Queen of NOLA

by Kimmie Easley

  My insides freeze. I blink, reassuring myself that I’m not dreaming.

  She must notice the hesitation. “Don’t go getting all caught up in the numbers, as impressive as they are. We need you feeling better.” She sighs. “It’s time to rip off the proverbial band aid. No more tiptoeing around. A prudent piece of information I think you should know, you’re at risk to lose every, red cent. More importantly, your family’s legacy.” She coils both, lean arms around my rigid neck. “The legacy of our future children.”

  A pang pierces my heart and it’s like a hot poker searing right through the foreign flesh. “I’ll be working from the office.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Baby Jade

  Damn, shit gets done quick around here.

  Wendy had my office set up and running in record time. The young woman directed the men from maintenance before lighting a fire under the IT department. Now, I’m staring at the little light blinking back at me. I mean, I’m not stupid or anything, but I don’t know what the fuck a cursor is or what to do with it.

  “Ms. Belhomme?” Wendy pops her head into the overwhelming space.

  I dip my chin and peer over the top of the monitor. “I already told you. Call me Jade.”

  “Jade,” she says through a sincere grin. “I’ve started the vetting process to get someone else in here to help. We should have a few candidates to interview by tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”

  A shudder of panic invades my core. “Um, of course. Yeah, I’m good.”

  Wendy tilts her head, questioning me, but not in that uncomfortable way. Her expression is more like one of concern. “Would you like for me to sit in on the meetings?”

  All the air expels from my lungs and my body slumps forward. “Oh, thank God.”

  She chuckles at what I can only hope is my blunt honesty. “No problem. I have a conference call at nine. I’ll just schedule them for after. Can I get you anything?”

  I give my head a gentle shake. “No, I’m good. Thank you, Wendy.”

  “Of course, ma’am.” She spots my twisted face. “I mean, Jade.”

  She closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts and about three hundred square feet too many. I try to shove the images of Lucky from my aching brain, but I’ve hit a whole new level of anger, waiting on that asshole to return my calls.

  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Really, the rage is slowly being replaced by incessant worry.

  My crappy, little, prepaid phone rattles across the desk. I’m still not used to the notion of keeping up with a cell. My insides constrict, tightening around my core and giving me chills.

  “Lucky?” I instantly regret my eager tone and roll my eyes.

  “Baby?”

  I shoot out of my chair, popping up to my bare feet. “Willow?” I pace, forgetting where I am. “Honey, speak to me. Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”

  “Baby? Please, Bab…”

  Click.

  “Shit!”

  Wendy barrels into the room. “Jade?” Her doe eyed gaze lands on the white knuckle death grip I have on my phone. “Is everything ok?”

  “Actually, no. I need you to do something for me.” I drop to my seat and glance at the mobile screen before scribbling on a yellow, legal pad. “I need you to find someone. You don’t do anything else today until you find this person.” I rip the paper from the tablet and wave it in her direction.

  “Nothing else.” I lock my stare. “Understood?”

  She gives a serious nod, backing out of the room.

  Well, it’s a fucking start.

  *

  Someone was kind enough to hang a clock on the wall. I’d be grateful, but that little bitch ticks so loud I nearly jump out of my skin with every passing minute. Maybe some stuff on the walls and more furniture will help absorb the sound. That should help.

  I give myself a hard, mental kick for even contemplating sticking around Gauthier. That’s not going to happen, not in this lifetime. In less than three hours, I’ve realized, this is not for me. I am not cut out for this corporate bullshit. And if I had any doubt about that little fact, the black, vertical cursor flashes. Silently screaming, get the fuck out!

  Gladly.

  I snatch my bag and phone from the desk, slip back on my heels, and bolt out the door. I make a pitstop by Wendy’s desk.

  “Nothing yet, ma’am.”

  This time I don’t bother with the first and last name shit. “Keep searching. I put my cell number on the paper, that way you can have it if you need anything.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Will you be back in the office today?”

