“Hmm,” was all Bennett said to that.
What did the bachelor billionaire think of Kennedy? Maddie wondered. She’d love to know. But she couldn’t ask. They weren’t that close. They had a professional relationship.
“So how are you?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I was calling to ask you the same thing,” Bennett said.
His voice was deep and smooth and Maddie knew this man was very used to getting the answers he wanted and talking people into things. He had taken over his father’s business, but he’d grown it significantly in the time he’d been in charge. They’d only met in person once, but he’d been in an expensive suit and while he’d been friendly—and very enthusiastic about the bayou—he’d come off as sophisticated and commanding. Actually, all of that made his interest and excitement about the bayou and the tour company even funnier.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Everything is good.”
“Great. Glad to hear it. Especially with the typhoid and everything going around.”
Maddie opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She frowned. Then she said, “The what?”
“The typhoid fever,” Bennett said. “I’m glad to hear everyone is okay. I was, obviously, concerned to read about it.”
“You read about it?” Maddie asked. “What are you talking about?”
“On You Travel,” he said.
“What’s You Travel?”
“A travel review site,” Bennett told her. “One of the best. Though I check on Travel Time and World Wide, too.”
Maddie sighed. “Which one rates the bayou boys?”
Bennett chuckled. “I’ve seen comments on all three, but You Travel is the one with the star rating for each guy.”
Maddie rubbed a hand over the middle of her forehead. “There’s no typhoid fever, of course,” she said. “I can’t believe someone put that in a review.”
“Yes, imagine my concern, and probably that of the Louisiana Department of Health, when I read that,” Bennett said dryly.
Maddie dropped her hand. “The Louisiana Department of Health?” Crap, she hadn’t thought about that. Of course she hadn’t. She hadn’t thought for even one second that the girls from yesterday would write a review, not to mention one that included that.
“Don’t worry,” Bennett said. “I’ve contacted the woman and asked her to take the review down.”
“Oh good.” Then Maddie paused. “Wait, you did what?”
“I put a call into the woman and asked her to take it down. She did last night. So we’re fine.”
“You…how did you get a hold of her?” Maddie asked.
“I have ways,” Bennett said. “But in this case it wasn’t hard. People have to register with You Travel in order to post.”
“And that information is public?”
“No.”
“So you got it from You Travel?”
“I did. Well, my lawyer did.”
Maddie knew her eyes were wide. She was used to working with guys like Bennett. Guys who had the money and resources to do almost anything they wanted. But they were usually customers buying art from her. She’d never had one that was a…partner. Or an ally. Or whatever Bennett was. In other words, she’d never had someone who used that money and those resources for her. Her grandparents had had money. But they were more in the “we’re very wealthy for Northern California” income bracket than the Bennett Baxter income bracket. Because of their money, Maddie had been given a number of opportunities—the best education, credit cards, the ability to choose a profession based on her passions rather than what her paychecks would be—but she’d never had the ability to track down a virtual stranger and get them to do whatever she wanted.
“And she just agreed to take it down. No questions asked?” Maddie wanted to know.
“Yes. And no. She took it down, but there were questions. About typhoid. Which we, of course, explained was a joke—one made in poor taste—and that there was absolutely no risk of the disease in Autre. We convinced her to take it down because it was untrue and she realized it would make her foolish to have posted it. But,” he went on, his tone firmer, “I’m not going to convince people to take down true bad reviews. Like the one about Sawyer yelling at someone about a life jacket.”
Maddie knew that he could get rid of all the bad reviews. He was just more ethical than that. Maddie grimaced. It was harder to pin down which group might have posted that review about Sawyer and the life jacket. Sawyer was in general grumpy and not uncommonly stern with his tour groups. “I appreciate that.”
“I’m also not going to address the one about the blonde who runs the company lying about a woman’s shorts getting dirty,” Bennett said.
Good lord, did all of their customers post reviews? Maddie needed to keep that in mind. Generally, that was a good thing for businesses, and if this percent was any indication of how many usually left reviews, that was impressive. Unless the reviews were less than stellar, of course.
“Was it a bad review?” Maddie asked.
“It was strange. She said the tour itself was five stars. The woman lying about her shorts was a one star.”
“So an average of three then?” Maddie quipped.
“Maddie,” Bennett said firmly, in a very I’m-usually-in-charge tone. “Is everything okay down there?”
“It is,” she assured him. “It’s been…an adjustment. But things are fine. We’ll keep the reviews in mind.” She shook her head. That wasn’t fair to the guys. Clearly they were aware of the review sites and somehow had set up a system that encouraged reviews. She was actually the problem. Well, her and Sawyer. “I mean I will,” she corrected. “I’m the one who didn’t think that all through.”
“Online reviews are really important. We’re in a competitive business. Tourism is something people definitely research online.”
She didn’t miss that he’d used “we” in his comment. She smiled. Bennett was already mentally invested even if he hadn’t signed any documents yet. He was already using his influence to help them.
But she didn’t want to have to keep asking people to remove bad reviews. They’d—she’d—probably deserved those. She needed to use her head and not just react.
