“My pictures are in galleries?”
“Well,” Vivienne said. “A few of them are. I made a few calls on the flight here, and all but two have sold.”
Jace grinned at Kir and twirled the toothpick wedged in the corner of his mouth. “Supply and demand, brother. Better stop hogging your woman and give her time to get more work in.”
Holy crap.
Her pictures were selling.
Like real art.
How freaking crazy was that?
She turned to Kir. “You knew?”
His smile deepened and his voice dropped to that husky pitch she loved. “Of course, I knew. I have a vested interest in my woman being happy in her new career.”
“Now there’s a sign of a smart man,” Ninette said, looking around the room like she’d lost a stray duckling. “I’d introduce you to Sylvie, but I don’t know where in the hell she ran off to.”
“She’s giving the New Orleans crew a tour,” Natalie said. “Though, if you want to know the truth, I think she and Frieda were comparing notes on which of the men on the stage crew had the most potential.”
As if they’d staged their arrival for just that moment, the door swung open and Evette’s, Frieda’s and Sylvie’s laughter rolled into the room ahead of them.
Evette locked eyes with Cassie almost instantly. She rushed forward and wrapped her up in a hug as everyone else strolled in. “You made it!”
“You sold more of my pictures!” Timing wise, it probably wasn’t the right response, but Cassie couldn’t help it. Her insides were still reeling from the news and doing their darnedest to keep up.
Evette leaned back, eyes wide with mock chagrin. “Oops?”
Laughter filled the room, and Sergei aimed an amused yet adoring look on his wife. He rested one hand on his son’s shoulder and shifted his attention to Cassie. “It’s what family does. You will forgive her, yes?”
“Well, of course. But I hadn’t printed any new ones since the last set you asked for. How’d you get them?”
Frieda rolled her lips inward, but her face turned a bright red and the smile behind her eyes was pure mischief. “She might have had an inside track with your only employee.”
Of course, she’d been the one to smuggle out the goods. Frieda was nothing if not a busybody—not that Cassie had any complaints.
The older woman with dark cherry-colored hair and enviable curves who’d walked in with her crew sauntered toward Cassie. When she spoke, her words were thick with a Scottish accent. “Well, then. Now that we got all that out in the open, I’m Sylvie,” she said, wrapping her arms around Cassie with the same familiarity Evette had. “Welcome to the family, lass.”
Wow.
Just. Freaking. Wow.
Not just a big night.
A phenomenal one.
The stuff of dreams and happily ever afters. Her man by her side. Loads of happy, unpretentious, kind and giving people around her. A blooming career she hadn’t seen coming.
And she hadn’t even taken her camera out of her bag yet.
“Well.” Axel’s big booming voice came from the hallway at the back of the room and carried the same accent as Sylvie’s only much, much lighter. “I see no one’s scared off the new girl yet. Always a miracle.”
“Um,” Gia said. “Pretty sure it’s the guys who usually scare us off and the women who find a way to sweet-talk us back on your behalf.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Natalie echoed.
Sylvie released Cassie and aimed a superior look at her son. “Ye see? The women know the truth of it.”
Lizzy, who’d walked in beside Axel and still had her hand in his, shook her head. “You’re diggin’ a hole, Handsome.”
Axel didn’t seem to care. There was too much laughter in his eyes and the presence of a man who had it all and then some. He winked at Cassie and asked, “So, you’ve met the clan, yeah?”
Cassie nodded, the most she could muster considering how much she’d taken in over such a short time.
“Well, all right then.” He clapped his hands together, rubbed them like someone had just wheeled in a cartful of beer or Scotch, then wrapped his arm around Lizzy’s back. “Let’s get this show on the road. Everyone get their seats, and we’ll get Cassie set up.”
Everyone stood, making their way toward the door and the hallway beyond.
Roman patted her shoulder, dipped his head to her ear and murmured, “Good luck,” before following the crowd.
Sergei nodded in a show of encouragement and guided Emerson and Evette behind Roman, but Evette winked and wiggled her fingers in farewell over one shoulder.
In less than a minute it was just Cassie, Frieda, Kir, Axel and Lizzie remaining, but it was Kir who was closest. Her rock. Her champion. Her man.
He pulled her in close and cupped one side of her face? “Are you ready?”
She was more than ready. She was happy. Living a dream and loving every second of it. All because of the man holding her. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”
* * *
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Acknowledgments
I am tremendously blessed by the people in my life—some of them family by blood, some of them family by choice, and some of them business partners I’m damned glad to have. Together, they keep me sane, focused, and energized to keep chasing this craft and profession I love so much.
For the Carina Press & Harlequin crew, especially Kerri Buckley, thank you for your time, your patience, and your enthusiastic support. Even through transitions and uncertainty, you’ve done everything possible to keep the runway smooth and comfortable. That means more than I can possibly convey in words.
Cori Deyoe, Lucy Beshara, Jennifer Mathews, Juliette Cross and Dena Garson—what in the ever-lovin’ world would I do without you guys? You’ve talked me off ledges more times than I can count and haven’t once let me catch you rolling your eyes. Thank you for being my trusted friends and mentors.