  I peer at her, peeking out over my hard, furrowed brow. “Not a chance.”

  The woman offers her signature, warm smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I vow to keep my stare focused forward, leaving the trail of gawking gazes in my dust.

  “I mean, Jade!” Wendy calls out from behind her desk.

  Her effort causes my own smile to tug in the corners of my mouth, betraying my staunch exit. I don’t know where I expect to go. I can’t find Willow on my own and going back to the club is out of the question. Not unless I want to be on the receiving end of Mickey’s wrath.

  A visible shudder washes through me.

  “Where to?” The snaggle toothed cab driver asks.

  Left without options, I give him my home address. “No, wait. Sorry, that’s my old house. I’ll be going uptown.”

  He pops his eyes, connecting in the rearview mirror. “That’s quite the upgrade. Moving on up, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  Once inside, I lock the door out of habit. I still can’t bring myself to open my blinds. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to exist without being on my guard. Scared and extra cautious.

  “Ma’Linn?” I call out, with no response. I’m ready to holler again when I spy a note on the countertop.

  B,

  Gone to sit wit’ yo momma. I bringin’ her a Barq’s for yo. Be careful, cher. Squishy boob hugs.

  M.

  I snicker out loud at her comical salutation.

  I decide to pass the time doing what I do best. I strip away the short skirt and fancy top. Surveying myself in the floor-length mirror, I’m pleased to see some definition coming back. After the accident and losing my baby boy, I couldn’t bring myself to focus on my body. It was as if it had betrayed me. A failure. I have no chance at having children. The doctors made that clear.

  My fingertips skim the puckered skin nestled on my lower abdomen. The knotted flesh is supposed to soften out over time, but I don’t care one way or another. I still feel like a passenger in this body. I suppose I should be thankful I’ve at least picked back up the motivation to work out. It’s like old times.

  If I can’t sleep, I’m on the machine.

  If I’m not feeling like myself, I’m on the machine.

  If I’m emotional, or needing time to plan or think, I’m on the machine.

  The death trap, as Ma’Linn so affectionately refers to the treadmill in my room. I call it my safe place. It’s the only place, other than the stage, where I feel like I belong to myself. Just me, and, well… me.

  I slip on a pair of running shorts and slide my feet into my sneakers. I toss a bandana over the flashing lights and stick in my earbuds. I hate to see the time when I exercise. It tears me away from my focus. I click the playlist appropriately marked, Rain Down the Pain.

  My feet pound against the rotating conveyer belt as Corey Taylor’s glorious voice floods my ears. My instincts kick into survival mode and I block out all wandering thoughts, clearing my head. Slipknots, “Psychosocial” is where I really hit my stride.

  The familiar burn is like a drug. Addicting. Chasing that next rush of adrenaline.

  When I feel like utter and complete jelly, I decide to go a little longer, finally winding down with Nine Inch Nails, “The Hand That Feeds”. Trent Reznor is the one person I would
up and leave everything for. Yes, even Lucky. Well, at this moment anyway.

  I snatch the fabric from the dashboard and swipe the pouring sweat from my face.

  Forty-nine-minutes and 8.9 miles. Not too shabby. I toss my earbuds on the bed and shimmy out of my damp clothes until I notice the red light blinking on my phone.

  A message.

  “Jade, this is Wendy Culp calling from Gauthier Offshore Services. I was able to track down that information you wanted. If you’d like for me to set up a meeting, I can do that for you. Just give me a call and let me know how you’d like to proceed. My direct line is 504-555-0815 extension sixty-one. I’ll be at my desk for the next half hour before going into another meeting. Thanks, and have a great day.”

  I don’t bother with a shower, or the frilly clothes. I wiggle into a pair of snug jeans, slide a Davie Bowie tee over my head, and lace up my boots. The change in attire gives me the bolster in confidence I’ve been needing. That, and the kickass run.

  Finally, a direction.

