The Queen of Dauphine Street
Page 22
“We might have to cancel the reception hall. It was so beautiful, too. I just . . . Darlene sucks. Wait. You’re a deacon? I heard? I shouldn’t say tha . . . I’m being awful.”
She looked so twitterpated Alex couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not a deacon yet, but on the path, I suppose. And we all have our moments. She was thoughtless. I understand the frustration.”
“I could hire extra security, I suppose,” Sol offered, sweeping his fiancée and her enormous pink diamond engagement ring off her feet. They collapsed together on an overstuffed love seat, Arianna nestled against his shoulder like Sol’s personal doll. “But it’s open air. I’m afraid of helicopter photographers.”
“Why not have it here? The ballroom’s big enough,” Alex said before making his way to the coffee station. The flight from Dallas to New Orleans had been direct, and there’d been in-flight service, but they’d only served tasteless coffee sludge and he was exhausted. Real New Orleans chicory brew was a dream come true to a tired man force-fed a steady diet of burnt ’Bucks.
“It’s booked, and I won’t have another bride suffering like I am,” Rain replied. “Sol said we could cancel it but I couldn’t live with myself.”
“You could postpone the wedding?”
“I don’t want to,” Sol said. “Everyone’s flying in. Hell, you’re here already, and we’re waiting to hear back from Rain’s maid of honor. She’s coming in from South Africa, I think.”
Rain nodded. “Yes. She’s been in Cape Town. She’ll be here soon.”
Anything else Alex thought to say was lost to a commotion out front. Shouting, kerfuffle, chaos. It was a standard part of Sol’s day, maybe, but Alex’s routine was much quieter. He winced, sipping his coffee, before the gauntest man alive strode into the room. Cylan was Sol’s best friend, accountant, and as far as Alex was concerned, the better candidate for the job of being Sol’s best man. Alex had said as much, too, but Sol wasn’t having it.
“Because you’re my brother and I want my brother to be my best man. Is that so much to ask?” Sol had said over the phone six months ago.
“So Cylan said no, huh?”
“Of course Cylan said no. He refused after the Maddy thing. Said he’d done it before and then there’d been that really awkward . . . he kneed me in the junk right before pictures. I can’t risk round two, Alex. I can’t be dick clobbered on Cupcake’s Very Special Day.”
Alex had forgotten about that, but it was proof positive Cylan was smarter than the rest of them.
“So why not ask Nash? He’s your twin.”
“Because Nash sucks, Alex. If I wanted that much suck in my life, I’d make a porno. No.”
A master of prose, Sol was not.
And so Alex had agreed, and now he stood in the conference room with Sol, his fiancée, and a fairly aggravated-looking Cylan Powell. “We need someone to man the front for a little while,” Cylan announced. “The security team is doing what they can but the press is getting more aggressive and I need a quick break.”
“Are you okay?” Rain asked. “Why are you doing security, anyway?”
“I’m overseeing the shift swap. We had a breach the other day when the morning shift was going out and the afternoon shift was coming in. I’m just making sure we don’t have any more breaks in the line.” Cylan paused, frowned, and shifted his weight between his feet. “And I’m fine. I had Tito’s for lunch. I need a twenty-minute break.”
Sol snickered. “Oh, you and your Tex Melts.”
Rain looked confused. “What about Tex Melts?”
“Cylan has to poop, kitten. He is, as they say, full of shit.”
“I hate you,” Cylan said. “So much. You have no idea how much I hate you.”
“. . . I’ll man the front.” Alex abandoned his drained coffee cup on the end table. It was a good excuse to get away from Sol’s shit-eating grin, which was annoying on a good day and enough to make a man hang himself on a bad one. Between Alex’s flight being delayed by an hour and a half, an aggressive feel-up by overly thorough TSA agents, and taking a reporter elbow upon arriving at The Seaside, it was not shaping up to be a good day. “Take your break, Cylan.”
“Thank you, Alex. You always were the better DuMont.” Cylan practically danced his way to the door. “Hotel guests have passes, press doesn’t, and if it’s a new check-in, the customers clear it with Palo on the right. He has the list. All press is a no. We’re on full lockdown until new arrangements have been made for the wedding, and even then it’ll be . . . more later.”
“They won’t get in,” Alex promised to Cylan’s fleeing back. “I’ll see to it.”
Check out the other sizzling installments in the NOLA Nights series!
Hotel chain mogul Sol DuMont is about to learn that some of life’s biggest surprises come in deceptively small packages—namely a petite heiress named Rain who’s hell-bent on upsetting her family’s expectations.
The King of Bourbon Street
* * *
A rollicking, sexy tale of opposites attracting in the midst of wedding planning!
The Lady of Royale Street
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thea de Salle is the pseudonym of a New York Times bestselling author spinning sweet, naughty, funny kissing stories with her best friend. Thea’s handlers live in South Shore, Massachusetts, with a small army of furry, short-legged creatures. Their collective interests are books, jewelry, makeup, travel, and oodles of inappropriate humor. You can find Thea on Twitter, Tumblr, and at TheadeSalle@gmail.com.
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NOLA NIGHTS SERIES
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Thea de Salle
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition May 2017
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ISBN 978-1-5011-5609-0
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