Burnt Sugar (ACE Series Book 2)

by Layne Harper

  Our crew arrives at Jackson Square. There’s a jazz band playing in front of Saint Louis Cathedral. The iron fence surrounding the green space is hung with art by local artisans hoping for a buyer. Horse drawn carriages border the opposite side of the square, waiting for eager tourists to pay for a ride.

  Bella says, “I was there for every horrible day. I pushed through the crowds outside of your home, and I’ve read the nasty things said about you. I forced you to eat and shower and get out of bed. He indirectly caused all that heartache, but he didn’t intentionally inflict that on you. It was part of his eighteen-wheeler full of baggage that he warned you about.”

  We stop walking about twenty feet from the crew and move into the shadow created by the Cathedral. I want to finish this conversation and hold up one finger to Cindy asking for a moment. “I can buy that argument for when we broke up, but dropping his album on the same day I posted we were over was intentional.”

  She brushes her curls from her face. “Yes. Might be true. But he didn’t call the media organizations and say, ‘Go over to MK’s house. Her life was just getting back to normal.’”

  I look at the ground wishing he’d never put me in this position to have to think about him again. Until LA, I thought I’d moved on. Now, I stand in one of my favorite places in the city with my stomach in knots because Bella’s words have penetrated the wall built in anger around my heart, and I admit that her points are valid. I need quiet, time, and probably a bottle of wine to figure out exactly where my head is when it comes to Aaron Emerson. “Let’s join the crew.”

  “All right, gang.” Cindy claps her hands to get our attention. “First, I want MK to get read by a fortune teller. MK, I’ll let you choose your person.”

  My heart flutters. I’ve never gotten read before. These ladies have always seemed like quacks. It’s a service they perform to pay their rent by scamming tourists out of their dollars. Plus, I’ve been warned my whole life to stay away from the occult. I don’t think Mom or Grandmother would be okay with me doing this. “What about if I look at art instead?”

  Cindy scratches her chin. “That’s tough. We must pay the artist for the rights to show his or her work. It gets tricky.” Her eyes cut to the side. “A fortune teller would really be best.”

  Nodding, I become resolved that this is what my job is requiring of me.

  I don’t walk to the lady who is closest to our group. Instead, I scan the faces of the women at card tables in front of the cathedral. Two are in costume—what you would think a fortune teller would look like. The third lady appears as if she got dressed in the dark. She’s wearing a New Orleans Saints football jersey, brightly colored head wrap, brown feather earrings that dust along the tops of her shoulders, bright yellow leggings, and black combat boots. There’s something about the boots that pull me too her.

  “Hi. I’m MK Landry, and I’m filming a reality show. Would you mind telling my fortune on camera?”

  The lady is older than me, but I can’t tell her age. Her skin seems prematurely wrinkled by the Louisiana sun. “You gonna pay me?”

  Cindy is at my side. “We’ll pay your fee plus one hundred dollars if you’ll sign this sheet of paper.” She extracts a single piece of white computer paper from her bag and a blue pen.

  “I’m Ruby,” she says as she sticks out her hand. “Sit down right there, young lady.” She motions at the orange and lime green folding chair in front of her card table.

  Then she hands the signed paper to Cindy. “Keep your cameras close. This reading is going to blow your mind.”

  Glancing at Bella, I see she has an apprehensive look on her face. You can’t grow up around New Orleans and not be exposed to the supernatural. It’s been called the most haunted city in the country. We have vampire and ghost tours that run nightly. People pay to visit our cemeteries. We bury our dead above ground. To natives, that’s what we must do because of the high underground water level. To outsiders, it’s different. Also, I’m a good Catholic girl. We don’t play with Ouija Boards, evoke the name of the devil, or invite spirits into our lives.

  I say a quick prayer.

  Dear God,

  I know that this is wrong, and I’m sorry that I’m doing it. Please forgive me and know that Cindy made me do it.

  Amen

  “Give me your hands,” Ruby instructs as a gust of wind blows the scarf covering her hair revealing a couple of rust grey strands.