  I run out to the street, forgetting that I don’t live near public transportation anymore. The crap changes that come from living on the other side of the tracks… Now, if I only had the money to go with it. I finally get a taxi and bounce awkwardly trying to look over his shoulder.

  Scrambling out of the cab, I snake my way through the lobby of the gigantic building.

  “Ma’am, you’ll need to sign in.” The annoying, young receptionist shoots out from behind her tall desk.

  “Oh, it’s ok, I’m Jade…”

  She cuts her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. I know who you are, but you’ll still have to sign in. You should have a security badge soon. This ensures we know who is and isn’t on the premises. You understand, don’t you?”

  I fight the urge to punch her right in the condescending throat. “Of course.” I plaster on a seething grin and scrawl my name across the clipboard.

  She doesn’t speak. She simply sits back down, as if I wasn’t standing in front of her, owning half of this damn company.

  I shake off the encounter and plot out my conversation carefully. This plan would take some serious finesse. Hope swirls around on my insides. My heartbeat is strong and thumping in my chest. And because I’m me, and it’s apparently the law of being me, everything comes crashing down around me as the heavy, metal doors take their time opening.

  Standing five feet in front of me?

  Lucky.

  He spots me, giving an odd, yet full smile. I rush toward him and he moves to the side, almost like he’s stepping out of my way. “Good afternoon,” he says.

  I don’t have to bother with figuring out what’s going on because Carrie Scott steps out of the shadow. I dart my stare between the two of them. He appears oblivious and she sports a sly grin, like a serpent eyeing his prey.

  “Where have you been?” I survey him from head to toe. He sure knows how to fill out a suit. The powder blue button down pulls across his hard, built pects, setting off his dark chocolate eyes.

  “Excuse me?” He cocks his head.

  “I’ve been calling and looking…”

  “James, this is Jade Belhomme.”

  James, of course.

  “Pleasure. James Gauthier.” He extends a hand in my direction as if we are meeting for the very first time.

  Is this a fucking joke? I don’t know why, but I almost take it before Carrie snakes one of her arms, looping it through his, and snuggling into his side.

  “Darling, this is the woman who’s trying to take over your company.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lucky

  This woman? She’s supposed to be my enemy? Take down an entire billion-dollar corporation.

  No fucking way.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. There’s something about her. Something strong. Something fierce. But looking at her standing in front of me in her painted on jeans and old t-shirt, I wouldn’t argue that she looks good enough to eat, but the boardroom? Not so much.

  “Jade, my fiancé tells me that you and I have some business to discuss.” I shove my hands into the silk lined pockets of my trousers, which I hate because they bunch around my nuts. This shit’s super uncomfortable.

  The woman shakes her long, black curls. “I don’t know what’s going on here, or how the hell you…” She steers her gaze toward Carrie and looks like she’s ready to put her boot right up her ass.

  “Ms. Belhomme?” A quiet, plain Jane looking woman interrupts the conversation, possibly saving Carrie from one hell of a dentist bill. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

  Carrie pops off. “Wendy, she’ll be busy for a while with Mr. Gauthier and myself. And then, she’ll be gone.” Her tone is catty.

  I have no idea why I’m standing idly by, waiting on these two to have it out like two wet cats stuck in a cage, but I can’t help but feel I’ve been here before, only different. Way different.

  The feisty one glares back. She nips at her bottom lip, pulling it between her canines before turning toward the homely woman who’s slinking back in the shadows. “What do you got for me, Wendy?”

  Holy shit. She just turned her back on me and walked away. And just in case I wasn’t sure about whether that kind of shit actually happens, Carrie made me fully aware by her creased brow and gaping mouth that it did not.

  “Don’t let her get away with that. Demand her back here. My God, James. That piece of stripper trash is trying to take away our company.”

  Now it’s my turn to distort my face. “I’m not going to demand someone to do something. I don’t care who they are.”

  “Well, at the very least, let’s go figure out our next move.” Carrie tries to slip her hand into mine, but I jerk away.