Wasn’t that supposed to be kind of her mantra down here?
She sighed. “You’re right,” she told Bennett. “And I’m sorry those happened. Thanks for your help.”
“Of course,” he said easily. “And I’m here if there are any issues you need more help with.”
Maddie smiled. She knew the guys and Kennedy weren’t enthusiastic about the idea of bringing Bennett on, but they could really use him. He not only had money to invest and resources that could help them at times, but he was a very successful businessman. She was certain he’d never taken an engine apart or handled a snapping turtle with his bare hands, but he could still be a great addition to their team.
“Thanks, Bennett. We’ll talk soon.” They were scheduled to meet on the Tuesday before she returned to San Francisco.
She ignored the pang in her chest when she thought about the plane ticket she had tucked into her daily planner.
“Looking forward to it,” Bennett told her. “Take care.”
They disconnected and Maddie blew out a breath, thinking about the call.
She would never have lied to a customer—twice—at the art gallery.
The art gallery doesn’t matter as much to you as this business does.
She acknowledged that truth. She had no personal stake in the art gallery. She liked working there, but she didn’t feel invested in it. She was invested in her own art, of course, but if people came through the door of the gallery and didn’t buy, she didn’t take it personally. If there was ever a bad review of the gallery online—which would never happen since their customers weren’t really the online-review-site type of people—she wouldn’t care. Art was subjective. What one person loved, another might hate. That was fine and nothing to get upset about.
&nb
sp; But someone not liking a swamp boat tour?
Yeah, she cared about that.
Even though she would have scoffed at that idea three weeks ago.
She wanted people to have a good time down here. She wanted them to think the guys were hilarious and fun. And if they thought they were sexy, too, that was fine. Kind of. She wanted to hear the little kids piling off the boats, gushing about how fast the boat went and seeing the turtles and gators, and running into the gift shop to buy books about the swamp and the animals that lived here. Not just for the money that generated, but because that was what travel and adventures were all about—learning and seeing and experiencing new things that opened minds to parts of the world that were different from what people were used to.
Maddie felt her heart flip at that.
Damn, she was getting invested here. Not monetarily, but emotionally. And not just with the Landry family and her grandmother and all the people of Autre as she’d feared—and expected—but with the business and what it did beyond making money.
It wasn’t just the kids, either. She loved watching everyone disembark, with huge smiles, their hair tousled by the wind, having just had a unique experience, no matter who they were or where they were from.
The Louisiana bayou was unlike anywhere else and the history and culture in the area was, too. She understood why the guys liked to show it off. She really did.
And that was going to be a problem.
She’d intentionally tried not to get attached. She’d thought it would be the people who would present the biggest problem. The people she already knew. And loved.
And she’d been right. They were a problem.
But she hadn’t been expecting the business itself to matter, and she definitely hadn’t foreseen starting to care about their customers.
They didn’t have a lot of repeat business. That was how tourism worked. People came for a visit, you showed them around, and they went home. Yet, even though they were new every time, Maddie cared that people had a good time here. Sure, she also wanted them to keep their hands off the actual boys of the bayou, but she was starting to understand that the guys were kind of playing a part. The hot, happy, fun-loving Cajuns who worked with their hands and got dirty on the bayou…and loved it. It wasn’t a big stretch of course. Which made it all the more appealing. They were actually the guys people saw when they took the tours or went out fishing with them. Maybe with the charm and flirtation and I-once-wrestled-a-gator-like-that-one turned up a notch.
She knew it all drew the male tourists in, too, actually. Even if it was subconscious. Josh, Owen, and Sawyer were the types of guys that women were attracted to, but that men liked, too. They were the guys men wanted to grab a beer with. They wanted to hear their crazy stories—ninety percent of which were true. They wanted to be like the bayou boys a little even. The tough, pure male, alpha types.
So she probably needed to stop lying to the women about typhoid and brown stains on their shorts just to keep them away.
Maddie blew out a breath and headed back into the office. She needed to redesign their brochure, help Kennedy process about twelve tours today, and somehow stop thinking about how it would all work if she actually stayed in Autre. Because that was ridiculous.
Unbelievable.
Two nights later, Maddie stared at the blank canvas in front of her.
Blank.
Still.
Again.
What the hell was happening?
She sighed and tossed her brush onto the counter next to her.
Cora had been great with Maddie setting up her painting stuff in the third bedroom on the second floor of the house. During the day the light was perfect. Of course, Maddie was at Boys of the Bayou during the day. Still, she should be able to at least sketch at this time of night. Or start something. Swipe at least one stripe of paint across the canvas.
But no.
She was feeling feelings. Lots of them. Mixed-up ones. Lust, and longing, and confusion, and irritation—mostly at herself, but also at Owen for keeping his pants zipped up the other day—and confusion, and worry, and confusion.
She should be able to paint. These were the things that fueled her. Being in the very midst of Autre and all the memories and emotions that she’d poured into her paintings over the past few years should have yielded some of her best work.
That wasn’t happening.
