The Olive Grove Agreement: A Hot and Hilarious French Villa Romance – A Mills & Swoon™ Short

 📘 The Olive Grove Agreement: A Hot and Hilarious French Villa Romance – A Mills and Swoon 
One reluctant heiress. One infuriatingly hot ex-chef. And one very firm agreement made over figs and fornication.
Title: The Olive Grove Agreement
A Mills and Swoon Short
Where inheritance meets innuendo and everything smells faintly of rosemary and bad decisions.Cass Winter was not in the mood for a French villa.She had deadlines, a dodgy knee, and the last time she tried to drive on the right side of the road she’d accidentally parked in a fountain. But apparently, her great-aunt Iris had passed away and left her La Maison du Hérisson, a once-grand property in the hills of Provence. And so, armed with nothing but SPF 50 and mild resentment, Cass arrived.It was hotter than she expected. And louder. Especially in the garden, where someone was swearing in French and violently attacking an olive tree.She squinted.He was shirtless. Tanned. And wielding garden shears like they owed him money.“You’re not supposed to be here,” he barked, in the polished English of someone who’d once dated a model named Saskia.Cass raised a brow. “And you are?”“I live here,” he snapped. “Who the hell are you?”Meet Luc Brousseau, disgruntled former chef, current squatter, and all-round beautifully difficult man.It turned out Iris had taken him in after he “quit” (read: was fired from) a Michelin-starred kitchen in Lyon for seducing a critic and flambéing her handbag. She let him stay in the guesthouse in exchange for cooking and grumpiness.And now? Now the guesthouse had no formal deed. And Luc had no intention of leaving.“I’m not going anywhere,” he said over dinner that night, ladling cassoulet into bowls like a man who knew exactly what he was worth. “Unless you drag me out in handcuffs.”Cass smiled sweetly. “Don’t tempt me.”The first week was war. Passive-aggressive Post-it notes on the fridge. Loud music at strategic times. He cooked at midnight. She reorganised the pantry just to upset him.But then… something shifted.It began with wine. Then a storm. Then her power went out and he “reluctantly” invited her to sleep on his sofa. One glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape became two. Then his hand was on her thigh. Then her dress was on the floor.He kissed like he argued—deliberately, intensely, and with far too much tongue.“Still want me gone?” he growled, half-naked, pinning her against the ancient stone wall.“Ask me again tomorrow,” she gasped.In the morning, she found a croissant, a perfectly brewed coffee, and a note:Keep the villa.
I’ll keep the guesthouse.
We’ll share the rest.
—LShe sipped the coffee, watching him prune a fig tree shirtless. Again.Cass smiled.The inheritance wasn’t the only thing that needed handling delicately.The End.