by Linda Joyce
“It didn’t have to go like this,” Henri said, sinking into the chair.
Rex snorted. “You talk about knowing me. About I’m practical and responsible. How good I am at business. But what you have failed to understand about me is that I’m loyal, too. And I believe in the truth, whereas you have no loyalty to anyone but yourself. As for the truth, you’re willing to cover it up as long as you get paid.”
“I wanted to claim you.”
“Only when Momma died. What about the ten years before that?”
Henri’s shoulders sagged.
“You prick. Don’t you think my cousin and I ever talked about the fact that we were born only a few months apart? You were married with a kid on the way, and you banged my mother.”
“Don’t call it that. It wasn’t like that. I loved her. Loved her.”
“And what about my aunt, your wife?”
“I loved her, too.”
“Not enough to make the marriage work.”
“Now, Rex.” Henri straightened in the chair. “You know that having a restaurant isn’t always good for a family life. You date beautiful women, but you haven’t married. You’re too dedicated, loyal, to your business. That’s what feeds your soul.”
Henri was right about not being married, but not for the reason he put forth. The ten-year-old boy who learned the truth of his parentage, learned his momma had lied to him all his life, left him with a secret to carry alone, had walled off his heart to true love, never fully trusting a woman…until Nola, and even she lied about her feelings. Kayla was the only woman he believed would always tell him the truth.
“Henri, the house isn’t for sale. The restaurant, well, Kayla and I will figure it out, but count on getting an offer to buy out your ten percent from the two of us.”
“Be reasonable, Rex. You’re going back to New York imminently. Don’t make any rash decision now. I promise, together we can take Arceneau’s to the next level, and Kayla will always have a job.”
“Why do you think I’d return to New York now? I need to work things out with Kayla first.”
“Ah. Well.” He licked his lips and cut his gaze toward the door. “Listen. You do what you need to do.” He stood and took several steps. “Let me know what you and Kayla decide. I’m going to go now.”
“Not before you hand over the cuff links that belong to my father. I don’t know when you stole them, but I gave them to Papa for his sixtieth birthday. Custom-made.”
“No. Prove it.”
As Henri started down the stairs, Rex shouted, “I’m wondering if the D.A. would have any interest in this case I’m building against you.” Could he bring charges for fraud or embezzlement? Maybe not, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. But in the meantime, he had to make Kayla see the big picture, make her understand, and make the best decision for her future.
But what about Nola? Disappointing her cut just as deeply. He couldn’t possibly help cater her parents’ anniversary party, and in all likelihood, wouldn’t be around for the fundraiser she planned. How could he make her understand? He had to go to New York.
“Now.” Echoes of Henri’s words swirled around him. Momentarily dizzy, Rex held on to the side of the desk for support. Something wasn’t right.
Chapter 19
Nola made her way to the kitchen. “Kayla?”
She’d never seen her friend so angry as when she’d stormed red-faced from the office. A nagging worry filled Nola. Good-natured Kayla always saw the brighter side of things. She was snarky at times, true, but always optimistic. Always willing to lend a hand, like with the community band. Kayla made people feel comfortable with more than just sumptuous food. Could she offer the same thing to her friend now that she needed it the most?
“She left. Flew out of here like rockets were strapped to her feet. Marquis went after her.” One of the waitresses thumbed in the direction of the kitchen’s back door.
Walking outside and into the shadows cast by buildings in the late afternoon sun, Nola ventured to the corner. A young man jogged toward her. “Miss Nola Belle. A word, please?”
Nola recognized Marc Sharp, the sleazy news reporter from Back Beat. She turned in the opposite direction, hoping to avoid him.
“Wait. I need confirmation of a story.”
Nola kept walking, picking up her pace. Behind her, his steps pounded the sidewalk. He could only mean bad news. Panicked, she turned into a daiquiri bar. Headed for the ladies’ room. The place was half-full with tourists, not a good place to hide. But in her current state of agitation, the newshound was the last person she wanted to talk with. She’d hide any place she could find.
