by Liz Talley
For a moment they both lay in the warm fragrant water, minds turning over the irony that had bound them together.
“What about now?” he asked, lifting her hand and kissing the tip of each finger. “Does this change anything?”
“I don’t know. Professionally? No. Personally? I’m not sure. We could try to sneak around and see each other. Or maybe we could say the hell with it and make our relationship public, but what would happen? We work for rival companies and eventually there’d be suspicion. I already feel like Monique’s heading that way. That’s no way to start a relationship.”
Graham wanted Tess so much, he didn’t want to hear any argument against getting what he wanted, but deep down he knew she was right. When she was nestled in his arms in their own private world, he could believe in a tomorrow for them, but in the cold light of day, when the eyes of the world were on them, he knew it would be impossible. “So this is it? Tonight is what we have?”
Tess turned her head, her green eyes mysterious in the candlelight. “I think it has to be this way. At least for now. Nothing has changed other than...I know you.” Her voice cracked a little.
He caught her lips, kissing her softly. Sadness settled around him. He’d found the perfect girl, but because he’d taken the perfect job, he couldn’t have her. Bitter, bitter irony. Actual tears caught in his throat when he thought of this being the last time he held Tess.
“Life is not fair,” he said, trying to keep sorrow from spoiling the time they had left.
“I’m beginning to understand that more and more. Come on. We still have tonight. I don’t want to think about tomorrow.” She stood and the water ran off her naked body.
And then he wasn’t so sad anymore.
She was a goddess—not of the usual variety—but of the Tess variety with her trim legs, soft ass and perfect breasts. Girl next door meets Barbie. Freaking awesome.
Graham rose and pulled her against him. “Only tonight.”
She kissed him. “A good policy for the moment.”
Much later, after they’d made love again, Graham walked quietly out of Tess’s bedroom where she lay dozing. He hadn’t had supper, and after spending the last few hours quenching his hunger for Tess, he was ravenous. He rounded the bar and nearly slipped on the papers that had fallen when he’d lifted Tess onto the counter. He shuffled the papers into a haphazard stack and tossed them and the folder onto the bar before opening the fridge.
Eh, not much to be had. He grabbed a yogurt that had expired a week ago and found the silverware. In the low light, he leaned against the counter and made short work of the yogurt. Looking around Tess’s Spartan kitchen, his gaze snagged on the only disorganized object—the stack of papers—and the drawings lying atop the folder he’d dropped.
He moved closer, lifting the first one so he could see it better in the light.
Stunning.
He picked up a few more and took them back to the light above the sink so he could see them better. Obviously they were the drawings done for Oedipus with their theme of “Song of the South.” Instead of large bulky props, Tess had layers of numerous smaller magnolias over the sides of the “Belle of Bourbon” with a twisting oak sprawled across the middle of the float, holding fiber optic glowing magnolias and glossy poster board leaves. The second layer resembled a huge white plantation house. The design was elegant, elaborate and...way better than what Ullo had put together.
He flipped through the other sketches: “Paddling the Mississippi,” “Ain’t She a Peach” and “Bayou Dreamin’.” All were artistic and—
“What the hell are you doing?” Tess said from the hallway.
Graham jumped, nearly dropping the computer-generated sketches. “I was picking up the papers we’d knocked down.”
She crossed her arms over the large T-shirt she’d pulled on. “Way over there?”
Tossing the sketches back upon the folder, he shrugged. “Everything fell out. I came to get something to eat and they caught my eye.”
Narrowed eyes. Mistrust.
He held up his hands. “I’m only human. Those sketches are like porn to a fifteen-year-old boy. I can’t not look.”
“This is what I’m talking about. Competing against each other, minding our words, worrying about subconsciously sabotaging each other’s work—this is why it can’t work between us,” she said, padding into the kitchen and stacking the drawings together before sliding them back into the folder.
“Does it help to say your proposal for Oedipus is...so good I’m breaking a sweat?”
Her head snapped around. “You’re just saying that because I let you tie my hands to the bed and play Princess Leia and Han Solo a few minutes ago.”
“Is that why you called me Han?” he joked, pulling her to him. “Baby, those are brilliant. Really beautiful.”
“Those are the early copies, but probably won’t be enough for Miles. He protects the integrity of the parade, but he’s more a nuts-and-bolts guy. He’ll appreciate working with you,” she said, relaxing against him, even as her gaze stayed on the folder. “I don’t want to talk business. I want to go back to bed with you, feel you against me. Morning will come soon, and until the first ray peeks over the sill, I need to stay in the world we’ve created.”
Ducking his head, Graham placed a gentle kiss atop her head. He wanted that, too, but he wanted it to last past morning. But at 1:17 am, his brain was too fuzzy to figure out how to make that happen...and his body had gone from boneless to hard while holding Tess.
There were better things to do than contemplate the morrow.
Daylight would come soon enough and pop the bubble of contentment that enveloped them.
Like that Scarlett O’Hara chick, he’d think about another day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MILES BARROW’S OFFICE held a huge desk, a huge blue marlin mounted on the wall, a huge plate glass window overlooking Magazine Street and a small assistant twitching nearby like a bluejay guarding its nest.