And I don’t dare let an opportunity pass without giving thanks for my beloved family. For my dad, my sister, my beautiful girls—Abegayle and Addison—and the love of my life, Joe Crivelli. My days wouldn’t be anywhere near as bright and vibrant without each of you in them.
About the Author
Rhenna Morgan is a happily-ever-after addict—hot men, smart women, and scorching chemistry required. A triple-A personality with a thing for lists, Rhenna’s a mom to two beautiful daughters who constantly keep her dancing, laughing and simply happy to be alive.
When she’s not neck deep in writing, she’s probably driving with the windows down and the music up loud, plotting her next hero and heroine’s adventure. (Though trolling online for man-candy inspiration on Pinterest comes in a close second.)
She’d love to share her antics and bizarre since of humor with you and get to know you a little better in the process. You can sign up for her newsletter and gain access to exclusive snippets, upcoming releases, fun giveaways, and social media outlets at www.rhennamorgan.com.
Read on for a sneak preview of
Mine to Keep, the next book in
Rhenna Morgan’s NOLA Knights series.
The good thing about public transportation was that it ran more reliably than Bonnie’s beat-up Ford Focus.
The bad thing?
New Orleans’s Transit Authority didn’t run on demand. Which was going to make for a slow getaway on her return trip home later this afternoon. Definitely not ideal when you were trying to escape the nightmare neighborhood you grew up in.
Bonnie leaned against the bus
’s hard plastic seatback, crossed one jean-clad leg over the other and took a good gander at her fellow travelers. At mid-afternoon on a Monday, Line 80 didn’t have a ton of passengers, but the ones it did have looked like they all needed three solid days of nothing but sleep.
Well, everyone but the guy in the dirty gray coveralls at the back of the bus. He’d been stretched across three seats and out cold since she’d gotten on near her apartment in Tremé. Whether he was drunk or just hiding from the quick January cold snap that had hit their fine city yesterday was a toss-up. But so far, nothing had made him budge. Not even the painful screech of the bus’s brakes at every single stop.
Twelve of them, to be exact.
At this rate, Bonnie was going to have permanent hearing loss before she got where she was going.
As if the bus driver had heard her snide thoughts and taken them as a personal attack, he hit the brakes and sent another fresh squeal ringing from under the chassis. The passengers had barely righted themselves from the sharp forward jolt when the he opened the doors and droned into the microphone, “Louisa and Abundance Streets.”
Bonnie sighed and stood. “Home, sweet home.”
She’d murmured the snarky comment under her breath, but the middle-aged woman who’d been trying to keep two energetic young boys in line piped up before Bonnie could make the front door. “Look at it this way. From here, anywhere you go is up.”
With a sharp laugh, Bonnie made her way to the pavement and readjusted her backpack on her shoulder. The lady wasn’t wrong. For a neighborhood called Desire, it was a long, long way from what anyone would consider desirable. More like a country town that had been forgotten and left idling in the seventies. A few tiny houses dotted what had once been a fully populated area—some mostly well kept and surrounded by chain-link fence and others falling apart. In between many of them were empty lots, the homes that had once stood in the decent-sized plots now well overgrown with weeds big enough to rival trees. The only new structure in sight was a decent-sized church surrounded by baby crepe myrtles.
The driver revved the engine and the bus trundled away, leaving Bonnie two blocks and a fruitless conversation away from her escape. Crossing the street, she ducked her chin deep in the collar of her jean jacket and forged into the crisp wind. “I have got to get my car fixed.”
The walk to Clouet Street was over in no time, and the sight that greeted her was the same as it always was—Dad’s Chevy parked a little off the tiny driveway, the gate to the chain-link fence left open and the trash can that never left the front curb close to overflowing. The house itself was basically a double-wide that had taken on permanent airs and was painted in the drabbest tan known to man. Once upon a time, the oak trees in the front and backyard had added a homey feel to their lot, but these days they’d gone so long without trimming they all but hid the house from plain view.
She rounded her brother’s Triumph motorcycle blocking the sidewalk, jogged up the cement stoop and—sure enough—the front door was unlocked.
Inside, the living room was all shadows and disarray, the blinds drawn tight against the clouds outside and all kinds of bills and junk mail scattered over the coffee table and couch. No lights were on in the kitchen either, but at least a little light streamed through one uncovered window. She headed in that direction and opened her mouth to call out a hello, but stopped dead in her tracks when her dad’s voice bellowed from his room at the end of the hallway.
“Boy, you’ve got shit for brains! What the hell were you thinking?”
Well, guess that answered where everyone was.
She changed directions and started clearing a pile of motorcycle magazines off the couch.
Her brother Kevin’s response wasn’t intelligible from the living room, but the tone behind it was reminiscent of all the other lectures her brother had endured over the years. She’d bet his hands were jammed in the pockets of his jeans, a scowl on his face and his face flushed just like all the times before, too.
The irony of those lectures was that Dad was often just as guilty of doing whatever it was Kevin had done (and then some). Hence, the reason Kevin had to fight so hard to keep from blowing a gasket.