Bang. Bang.
“You’ll have to come out sometime,” he shouted. “I’m going to print the story I have, but I do want to give you a chance to add your slant. Document the facts. Give me a quote.”
No purse. No phone. She couldn’t call and ask the manager at the bar to distract the menace chasing her. Glancing up, she noticed a frosted window. She’d never fit through the tiny space even if she managed to pry the bars off.
“Get it together,” she muttered, then washed her hands. After patting her face with damp hands, she dried them.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on the door, nearly smacking him as it opened.
“Miss Nola. Thanks for talking with me.” His palms were pressed together as though offering gratitude for her time.
“Mr. Sharp. I have nothing to say.”
He grinned. “You might once you hear what I’ve learned.”
Glowering at him, she pursed her lips.
“Is it true that you had a little tickle and slap with Emile Broussard at the Carousel?”
“What did you say?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly. Tickle and slap?
“After which, he gave you the key to his hotel room. And after that, he gave you the lease for your community band. Over other charitable organizations bidding on the same lease.”
So far, what Marc had said, was mostly true, though very misconstrued. She slapped Emile when he tried to tickle her while they were at the Carousel. He did slide his key to her, but she’d left it on the bar in front of him before walking out. And after that, she had received the contract in question, but nothing sordid or untoward had ever happened between her and Emile Broussard. That day. But years ago, they’d had one date—he was a charismatic college boy and she a senior in high school. At a Mardi Gras party, he humiliated her when he dumped a bucket of Hurricanes—rum and passion fruit syrup—on her and demanded she participate in the wet t-shirt contest. Now if she confirmed the facts Marc Sharp offered, people would have the wrong impression of her…worst still, of her relationship with Emile. On the other hand, what did it matter? Emile had reneged on renewing the lease and was kicking her out of the community center. But the parents of her band kids and the headmaster at school would take a dim view of things if Mr. Sharp splashed the allegations as front-page news.
“I’ll take a ‘no comment’ if you’d like. That’s certainly printable.” He grinned. She wanted to wipe the smile off his face. But dare she even utter a word? It would end up in print for perpetuity. People would think the worst. Her parents would be outraged—hopefully at him and not her. Still, her family would be shamed. But none of what he’d said, if examined beyond the shallow meanings, was true. Well, except that if he printed her ‘no comment’ that would be a direct quote.
“Mr. Sharp, do you want a full story? A real story that has merit?”
“Sure, that’s what I’m after.”
“Then prove to me you’re a serious journalist and meet me tomorrow at the community center at three p.m. I’ll give you ‘the rest of the story’ and you’ll be able to quote me on everything. But…”
“But what?”
“I want the local councilwoman there, too. If you can’t get her there—then, I’ll be happy to give you an interview in her office.”
Marc’s grin grew wide. “This suddenly got very interesting. Okay, I�
��ll see what I can do. How do I reach you?”
“I’ll check in with you.” Nola nodded and saluted. This was her chance to grab an audience with the councilwoman and bypass Emile. She didn’t want to destroy his reputation or career, but just get him out of her way. She wouldn’t allow a single error in judgment to haunt her for the rest of her life. Besides, cowering wasn’t her style.
Turning her thoughts back to Kayla, she had to find her. She needed her phone, but it was at the restaurant. Heading back, she couldn’t wait to call Kayla. Also, while there, she could talk with Rex. He had to be upset. Kayla didn’t own all the rights to anguish from bad news.
She entered the kitchen at Arceneau’s. Rex stood writing the dinner specials on a whiteboard. The kitchen was beginning to bustle as staff readied things for the dinner service.
“Did Kayla come back?” she asked, finding her backpack and phone.
“She called and said she was taking the night off.” Rex continued writing.
“Where is she?”
“Marquis said he took her home. She says she’s going to swim in the pool.”