“Julian, sit down or go fetch more coffee. You’re driving me batty with your hovering,” Miles said, leafing through the contract Graham had brought, his legs stretched in front of him, huge leather desk chair tilted back.
“I don’t hover,” Julian drawled, pressing his hands down the skin-tight chambray jacket. Slim white trousers tailored down to classic oxfords. A jaunty bowtie, moused faux hawk and dark edgy glasses completed his dapper look. “But I will go for coffee if you want. Mr. Naquin?”
“None for me, thanks,” Graham said, waving a hand and trying to look at home while his gut clenched awaiting Miles’s response. This deal meant the difference between a decent 2016 and a subpar one...and he’d seen what Upstart had delivered.
“I don’t need the caffeine anyway,” Miles muttered. “Just work on the Happy Burger case.”
Julian held up a hang loose sign and then the door snicked closed, leaving Miles to continue his hmms after reviewing each page.
Finally, the large man set the contracts followed by the numbered float specs on his desk and looked up at Graham. “Interesting.”
“I think so, and I think it’s a solid proposal. Dave Wegmann, our art director, took your vision and created something over-the-top, and we’re offering you more perks than we’ve ever offered another krewe. Frank Ullo wants to keep you happy, Miles.”
Miles nodded, making a teepee of his hands atop his large stomach. “And I like that. But this isn’t brain surgery, right? I like the relationship I have with Ullo. We’ve always used you guys, but I gotta admit there have been some issues in the past with labor costs and parade day glitches. This new outfit Frank’s daughter is working for has promised me those bumps will be smoothed out. Her floats aren’t exactly what I was looking for, but sometimes the experience with prop builders is more important.”
“Not what you’r
e looking for?” Graham said, leaning forward, his emotions mixed. Something within him hitched at the thought of Miles not liking what Tess had created for Oedipus. How could anyone not appreciate the designs she’d created? “I actually saw a few of them. Too elaborate?”
Miles made a face. “Since when has an artist for a rival company ever showed her designs? And, no, that wasn’t the issue. Not detailed enough, in my opinion.”
Something prickled on the back of Graham’s neck. “I won’t comment on how, but I thought they were exquisite, detailed and, honestly, better than ours.” He pressed a hand against his head and mumbled, “I probably shouldn’t have said that. Stupid.”
Miles chuckled. “Look, guy, this ain’t Wall Street and though business is business, you know how things are run in New Orleans. I don’t hold nothin’ against you as long as it don’t affect me.”
Graham rocked back in his chair, discomfited, as Miles spun his chair. An attorney by day, krewe captain by whatever was left over after billable hours, Miles didn’t seem to be the most organized of men. Which is probably why he spun back around empty-handed and pressed a button on his phone. “Julian!”
“You don’t have to yell into the phone, Miles,” Julian drawled like the smart-ass he obviously was.
“Get me the Upstart proposal,” Miles said, ignoring Julian’s tone.
“As your generation says, ‘10-4,’ big guy,” Julian responded.
Five seconds later the assistant entered and handed off the bonded proposal. He turned and winked at Graham.
“Don’t mind him. Bold as the devil, but the best legal assistant I’ve had. He’s taking the LSATs next month so I’ll probably lose him,” Miles said, opening the proposal. “This is what the courier brought.”
He passed it to Graham who flipped through quickly. None of Tess’s designs were in the proposal. Graham snapped it closed. “I’m confused.”
Miles lifted his wooly eyebrows. “Why?”
“These aren’t the sketches I saw.”
The big man shrugged. “This is what I got.”
“Hmmm,” Graham said, shaking his head. Something was rotten in Denmark. He hadn’t prodded Tess any further about business—they’d been busy exploring other pleasurable things, and when they’d parted this morning, they’d agreed to go back to whatever it was they had before, each agreeing it had to be over for now. Tess had given him one night, perhaps relying on their lovemaking as a time-released medication, working long enough to get her through the next few weeks. Or maybe it was merely a last-ditch effort to get him out of her system. Or maybe he didn’t know what it was other than it had given him another taste of something he wanted so badly, and that would have to do him for a while.
But he had a bad feeling about what Monique had obviously done. His ex-partner and lover used Tess to bring in business, like a prized carrot dangled in front of krewe royalty. But if Monique didn’t value Tess as part of her team beyond some honeyed trap, there was going to be an issue. Tess deserved to be valued as a designer...as a team member. Monique had quite deceitfully hog-tied her, subbing what he was quite certain were his ex’s own designs instead of Tess’s. Monique’s biggest flaw had always been her hubris. Unable to let go of her need to control every aspect of Upstart, she’d submitted her own designs rather than better ones.
Here was the reason Upstart would never rise above midtier. If a CEO wasn’t willing to toss his or her own pride aside and rely on the person best for the job, then all the efforts to nab new business would be for naught.
This was where Frank Ullo trumped Monique.
“Miles, if that’s so, you should know Tess’s designs are ten times better than what’s in this proposal,” Graham said, slapping the Upstart proposal on the oak desk. “And they’re better than my proposal. God help me.”