  I don’t really care for the way she referenced ‘our’ company. ‘Our’ next move. “I think I’ll catch up on some work in my office. Alone.”

  It’s that moment when I vow to check into things for myself. To seriously dig into what’s going on and make decisions based on what’s right for my company. My family.

  I also vow to find out more about this woman Carrie referred to as stripper trash. Not giving two shits about her green eyes and the way her tight t-shirt dipped between her rather perfect tits.

  Ok, maybe giving one shit.

  The longer I fight to familiarize myself with Gauthier’s background, the longer I want to stab myself in the eyeball with a Taco Bell spork. Repeatedly.

  Wendy turns out to be a big help, gathering endless piles of stuff for me to scour through. I can’t help but think her allegiance is to someone else. It doesn’t really matter though. I don’t remember who the hell she is anyway.

  “I’ll be back with the next box, sir.” The young woman pivots, ready to snap the door closed.

  “Wait,” I say, and she stops, keeping her stone hard gaze glued to the floor. “I’d like to see Ms. Belhomme now.”

  Wendy lifts her chin, looking me dead in the eye. “Sorry, sir. She’s gone for the day.”

  My ribcage expands with the deep lungful of air. “What are you talking about? She knew I wanted to talk with her. Why would she just leave like that?”

  She refuses to break eye contact. “I don’t know, sir. Maybe she had something more pressing to take care of. May I go now?”

  “Fine.” I wave her away.

  First thing on tomorrow’s to-do list? Demand Jade Belhomme to sit and hear what I have to say. Scratch that. First thing is to get a new secretary. Second thing is to teach that woman her place.

  Of course, it would help if I knew my own place.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Baby Jade

  “Who the fuck does he think he is?” I ask myself, loudly, in an elevator full of corporate big-wigs. I roll my eyes once the other occupants peel their gazes away from me and plant them back onto the floor.

  My lips are close to numb from the quick, shallow breaths.

  Wendy. Wendy deserves a fucking raise. Or flowers, or whatever it is people do for the underdog in this
cracked up universe. She was a real trooper, standing up to Carrie and Lucky in her own way. The entire episode is like a drug induced dream. He doesn’t seem to know who I am, but that’s not the worst part. In the short time since the board meeting, he and Carrie got engaged.

  As soon as the words are released into my brain, I can’t take them back. The words, the images, are permanent. I work to swallow back the sob rising in my constricted throat. The uneasy confusion turns my stomach when I realize I never really knew Lucky at all.

  I don’t understand anything anymore.

  I shake away the tormented thoughts and turn my focus back to the hurdle in front of me. Willow. If I don’t find her soon, she’ll be floating in the River.

  I try to prioritize my to do list and decide to stop by the house first to check on things.

  And it’s a damn good thing I did.

  Smoke billows through the living room and I choke when the burnt stench gets stuck in my esophagus. I turn on the switch to the ceiling fan and rush to open the windows. “What the hell are you doing in there, woman?”

  Ma’Linn bobs her around the corner. “O’, tifi, dis t’ing ain’t workin’ right.”

  I follow her to the stove. The oven door is hanging open while my hefty friend waves a dish towel through the air, aiming it at the gray clouds following her flappy underarms.

  I make sure all the knobs are turned off and toss the dark cookie sheet in the sink. The water sizzles and bubbles when I run the tap to cool off the pan. “What were you trying to do?”

  “Girl, I was dryin’ t’em herbs. I need to make a new potion. Yo momma still not be sleepin’. T’ey be wantin’ to give her some more of t’em meds dat be makin’ her so sick. We don’t be needin’ dat.”

  I place my hands on her plump shoulders and guide her to one of the fancy, new kitchen chairs. The only thing that makes it fancy is the fact that it has all its pieces and doesn’t wobble when you sit down.

  “Ok, so let me get this straight. You went to see Momma and they told you they want to up her dosage? Again?”

  Ma’Linn’s body shakes as she pops her head up and down. “Me’ wi.”