. I’m Genevieve, but everyone calls me Gen.”

He placed his hands on his heart and leaned back a bit, as if I’d struck him with an arrow.

“Gen,” he repeated. “Gorgeous, simplymagnifique. Now, Gen, when I say if you need anything, I mean it. You need a ride to the beach, I’m you’rehomme. Or, if you need a handsome Frenchman to accompany you around town and show you the finer points of Louveciennes, I would be more than happy to have you on my arm.”

Sean laughed, shaking his head as he came over and clapped his big hand down on Georges’ shoulder. “Alright, Lothario, we’ve just had a long flight, so let’s give her a little time to recover before you give her the full Georges treatment.”

“Ah, but of course.” He slipped on his sunglasses before coming over to take the bags from my hands. “Let us be on our way then—daylight’s burning, as you Americans say.”

Sean gave me a knowing smile, and I couldn’t help but laugh at what had just happened. The three of us headed out of the small airport, the air fresh and the sun revitalizing me the instant it touched my face. I stopped for a moment, closing my eyes and smiling as the warmth beamed down on me.

“Ah, there it is,” Georges said. “The magic ofl’aire Francaise.”

“No kidding,” Sean added. “You spend enough time in New York and you start to feel like your lungs are coated in gunk.”

I opened my eyes, feeling restored as I started off again.

“It’s sofreshhere,” I said.

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