Ah, the joy of family.
She plopped onto the couch, unzipped her backpack and dug out the stack of medical bills she’d spent the last week juggling and pleading over. Might as well settle in and get her ducks in a row while the two of them duked out whatever needed duking. Better that than getting in between them. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when she’d tried to referee a drunken fistfight shortly after her mom had died.
“Enough!” Kevin’s shout was loud enough someone could’ve heard it from the street. “You can call me whatever the hell you want, but if you think Bonnie’s gonna have enough to bail you out with Pauley, you’re out of your mind.”
Bonnie’s head whipped up from the stack of bills in her lap so fast her spine cracked. Pauley? As is Pauley Mitchell?
She tossed the bills on top of all the other trash on the coffee table and stalked to her dad’s room. She hadn’t even fully reached the end of the hall before she interrupted whatever Dad was saying to Kevin. “Do not tell me you’re racking up a balance with that shark again. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get your last debt paid off?”
Both men whipped their attention toward Bonnie, eyes wide and jaws slack.
Translation: They were both guilty as hell about something.
Her dad recovered first, shook his head and took on that blustering bullshit demeanor he used whenever he wanted to sweep something under the rug. “Got nothin’ going on with Pauley you need to know about, little girl.” He aimed a warning look at Kevin, then waddled toward her in that painful-looking gait that plagued him these days. He palmed her shoulder when he got close enough and steered her down the hall. “Come on. I’m so damned tired of this bedroom I can’t see straight. Let’s get you settled and you can tell me what you’re here for.”
As if he didn’t know. The only thing her brother and father wanted to talk to her about these days was money. Not surprising since she was the only one who could hold a job for more than a few months at a time. Or, in Bonnie’s case, two or three jobs.
Still, one didn’t throw snark in the face of a dying man, so she pretended to fall for the nicety and sat her ass back on the sofa.
Her dad wasn’t quite as quick getting settled, the swollen gut that came as a byproduct of his failing liver just one of the sad realities he had to face. “Now,” he said once he was in his recliner with his feet up. “Tell me what brings you here.”
Seriously? They were going to dance around this? Usually he was all get-in-and-get-out with money business so he could get back to sipping his whiskey on the sly. “Um, bills?”
Her dad—or Buzz as his buddies called him, since he was always on the search for a good high—waved her comment off and smiled. “No talk of bills. Without a transplant, I’m gonna kick it soon, and those high and mighty assholes have said they’re not giving me one. So, no point in either one of us bailing water with a thimble anymore. Now...tell me how that new job is coming.”
New job?
Which one? Answering phones at the TV station, or the dive bar where the owner had practically handed over managing the business Sunday through Wednesday every week? And how the heck he’d call either one of those new considering she’d been doing both for over six months was a stumper.
“Well, uh...” She dared a glance at Kevin, who’d lifted one of the blinds and had taken to staring out at the empty lot on one side of the house like all the answers to the universe were gonna start rolling in any second. “The TV station is good. I sit on my butt, answer the phone, and don’t let crazy people through the front door. It’s easy money so long as I don’t lose my shit with anyone.”
Her dad laughed. Or tried to. It came out as a mix of a cackle and one hell of a s
moker’s cough. “Public relations. You were always good keepin’ people in line. That’s why people lean on you.”
Lean on her? From her side of the coin she’d call it taking advantage of her. But hey—she’d never found the courage to tell anyone in her family no, so who was she to complain? “Yeah, they don’t call it public relations. They call it a receptionist. But it’s inside and I haven’t had a fight break out yet. Can’t say that for most nights at the Dusty Dog.”
“Oh, yeah.” From the look on her dad’s face he’d forgotten all about the bar gig. “How’s that place doin’ anyway? Last I heard, that rusty old bastard who bought the place was about to go belly up.”
Okay. Something was seriously wrong. Dad wasn’t the conversational type. Not unless he was trying to sugar someone up for a con.
Bonnie gave up pretending and aimed her attention on Kevin. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
Kevin shot their dad a nasty look then bit out, “Like he said. Nothing.”
Nothing her ample white ass. She was just about to say as much out loud when Kevin muttered something she couldn’t quite make out under his breath and stalked to his coat thrown across the well-worn club chair. He reached underneath it and pulled out a slim, shiny laptop. “Here. I brought your computer back.”
“Hallelujah and praise the Lord!” She was on her feet and cradling the hand-me-down MacBook Pro Cassie had given her several months ago in less than a heartbeat. “I was starting to think you’d pawned it.”
Kevin scoffed at that, moved his jacket out of the way and dropped into the seat. “You gonna pile on and give me shit, too?”
“I don’t know,” Bonnie fired back, easy-as-pie. “Depends on what Dad was giving you shit for.”
“Nothin’ you’re gonna get involved in,” her dad answered before Kevin could. “If the two of you were smart, you’d steer clear of all that techno mumbo jumbo. It’s all gonna backfire on the lot of us one of these days and then what are you gonna do?”
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