BornontheBayou

by Lynne Connolly

  “I didn’t like what I saw of Jaime.” He recalled her gloating expression, quickly masked, when she told Beverley the chef had gone. That made sense, more than the chef waiting barely half an hour did. He wanted to discover more and recalled his schedule, rapidly calculating how close to the wire he could come before Chick combusted. “Listen. I want to stay over a few days, see what you’ve done to the house. Say goodbye.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  But Beverley was still done at Great Oaks. He’d work on it.

  He hung up and picked up his rapidly cooling coffee. He had barely taken a sip before his phone rang again. He glanced at the screen and took the call. “Hey, Chick, how you doin’?”

  “As well as I was when you called an hour ago.” Chick sounded easy. He always did. Slow and easy. Unless, of course, something had happened to spark his temper. “I got in touch with your three-star chef. He was at the airport waiting for his flight. I know a few chefs, so I used a mutual connection to get through to him.”

  “Sure you did.” That was why he’d thought of Chick. If Chick didn’t know a person, then he knew someone who knew him. That old six degrees of separation thing didn’t work for Chick. He needed only two.

  “He said the woman who met him showed him the kitchen and answered his questions. Didn’t like the conditions.”

  “Did he say who the woman was?” Jace asked.

  “The assistant manager. She said the manager was too busy to speak with him. Mismanaged everything.”

  Jace snorted. “I’d say she managed perfectly.”

  Chick didn’t take long to pick up the insinuation. “Ah. Sabotage, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Cutting to the chase, I wouldn’t employ the bastard. He might be top of the cooking tree, but his people skills leave a lot to be desired. I looked him up, asked a few questions.”

  “In an hour?”

  “If you know the right people, it don’t take long.” Chick didn’t sound complacent, more that everyone could do it if they wanted to. That attitude fooled a lot of the people Chick wanted to impress or kid into giving him the right price or the right service. “His employees hate him. Think Gordon Ramsay times ten. Ramsay does it for the camera. This guy does it because he can. Even if you did employ him, I’m guessing you’d have your work cut out keeping kitchen staff.”

  Jace didn’t like the sound of the information he was hearing. He didn’t want Beverley working with a bully. “I’d like to talk to him myself. So what do you think?”

  “Well, he sounded as if he could be talked around. But I wouldn’t. Leave it with me and let me ask a few people. I’m sure I can get you someone better.”

  “He or she has to be able to do good local cuisine.” Jace couldn’t imagine a cook in that kitchen who couldn’t make a good gumbo.

  A rich chuckle rumbled down the line. “Is that what you call that mess? Yeah, well, I guess I can ask. The limitation narrows the field. And hey, while you’re on the line, what day will you get to Atlanta?”

  Jace flipped over to his cell’s calendar. The band was due to perform in Atlanta a week from today. “A couple of days.”

  “Don’t leave it too late. There’s plenty of room at the hotel, man. I have a three-bedroom suite and I’ve got the whole floor booked for a couple of days before the concert. Helps with security.”

  “All the screaming fan girls?” Jace grinned. He’d never had too many of those. Women tended to want to hook up with him, sure, but Murder City Ravens hadn’t attracted the younger crowd until recently. That suited him fine.

  “Yeah. Hey, the single’s turning things around. I’m thinking of asking the record company to release the next one early.”

  After a bad first contract and a terrible agent, the reformed Murder City Ravens had found Chick. Now they had control of their own careers again. They controlled what they recorded, they said when the albums came out. So Jace had good reason to trust Chick’s instincts. “You think that’ll work better?”

  “Yeah. Pile good on good, let the public know just how great you are. But I don’t think the other material on the album is ready for singles. You need to be thinking about the next set and some new songs.”

  “Oh, I am.” In fact, Jace tended to let moods and tunes swing through him until one took hold or he recognized one as perfect. He didn’t contribute much to lyrics or tune, but the guitar and some of the electronic work was down to him. He was the atmospherics guy, he gave the numbers depth and emotion. Back in his childhood haunts, his muse seemed to have woken up, but the bitch would have to wait. He had other things on his mind.

  He rang off as soon as he could and managed to get to his coffee before it went stone-cold. He ordered another one and started on his beignet, but he’d scarcely taken a bite when his phone rang again. He didn’t know this number and no name accompanied it on the screen, so he was about to cut off the caller when he changed his mind and answered. “Hi.”

  “It’s Penny.” Ah, he should put this number in his contacts list. “Please come back. She’s driving me insane.”

  So much for the beignet. He dusted his hands on the napkin, dropped some bills on the table and waved to the girl behind the counter on his way out, tempted to take his snack with him, but Penny wouldn’t appreciate powdered sugar in her store.

  He had no idea what had driven the usually calm ex-teacher to call him, but he found out when he stepped into the shop. Beverley sat on the loveseat dressed in a plain blue T-shirt and jeans, much better than the ones she’d had on earlier. Penny glanced at her, lines bracketing her mouth. “She won’t take anything else. I have a great rack of designs for her to try.”