“That’s just crazy.” Why wasn’t he upset? The world was rotating off its axis and Rex was working on a menu? The rope of anxiety twisting her in knots made her want to fly to Kayla’s to make sure she was okay, then talk some sense into her.
Rex set a marker on the tray and turned to her. “Can you encourage her to talk to me? I don’t want to take the business away from her. I came back to help her get it on track, to teach her how to run it on her own. That was my plan, then head back to New York. I’ve accomplished my mission. It’s time for me to go.”
“Go?” Her heart sank. She shook her head. She’d predicted it from the beginning, but now that he’d spoken the words, all doors slammed shut. There could be no hope for them.
“My plane leaves tomorrow morning. Kayla needs to get her ass in here to work. Help me help her make sense of this. I’ll even consider swapping out my share of the business for her share of the house. She’ll own ninety percent of Arceneau’s.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Her aching heart bounced against the ground. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop the tears welling in her eyes. Her chest tightened in the spot where her heart used to beat. “I won’t get involved in your financial negotiations, but I’ll certainly talk with her and see if I can get her to talk to you. I need time. You can’t leave.”
“She’s being irresponsible. If she wants this place so much, why isn’t she here”—he motioned with a flourish—“to toss me out of the kitchen like she’s done in the past? Now that we know Henri was siphoning money, and it’s stopped, I believe she can do this—all on her own.”
In her vision, Rex blurred.
You can’t leave. You can’t. I love you.
Nola went to him. Slipping her arm around him, she led him to the small office and closed the door. “Don’t you see, she doesn’t want to do this without you. You’re her big brother, not just her business partner. She still looks up to you. Counts on you. She surely doesn’t want to be in business with Henri.”
“Well, legally, he does own ten percent.”
“I’ll bet he’ll sell,” she prompted.
Just don’t leave.
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she leaned into him. “I have ulterior motives for wanting you to stay.” She rested her head against his chest. Her heart skittered as he hugged her in return. “You’re catering my parents’ anniversary party, and you promised to help with the fundraiser for my band.”
Stepping back, he put space between them. His hands gripped her arms. “I have to go. There was a fire at my flagship restaurant.”
She drew a sharp breath as her hand flew to her mouth.
“The small barn at the farm burned, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Rex, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
He leaned back against the desk, putting more space between them. “That was the call you overheard before Henri arrived.”
“You do have to go.” Her heart ripped a jagged tear. Problems came at her rapid fire. Sharp’s interview. The anniversary party. The band. Her job at Arceneau’s in limbo. Kayla grieving. Rex leaving. Her knees weakened. Rex moved quickly and pulled out a chair. She sat. Biting her bottom lip, she fought telling him she loved him. He might take that as emotional blackmail—her forcing him to choose her over all he had up north. She couldn’t do that. And she couldn’t leave New Orleans.
Rex knelt on one knee next to her. “Come to New York. I’m pretty sure I can get you an audition. There’s lots of work there for you. It will give us chance.”
“Audition?” She eyed him warily.
“I made some calls, yeah? Talked to some people. I’m pretty sure I can get it lined up for you. We can be together.”
How could he go behind her back, not tell her, that he was trying to engineer her career? Jason accused her of backstabbing him, only she hadn’t, but now understood where he got that idea. Rex was used to fixing things. Mr. Responsible. But she didn’t need fixing. She needed to make her own decisions. Make her own mistakes. Had Rex been one of them?
“No.” She folded her arms over her chest. She couldn’t live anywhere else but New Orleans. Not even Fleur de Lis offered the lifeblood she needed to live. The energy of the city was the essence of who she was and all she hoped to be.
“Nola?”
She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “You need to go. You. Need. To. Go. I’ll talk with Kayla and tell her your offer about the swap. In fact, I’ll go now. I’ll be back to sing at ten, just like my contract says. But, I won’t work for you, Rex Arceneau.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t matter. My contract was with your father. Not you. Not Kayla. I’ll come back because my fans, your regular customers, expect me to be here. I won’t disappoint them.”