  I place my hands on top of her chapped skin. The cameras are on either side of us, and I can tell by their angles that they’re concentrating on our connection. The third camera is further back getting a wider shot. She leans over, examining the lines cutting across my palms. Then she sits up, drops her head back, and hums.

  I patiently wait for this nonsense to be over.

  “Someone you had thought was dead has recently turned up in your life again,” Ruby says as her eyes fly open, and her back goes stiff as a board.

  Shaking my head, I reply, “Nope. I don’t think you’re correct.” No ghosts in the carriage house last time I checked.

  Her hands grasp mine, and her eyes seem to pop out of her head. “Yes. I see him clearly. He looks like a famous person. Long blond hair that touches the middle of his neck and blue eyes.”

  I was the topic of conversation by the media on and off for five months. She could easily recognize me from the tabloids. My scar is a distinguishing characteristic. But my heart still skips a beat at the crazy idea that she could possibly have a gift. “I don’t know anyone that fits that description that has passed away.”

  Dropping my hands, she does this mystical or jazz dance where she crosses her fingers in front of her face. “He could have been dead to you, and now, he’s reentered your life.”

  Rolling my eyes, I don’t care how good this is for TV, I’m annoyed. I lean back. “We all know I dated Johnny Knite for a brief period. We broke up and have moved on.”

  She leans in very close and motions for me scoot forward. I do as she asks. “Is he the soul that is next to yours? Don’t discount him so quickly.”

  My head snaps to Cindy. We agreed that Aaron would not be a part of my show. My voice is high-pitched mirroring my racing heart. “You paid her to say this for ratings.”

  Cindy shakes her head and mouths I did not. Then says, “You chose the fortune teller.”

  I face Ruby again. Her eyes roll back in her head and for a moment I think she’s having a seizure. “The one you fight is the one you will ultimately choose. But it’s not your choice, really. He’s the one who has been chosen for you.”

  My shoulders tighten. “My biological grandfather died before I was born. Surely you can relay a message from him.”

  Her head falls forward and in a strange, deep voice she says, “He told me to tell you to quit being difficult like Grandmother.”

  I fly away from the table knocking the chair over in the process. It’s like one minute I’m sitting, and the next, I’m thirty feet away panting and hunched over like I’ve run a marathon. “We’re done,” I yell to anyone who can hear.

  Then, at that very second, my phone buzzes in my jean pocket. Taking it out, I read his words.

  Aaron: I was so mad at you last night. You make me fucking crazy. But my soul seems to find yours in sleep. They tangoed across an Argentinian graveyard. I woke up more resolved than ever to make us right again. XXXOOO

  Shoving my phone at Bella, I announce to the crew, “I’m done with the French Quarter.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aaron

  September

  Vince Vasquez @RockGod_69

  @RealJohnnyKnite be a man, and own your shit. Just confirm that #AlisVolatPropriis was written for that pink girl.

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  Filming around #NOLA. Look for me. I’m the girl wearing the uber smile. #LifeIsGood

  Betty Frankin’Berry @FrankinBerryChompChomp

  Why? Why can’t ACE play their newer stuff. Oldies but goodies are fine, but give me
#PinkCadillac

  Me: Answer your texts. You’re driving me crazy.

  Me: I’m sorry. You’re probably working. I just send you something straight from my heart, and then you ignore it, and it makes me crazy. Tell me to fuck off. Okay. Don’t tell me that. It would piss me off. I miss you.

  Staring at the phone screen, I wait for her response. The seconds tick to minutes, and I decide to go for a swim. Ten minutes later, I’m in my trunks headed to the hotel’s lap pool with my goggles and towel draped over my arm.

  I dive into the water, my hands cutting through the liquid as if they’re a knife to warm butter. The lyrics to Runaway by Bon Jovi play in my head.

  Ten laps.

  Fifteen.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  My head breaks the water as I grasp the side of the pool. I pull myself up and sit on the edge. Drying my hands, I check my phone. I have a text from MK. Eagerly, I swipe to read her words.