  Beverley looked upset, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. When he met her gaze he could feel her distress as if she were broadcasting it on the radio. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I didn’t meant to waste Penny’s time, you see. It was okay at the department store. The personal shopper was there all day anyway, and they had more than one, so if someone important turned up someone could see them.” That was a dig at him.

  He accepted the reproof with a wry smile of apology. His reaction surprised him. Normally he’d shrug and walk away if a woman got too difficult, but he wanted this one happy.

  She carried on. “I meant to waste your time like you’d wasted mine. I only meant to take a few things, enough to get me back to London. But I can’t waste Penny’s time. She has a business to run and her assistant has the day off. I can’t do that to her.”

  Jace crossed the room, his feet sinking into the soft carpet. When he held out his hands, she met his clasp and he hauled her to her feet. “You won’t be wasting Penny’s time if you try the things on. You won’t be wasting her time if I buy some for you.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  He interrupted her without compunction. “So what were you going to do? Run away? Only cowards do that, Beverley.” He exchanged a glance with Penny. She’d taught him that and it gave him some satisfaction to pass on the message. It was so true. “This is recompense. If you sued the company and the company paid, it would still partly come out of my pocket. This way I get some pleasure out of it.”

  He sat on the loveseat she’d just vacated. “Go try things on and replace every bit of what you lost.” He grabbed a newspaper from a stack by the seat and shook it out, making a shooing gesture with his hand. “Get on with it.”

  Chapter Four

  Beverley so didn’t want to leave now. He’d dazzled her, beguiled her and all but seduced her. She was no longer angry with him. Well, not much, anyway.

  She couldn’t blame him entirely for the chef’s flounce. Chaballet was notoriously temperamental and there was always a chance the hotel wouldn’t have kept him for long. But long enough to do something in the press. Now she could only hope and pray that the media didn’t get hold of that particular story, because “Chef walks out of luxury hotel before it opens” didn’t sound good.

  Too busy inventing i
maginary headlines, she hadn’t noticed what Penny was helping her into until she said, “There. Much better.”

  Beverley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Penny had swept her hair, now dry, behind her shoulders, the better to show off the lines of the halter-necked sundress. It was stark white. “Not many people can wear that color,” Penny said.

  “I can’t wear this.” She could only think nipples. She was wearing this dress without a bra, so how come she couldn’t see anything other than the shape of her breasts? “It’s not me.”

  “Come out here!” she heard from outside.

  She should see this thing in bright sunshine, since that had been her mistake with the blouse. If the dress showed her nipples, what the fuck, he’d seen them before.

  In a spirit of defiance, she stalked out and confronted him.

  He was smiling but the smile froze. He stared at her then made a twirling motion with his fingers. She obliged him. “That one,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That is perfect.”

  “No, but it’s good,” Penny said. “That flare in the skirt disguises the full hips.”

  “Those full hips are glorious,” he said. “Why would you want to disguise them?”

  Penny exchanged a “Men!” look with Beverley and dragged her back into the dressing room. Unaccountably she wanted to parade some more before him, get that expression of stunned awe again. If that was his reaction to a simple sundress, what could she do with an evening gown?

  So when Penny helped her into a slim-fitting red number, she didn’t even think of looking at the label. She wanted to wow him. This would, for sure. The dress was tight but gave her enough room to breathe. She almost pulled it back when Penny pulled a face, said “No,” and unfastened the zipper.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “The fabric didn’t drape well on you. It creased between your breasts and it didn’t do your shoulders any favors. You should avoid the shallow, round neckline. Stick to V-necks, square necks, off the shoulder and scoops.”

  Now Penny had pointed it out, she could see it. That neckline didn’t do much for her. “Why haven’t I noticed before?”

  “You haven’t studied yourself properly.” Penny waved a swatch of little fabric samples. “Come outside.” Beverley put on the robe Penny handed her and obediently followed her into the main store and across to the large window at the front, where a full-length mirror stood.

  This time Penny held the colors against her cheek. “See how this yellow makes you look slightly ill?” She took away the yellow and replaced it with another yellow. “And this one makes you look fresh.” She gave Beverley the right yellow. She went through the spectrum until Beverley had a handful of colors. “Take them with you when you shop, and choose from that palette.”

  Wow, she was learning. So fascinated by what Penny was telling her, she almost forgot who else sat in the room, so that when Penny took her back to the changing room she started at the sight of him. He raised a dark brow and gave her a devilish grin. “Having fun?”

  “Kind of.” Suddenly she felt unaccountably shy.

  Someone delivered the car from the department store and they got in. In a daze after what had turned into an exhausting couple of hours, Jace had driven away before Beverley realized they didn’t have any of the bags, and all she had to show for her hard work was a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt. Very nice ones, to be sure, but she even wore the underwear she’d started the day with, the white lacy bra and plain cotton panties. “But the shopping?”

  “Penny’s delivering it to the hotel. We couldn’t get it all in the car anyway.”

  She swiveled in her seat as best she could in the snug-fitting seatbelt. “Hotel? You mean we’re going back to Great Oaks? How can I do that?”

  “If I’d have meant Great Oaks, I’d have said so. We’re spending the night here, in Baton Rouge. I’ve booked a suite at The Paris.”