Maddie pushed her hair back out of her face as she regarded the canvas with a feeling of betrayal. “Fine. I guess I’ll go talk to people then instead.”
She’d seen a therapist for a few years after moving to California. She’d lost her mom tragically and her dad was in prison. Yeah, she’d needed therapy. But she hadn’t needed someone to tell her that she painted as a way to express emotions she didn’t have another way to express.
She didn’t have anyone she could talk to in California. Not at first, anyway. And come to think of it, she didn’t really have any close friends in San Francisco even now. Work acquaintances were about it. A couple of women she knew from college. But no one she’d spill her guts to.
So she painted. Got it all out that way.
Here…well, she had people to talk to. Did her subconscious know that? Was that why she couldn’t produce anything?
Well, great. If she couldn’t create here, that was just another reason she couldn’t stay.
She twisted her hair up into a messy bun and pulled a thin knit top over her tank. She checked her legs and the baggy white shorts she wore for paint. But how would they have gotten paint on them? It wasn’t like she’d actually been painting.
Huffing out a frustrated breath, she headed downstairs and out the door, then turned left to walk the block to Ellie’s. She hadn’t spent a lot of time there in the evenings. She’d been going back to her grandma’s house after the tours were done. They did do an evening tour three times a week, but she and Kennedy took turns being there for that. Maddie had used the time at Cora’s to catch up on work in California—the two-hour time difference helped there—and to just have some time alone. She wasn’t used to being with people all day long. The gallery was quiet and when she did have customers come in, it was one or two at a time. She wasn’t used to constant conversation, phones ringing, people shouting and laughing and stomping. Seriously, the Landry boys all stomped and the wooden dock made it all the louder.
Maddie pulled the door open to the bar and was met, as expected, with laughter and conversation and the amazing smell of Cajun cooking. She took a deep breath and felt herself smiling as she stepped inside. She also had to admit that she loved that she was not underdressed. She loved her dresses and heels that she wore to work in San Francisco. She loved her sundresses and sandals that she wore here. But she also loved the comfort of the loose-fitting shorts and baggy top and, even more, the idea that Ellie’s was a come-as-you-are kind of place. That wasn’t just in regard to clothes, either. Everyone who came in here could just be who they were—with the exception of complete assholes, of course—and that was just fine.
“Maddie!”
She looked up to see Kennedy and Tori waving at her from the far end of the bar.
Maddie grinned and started in their direction. She did a quick inventory of people. Cora was probably back in the kitchen and Ellie was leaning on the end closest to the door, talking to Leo—Maddie could swear that Leo was going to have his ass permanently shaped as one of Ellie’s barstools—and a guy she didn’t know. Josh was next to Tori, of course, and Sawyer came through the swinging doors from the kitchen carrying a to-go box as Maddie slid up onto the stool next to Kennedy.
So everyone was accounted for.
Except Owen.
Not that she was looking for him. But didn’t he eat dinner here every night? Maybe he was already done. But by the time the boats were cleaned up and everything stored and the guys headed home for showers before dinner, there was no way he’d already been here.
Maybe he was still coming over.
Her
heart flipped and she rolled her eyes. Good lord. She’d seen him all day on and off. Did she feel a little flutter when she heard his voice outside the office just before he walked through the door? Maybe. But she ignored it. Did she peek out the office window at the dock more often when she knew he was out there? Possibly. But she ignored that, too. Just like she was going to ignore any flips and flutters that occurred at the idea of him walking in while she was here.
“What are you doing here?” Kennedy asked her. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but Cora said you’ve been eating salads for dinner at her house.” Kennedy’s tone made it clear how she felt about salad. Pretty much how most people felt about liver and onions.
Maddie nodded. “I have. The pastries for breakfast and the fried food, grits, rice, cheese, etc. for lunch need to be balanced out.”
Kennedy gave her a look. “It’s not the spices?”
Well, she had started taking an antacid before bed. “Okay, maybe that, too.”
Kennedy shook her head. “Amateur.”
Maddie laughed.
“Hi, sweetie.” Ellie appeared, wiping the bar in front of Maddie. “Have you eaten?”
Ellie and Cora would make a lot more money if they didn’t feed all of their relations for free, but Maddie didn’t comment on that. “I haven’t.”
Ellie’s eyes lit up and Maddie smiled. These women loved nothing more than to feed the people they loved. And ply them with liquor, of course.
“What do you want?” she said. “Catfish? Gumbo?”
“Actually—” Maddie glanced at Kennedy. “Could I have a salad?” She almost winced as she said it.
Ellie sighed. “Salad is such a waste of your grandma’s talents.”
Maddie had to agree with that. “How about a small bowl of red beans and rice with it?”
Ellie nodded. “That’s better, I guess. And there’s always pie later.”
Maddie groaned. Her grandma’s pie was a definite weakness.
Ellie heard the groan and gave Maddie a wink. “I just like havin’ you in here.”
Maddie felt her heart warm as Ellie turned for the kitchen. That was nice. She wasn’t sure when she’d been wanted like she was in Autre.
Sweet Home Louisiana: Boys of the Bayou Book 2 Page 14