  MK: What makes this time different? How do I know that the next bump in the road you use again and dump me?

  Me: Stop it. Quit looking to the past. I’ve told you that I won’t do that to you again. Why can’t you just trust me?

  MK: Bella made me see that the aftereffects of our breakup were part of your eighteen-wheeler. I just don’t know if I can do this again.

  Me: I’d give anything to rewind time and change the past. I can’t. Please just give me another chance.

  I sit there for longer than I care to admit to waiting for her response before I rest my phone on my towel and dive into the chlorinated water. Never in my life have I had to work so hard to convince another human being to spend time with me. It’s like pulling teeth. Why can’t I love someone who’s simpler?

  Choosing another song to play in my head, I jam out to Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong. I lose count at lap twenty-two and just wear myself out to the point that I can barely drag my tired bones out of the pool. My body flops on the cement as a towel hits my wet back. Looking up, I smile at Sam’s evil grin. “Get out of the pool, hot shot. Grace is screaming that we have a fan thing in twenty.”

  “Fuck,” I reply as do my best to blend into the tile.

  “Lose track of time?” she asks as I fold my body into a seated position.

  “Can’t lose something that you don’t keep.” I wrap the towel around my shoulders. My finger is too pruned to log into to my phone so I type the passcode.

  MK replied.

  MK: You’re wearing me down. Do you want me because I’m tired of fighting? Please just leave me alone.

  I walk back to my hotel room to change. After I’m showered, dressed, and have a stiff bourbon in my hand, I text her back.

  Me: I want you any way I can get you. I prefer you compliant.

  Reading what I wrote, it sounds stalkerish. I don’t want to be the creepy fucker again.

  Me: I don’t mean it like that. I just feel like if you gave us a chance, you’d see that I’m going to work really hard to make us okay. I’ve tasted life without you, and it’s bitter. I now know what’s on the line.

  Holding my phone, I will her to reply. I need her response before I must smile, shake hands, and kiss the cheeks of all my biggest fans.

  Finally, as I’m walking out the door, I hear the ding of my phone.

  MK: God, I so want to believe you. Unfortunately, the security fence around my carriage house reminds me that I must protect my heart.

  Her words are like a knife in my chest. Hitting the phone icon next to her name, I wait for MK to answer.

  “Why do you doubt me?” I ask with a furrowed brow.

  She sniffs. “Let me tell you about my day. I had to dance down Bourbon Street, hold a baby gator, eat oysters on the half shell, and get read by a fortune teller. I know that probably sounds great to you, but I’m tired, Aaron. Do you have any understanding what it’s like to open myself up every single day to a camera crew while I have you texting me pleas that make me feel raw?”

  With a smirk, I reply, “I’ll make it easy on you. Just agree to give me a second chance, and we can cross off one of your perceived problems.”

  Grace texts me a nasty message telling me I’m needed downstairs in the ballroom ASAP. I ignore it and continue talking to MK.

  “You’re like the bird dog my step-grandfather had when I was a kid.” She pauses and clears her throat. “He would take him hunting around rural Louisiana. The dog could retrieve a fallen dove like no other, but he was a jerk to live with. Grandmother would lock him in a kennel in the backyard when we came over because he would try to grasp us in his jaws and bring us to my grandfather. The dog found no pleasure in life other than retrieving.”

  I laugh. “You’re comparing me to an animal.”

  “Don’t be dense, Aaron. You want me because I’m a challenge. You like the thrill of the hunt just like the bird dog. You won’t care about me once you think you’ve conquered Mount MK.” Her voice is harsh.

  Shaking my head, I stare at the phone. “I guess you’ve got to at least give me a chance to spend time with you to see if that’s true. Right now, you’re so dead set that I’m wrong for you that you can’t entertain the idea that I just might be your happily ever after.”

  The phone is silent as another text from Grace comes through.

  Grace: Get your ass down here. We’ve got a line of people out the door waiting to meet you.

  Me: Coming

  “Aaron,” MK says in a solemn voice. “Please just give me some time.” She pauses and then whispers, “You scare me.”