Miles narrowed his eyes, looking confused. “So why? If Monique wanted the Oedipus contract, why wouldn’t she give her best?”
Graham licked his lips and thought how to say what needed to be said without sounding crass. “There is much to admire about Monique, but she’s, how do I put this, wrapped up in herself?”
Miles nodded. “Egocentric, sure, but still. These are good sketches, nothing wrong with them, but if she knew—”
“She wouldn’t. She can’t look beyond her own nose. Monique likes to control every aspect of Upstart. Not a bad thing, but team player she ain’t. So in her mind, she gave you what she believed were the best sketches—hers. The world revolves around Monique. That’s about as nice as I can say it.”
Miles sat, silent and taciturn.
“Look,” Graham said, closing his eyes briefly before opening them, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you need to call Monique and ask for Tess’s set of designs. You don’t have to tell her how you know what you know, but give Tess a shot at landing your business. Her design work is better. Plain and simple.”
Miles Barrow hadn’t been born yesterday. He shifted his gaze to a plant that needed a good watering and sat still for a moment before returning his gaze to Graham. For several seconds Miles studied him. Graham didn’t like the perusal, for the man seemed to possess the uncanny ability to see within to the soul. After a moment, recognition sparked within the depths of the man’s eyes. “Okay. Tess is a good girl. Things ain’t been grand for her lately, so I think you’re right. She deserves a shot even if I have to tangle with Monique for it to happen.”
Graham didn’t know whether to punch himself in the face or pat himself on the back. He’d just wrapped a ribbon around Oedipus and given it to the competition.
God, he was a fool.
Or maybe he’d righted the wrong inadvertently done to Tess Ullo.
Miles stood and offered his hand to Graham. “Damn, man, I can’t say you’re a good businessman.”
Graham’s ego shrank a bit.
“But you’re a good person.” Miles gave a hard squeeze. “And in the game of life that’s always more important.”
“Tell that to Frank.”
“Frank knows. Your company is only as good as the person running it. There’s a lot you can learn from Frank Ullo. He’s a good businessman, and though many don’t know it, he’s a good person. Not everything is out for all to see, you know what I mean?”
Graham dropped Miles’s hand. “I do know.”
The big man came around the desk and slapped a hand on Graham’s back. “I’ll have a word with Monique and be in touch.”
Graham gave Miles a final handshake, a wave to Julian and then stepped out of the tidy shotgun house that had been converted into an office and inhaled the humid air.
Next week he might be out on his ass, tossed there by Frank Ullo for destroying any chance the company had to revitalize the business.
But for the time being he’d cherish the idea he’d done something honorable. He’d done something brave. One step closer to his goal of being a better man...and one step closer to losing the job he loved.
* * *
TESS LOOKED OVER the notes the captain of Icarus made on the prop rotations she’d suggested and glanced at her inbox. Monique had been out of the office all afternoon and hadn’t answered when Tess had texted her about the new guidelines the city had put out regarding rider-safety harnesses. She wanted to make sure Upstart had already made them on the 2015 floats because the penalties assessed for failure to comply were stiff. The krewes would expect the builders to get that right.
Spinning in her chair, she closed her eyes and sighed.
All morning she’d tried to get serious work done instead of reliving Sunday night in her mind.
Being with Graham had been good...almost healing. After weeks of feeling so alone, having him beside her connected her, gave her a glimpse of what it would feel to be in a relationship with him.
Oh, it wasn’t just the sex—whic
h was amazing, of course. Their conversations stimulated and comforted just as they had from the first time she’d met him on that barstool at Two-Legged Pete’s. She wanted more than what she currently had with him which was...nothing.
Okay, they were nothing on paper, but maybe they could—
“What the hell, Tess?” Monique growled from the open doorway.
Tess spun. Oh, God. Monique knew about her and Graham. But how could she? Unless the woman had been following him around. Or maybe she’d hired a private eye or something. Sometimes women did that in custody cases...but she and Graham weren’t in a custody battle, were they? “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Monique said, framed in the doorway, looking like she might spit fire. Tess’s office masqueraded as a broom closet, so Monique stood close, her eyes snapping, her dark hair slicked back into a low ponytail. Dressed in a black minidress and fishnet stockings, she was the epitome of every Disney villainess. Sorta scary.
And right on cue, her lackey Cecily popped her head over Monique’s shoulder, self-satisfied half smile on her face.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tess hedged, hoping it was something other than the fact she’d had sex with the competition.
Like, three times.
“Miles Barrow called me and wanted a meeting. Basically, we’ve landed the Oedipus contract with the stipulation you take the lead,” Monique said, her eyes still narrowed to slits. For someone who should be over the moon, she was decidedly aggravated.
Tess, relieved this wasn’t over Graham, made a face. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. That’s wonderful news.”
“Miles wants your float designs.”
“Well, yeah.” Tess couldn’t grasp the conversation. She felt as if she’d fallen into some parallel dimension where bad news was good news and vice versa. “That’s what we gave him.”
“No.”
“No?” Tess sat back in her chair. “You didn’t sub my proposal? You subbed yours?”
“Exactly. But somehow he knew about yours.”