Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 675(@200wpm)___ 540(@250wpm)___ 450(@300wpm)
He glances at her, amused, then back at me as I visibly stiffen.
“Ah. Your friends are much more polite than you.”
If I could get away with pushing this man overboard, then I honest-to-god would.
“That’s because they’re not being actively tortured,” I seethe.
Emma nudges me harshly in the ribs, and I wince as she takes over.
“Oh, ignore her,” she laughs, the sound far too loud to be considered normal or natural in any way. “This is just Poppy’s way of having fun. And believe me - she’s having so much fun. You should definitely keep bothering her.”
Frederic chuckles as I rub my palm over my sore ribs.
“That was the plan,” he comments as I glare daggers at Emma.
“Perfect,” she beams at him before turning to face me again. “Leah has gone to spend some more time with Jacques again, so I was just letting you know that Jas and I are just going to busy ourselves for a while.”
“Oh, no problem. I’ll come with -”
“No,” she interrupts, her voice a little too loud.
My eyes widen at her - silently pleading for her not to do this to me - but she just smirks, her own eyes practically twinkling with mischief as she continues on.
“No, it’s fine. Jas and I are going to have a bit of one-on-one time,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t seen her properly in days.”
Bullshit.
“You know what?” I say, beginning to turn on my barstool and make my way far, far away from Frederic. “I think I’ll just -”
"Where do you think you're going?" she interrupts, all innocent smiles and devious intent.
I frown at her.
"Literally anywhere that isn’t here,” I say through gritted teeth, keeping my voice low.
Emma gasps dramatically, and I can feel that asshole’s eyes burning into the side of my head.
"Poppy, you can’t wander off!” she says. “What if you get lost? Or worse - what if you fall overboard?”
I blink at her, waiting for whatever she has to come next.
Because honestly, that option sounds so much better than sitting with Frederic.
But like the traitor she is, Emma ignores my waiting gaze and opts to take advantage of her grip on my shoulders by keeping me pressed firmly to the seat that I very much don’t want to be in.
The Frenchman watches the entire interaction with undisguised amusement, one dark brow lifted in a way that makes me itch to throw my drink at him.
The thought actually takes me by surprise - enough that all of the tension in my body immediately loosens. It provides Emma with a new advantage, and she’s able to shove me down with a lot less resistance.
Honestly, I don’t know where this comes from.
I’ve never been a violent or overly aggressive person before. Not that I know of, anyway.
And yet, there’s something about him - or everything about him, really; his infuriating smirk, his obnoxiously perfect face, the way he’s always got a smartass response locked and ready…
It all makes me feel like I could genuinely commit a crime.
The worst part is that he knows it, too. He’s practically thriving off it.
I don’t even know why he pisses me off so much. It’s not like I know him. Not really.
And yet, somehow, he’s still managed to unlock this unexplored part of me - a part that wants to strangle him and shove my tongue down his throat in equal measure.
I hate it. I hate him.
And most of all, I hate that he looks like he’s having the time of his life just watching me suffer.
"Perfect!" Emma beams as I relax back into my seat. "Stay right there, Poppy. We’ll come and find you later."
She begins to skip away like she hasn’t just ruined my life, and I gape after her.
"Are you serious?!" I call out. “Emma!”
It’s no use.
She’s already gone, disappearing into the crowd of people who are not currently being held hostage by a French menace.
Frederic shifts slightly, turning just enough to fully face me. He has one arm draped lazily over the bar, and I give into my fate as my gaze slides over towards him.
"Well," he muses, adjusting his sunglasses. "This is cosy."
I clench my jaw, begging god, the universe, anything for the patience that I need to get through this encounter without snapping.
"Don't talk to me," I mutter, taking an aggressive sip of champagne.
He hums thoughtfully.
"I could do that."
I exhale, relieved.
"But it doesn’t sound like much fun."
"Come to think of it, do you ever stop talking?" I ask.
"Not when I'm entertained.”
"Great," I mutter dryly. "Nice to know I'm a walking amusement park."
"Yeah. Something like that."
I groan and tilt my head back towards the sky, my eyes squeezing shut.
This is fine. I can ignore him. I can pretend he’s not here. I can -
"You know," he says, shifting again, "despite your little performance, I think you actually like me being here."