  “MK—”

  She cuts me off. “My brain says to run far, far away, but you’re right. My heart wants to believe you so desperately that I’m influencing fortune tellers to whisper exactly what I want to hear.”

  “What?” I ask as I close my hotel suite door.

  “Never mind,” she sighs. “I need space to think.”

  “Grace is texting. I’m late for a fan event.” Swallowing, I reach deep into the pit of my stomach and rummage around until I find the courage to make my boldest move yet. “I want to see you again. After my show, I’m going to take my plane to New Orleans. Don’t tell me no. Just give me a chance to spend some time showing you how great we can be again.”

  The line is silent, and I feel like my life hangs in the balance. I’m a man walking a tight wire over Niagara Falls. I’d like to order her to just do what I say. It’s how I’ve managed my career. I bark and people jump. MK doesn’t take orders. I must compel her to give us another chance—prove to her that we can be better the second time around. “Don’t tell me no, sweetheart. Don’t look back on this moment and have huge regrets.”

  Then, the most beautiful word that I’ve heard in a long, long time reaches my ears. “Okay.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  MK

  September

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  Tomorrow we begin filming. Crazy excited. Watch out world. Here comes #NoPinkCaddy

  Kyle Reid @NOLALove_143

  @NoPinkCaddy move your shit. I can’t find a place to park. Too many damn people on Magazine Street.

  Shannon: Your call time is 8:30 am. Don’t be late! I’ll meet you at your trailer.

  Oh my God! I have a call time and a trailer. I read the text for like the hundredth time. I’ve been up since five because I was too nervous to sleep, and then when I did doze, I dreamed that I was being held against my will by pirates who wouldn’t release me, and I missed my call time. I’ve showered, blown out my hair, put cream on my scar, and made coffee. Now, I’m sitting down at my trusty Mac to share the beginning of my day with my fans.

  Short and sweet . . . Today is the big day. Today, we begin transforming my dream location into my dream store. I’m nervous, like first-day-at-a-new-school-and-you-don’t-know-anyone-and-have-never-been-inside-the-building nervous. I’m excited. I’ve dreamt of this day for so many years. It never occurred to me to dream about a lifestyle show to go along with it.

  I pause for a
second and dab at my eyes.

  I’m also weepy. I try to not live my life in hyper drive, forgetting to stop and smell the roses. Today, I’m going to try to remember every detail and absorb every second of it. I want to look back on this day when I’m one hundred years old and still recall every moment. At my funeral, my grandchildren should be able to retell the story of the day that Granny turned her dreams into a reality.

  Taking a sip of coffee, I reread what I’ve written, laughing at my granny reference.

  I’m going to do my best to post pics and updates as much as I can, but who knows? I may be sworn to secrecy. All new to me.

  Here’s something fun for you guys. No Pink Caddy will open its doors in three short weeks. The grand opening will be filmed for the show. Local to New Orleans? Fill out this form, and you just might win a chance to be the first to check it out.

  Muah,

  MK

  I look at the clock on the microwave; it’s a little before seven. I get the brilliant idea to make a couple of batches of cookies. The first meeting I presided over as president of my sorority, I baked cookies and made sure that every girl got one. How can you be mean and negative when your stomach is filled with ooey-gooey chocolatey goodness?

  I always have ingredients on hand. Grabbing them from the cabinet by the refrigerator, I pour the flour, chocolate chips, caramel chips, baking soda, sugar, and already beaten eggs into my aqua Mixmaster.

  Turning on the Britney Spears Pandora station, I sing, “. . . Baby one more time,” as I dance around the kitchen. My bottle of cooking spray turns into a bedazzled microphone. My hip swing spins me around, and I punch in three hundred and fifty degrees, setting the oven. I’m on fire. Seriously, I should film myself and campaign to be one of Britney’s back-up dancers.

  I don’t remember a buzzing sound in the song? When I hear it again, it dawns on me that it isn’t my phone. It’s the call box on my gate.