Like you disappointed me.
Her heart breaking and with only anger to shore her up, she rose, grabbed her belongings, and left without looking back…not even to see her broken heart dragging the ground.
Blindly walking toward Canal Street, Nola flicked away tears. She stepped off the curb and onto the brick-paved street to avoid a crowd on the corner being entertained by a mime.
“I should’ve known. All the signs were there.” The minute she’d laid eye on him, she’d experienced a connection. It surpassed time and place. But intuition gave rise to all of her fears. Just what she had surmised would happen came to fruition. She might love Rex Arceneau forever…a pain she would be forced to endure. But never would she remain in a relationship with a man who tried to manipulate her.
“As my granddaddy used to say, ‘you bet on people like you bet on horses—by past performances.’ Sage advice.”
Rex…she recalled the limo and his first appearance at Fleur de Lis. How her heart had beat in 12/8 time. How his captivating smile nearly pulled her from her second-floor bedroom window. The yin and yang of attraction battled. Desire won out in the end.
What to do now? Her list loomed large. She’d counted on Rex’s help. But he had more pressing matters. Business responsibilities. They came first. Managing obligations, she understood that fact of life. However, she couldn’t disappoint the kids in her band. Kayla could cater her parents’ anniversary party. By comparison, all easy fixes.
But how did she go about replacing her heart?
Chapter 20
“Do a last check of the dining room. Light candles on the tables,” Rex told the headwaiter. Back inside the kitchen, Rex gave final orders to the kitchen staff. Everyone scurried to carry out his commands. Everything was ready to begin dinner service. The doors would open promptly at five p.m. He’d manage tonight without Kayla, but what about all the tomorrows? Would he have to break down and ask Uncle Henri for help just to keep the doors open? He shuddered at the thought. But his brain had produced no further options.
At five minutes to five, Kayla sauntered through
the back door in black slacks and white chef’s coat. She grabbed a white apron from the cupboard and tied it around her, looking the part of a professional chef.
She didn’t acknowledge him, and he crossed the kitchen to stand beside her. “Kayla, can we talk? Did you talk to Nola?”
She walked to the sink and washed her hands, then dried them with paper towel. Grabbing a clean cotton towel, she tucked it into the waist of her apron.
“This is silly. We need to talk. We can work this out. I’m still your brother.”
“Half,” she snapped.
“Papa recognized me as his legal heir in his will. I own half of the house with you. I’m still your business partner.”
Kayla clapped. “Attention. Thank all y’all for pulling together today, and all the days since my papa died. One quick announcement. I am the executive chef of Arceneau’s. Regardless of any gossip leaking through the walls, those rumors are as thin as broth. The meat of the matter—I’m running Arceneau’s. Not Chef Henri. Not Chef Rex.”
“Yes, Chef,” came a chorus of responses.
Rex jerked his apron from around his waist and tossed it into the hamper with the rest that needed washing. She didn’t need his help? Fine. He’d hang out and watch, make notes of things that needed to be corrected, improved, or just eliminated from the workflow of the kitchen. He wanted her to run things. Wanted her to believe in herself. Wanted her to step up. And he wanted to be there to lend a hand, if and only if, she needed it. Intruding was never part of his plan. She was Papa’s true heir. The house…that held special meaning…the house they would have to share. Or he would buy her out, but he’d never allow it to be sold. It had to remain in the family.
An hour into service, Rex left the kitchen. Kayla had everything running masterfully. Climbing the stairs to the office, he adjusted any photos and framed awards that hung askew. The restaurant held so many memories. Could he truly walk away?
He opened the office door and sat at the desk, then glanced over to the small side table in front of the window. He missed the little plant that used to sit there. Regret tugged at him. Once he was back in New York, he’d call a florist and have a plant delivered to Kayla to replace the one he’d killed.