  “What?” The most luxurious hotel in town. “Why do you want to stay there?”

  “Call it checking out the opposition.” He grinned. “A business expense.”

  Anger bubbled up inside her. She hadn’t felt anger so much in one day before, but today had driven her to her limit. “Don’t you think you’re taking a little too much for granted?”

  He shot a grin in her direction and heat warmed her from her toes up. “It’s a two-bedroom suite. But think about it, cher. Do you really want to get two sets of sheets dirty?” His voice had gentled, warmed, and she felt it somewhere deep inside. She could no longer hide it from herself. She wanted him, so badly she was dampening already for him. Anger and passion could be closely linked, she discovered.

  “Why?” She meant why her, but she couldn’t finish the sentence. He seemed to understand.

  “Because I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve met for a long time. Because I want you.”

  “No, I mean—the clothes, I can’t take those.”

  “They’re my debt. I owe you those, at least. I owe you a job too, and I’m trying to do something about that.”

  Sensations swamped her, overwhelming her with their intensity. Anger, desire and an emotion that brought her to near tears. She stared at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap.

  “Hey.” Trust him to notice. “We’ll get to the hotel, check in and order room service. Let’s go from there. If you want, I’ll drive you back to Great Oaks later. Or even the airport, if you want.”

  She didn’t feel she could do anything else. Confusion reigned in her mind as he pulled in to the forecourt of the hotel and a uniformed doorman rushed to help her out. She fought her visceral desire for him with what she wanted to do next, what she should do. Like call James Bell and apologize.

  The Paris stood on one of the main streets of Baton Rouge but the atmosphere inside was hushed and expensive. Although used to these places, she’d never visited one as a guest before. She’d visited, sometimes worked in, even lived in, some of the finest hotels in Europe, but that involved the staff entrance, not the porticoed front door with a uniformed bellboy opening the door for her.

  She wasn’t overawed though. The Paris belonged to a hotel chain that prided itself on luxury and service but not individualism. Reminders of the hotel lingered in the flourishing P logos on the luggage trolleys, the badges of the receptionists, even woven into the pattern of the carpet. She supposed ordering it in bulk helped with the cost. So did having a stranglehold on the suppliers. Order enough and the company might as well be part of the group, so that withdrawing the custom ruined them.

  Her mind followed those tracks these days, but she had to admit, she didn’t care about them half as much as she did about fresh food, where to buy it, how to prepare and present it. She’d belonged in the catering world, left her heart there, but she hadn’t felt part of the hotel management business. It would come, she’d told herself, but it never had. Welcome to the real world, of people who liked but didn’t love what they did. Even people who detested their jobs.

  Jace touched her elbow. “This way.”

  “You’ve checked in?”

  He grinned. “They did it for me. I explained we didn’t want the media turning up and disrupting their hotel. They’re used to guests like me. The concierge has me down as Mr. Trevor and you, my dear, are my wife.” He laughed when she turned to him indignantly and held up his hands in supplication. “It’s easiest. Now come on before somebody spots us.”

  “I think they have,” she murmured, nodding to a woman who stared at them, then hurried across to join them.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  “I doubt it,” Jace said. “Not unless you work for Trevor’s Plastics.” He walked away, leading a numb Beverley.

  “How could you do that?” she demanded once they were alone in the elevator. “You don’t look anything like a manager in the plastics industry! You look like what you are.”

  “Which is…?” He stared down at her haughtily, reminding her forcibly of his origin as local aristocracy.

 
“A rock star,” she suggested, indicating his nipple rings and his open jacket. She’d been trying not to keep her attention on his chest all afternoon, ever since he’d given her his shirt.

  He laughed. “It kept her busy working it out, long enough for us to get away. She thought she knew me but she wasn’t sure where she’d seen me. She was chancing a guess.”

  Even that sounded seductive the way he said it. Realization struck. “Your shirt. I left it at the department store.”

  He shrugged. “What’s the betting it gets lost in transit? You watch the online auction sites in the next few days.”

  The revelation shocked her, although on reflection she supposed it shouldn’t. “Do people steal things from you?”

  “All the time.” He reached out, spread his hands on either side of her waist and drew her close. His voice lowered. “What do you want to steal from me?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “Pity. I could hold you to ransom over it. That would be fun.” He bent his head and kissed her.

  This time, with nobody to see them, he didn’t have any reason to kiss her but one. A reason she shared. She wanted him badly, and the little devil inside her, the one she’d suppressed for years, said, Why not? Just this once, live a little.

  By the time he broke away as the elevator doors opened, she’d made up her mind. Why not? She’d be in England soon, back with her family, resuming a life she shouldn’t have left.

  He didn’t take his smoldering gaze away from her as he slipped his hand into hers and stepped out of the elevator, leading her to the suite with two bedrooms, one of which she knew would never get used tonight.

  He didn’t stop in the living area, but led her straight to the bedroom that looked out over the street and drew her close again. “So, beautiful lady, here we are. This is the end of my asking. If you say no, the other bedroom is yours and I won’t interfere. Will you? Or do you want to take a chance?”