Fully Dressed

by Geri Krotow

  “Have a seat.” She shoved out the wrought iron chair across from her and he sat, immediately eliminating her sense of privacy in a crowd. But not her safety. Brandon did a lot of things to her insides but she always felt safe around him. Protected.

  “You’re up and out early today.” He bit into his beignet, watching her over the sugared fried dough.

  So he’d been paying attention to her schedule? Even when she’d gone to sleep in the guest room? That remained her firm boundary. Record-setting multiple orgasms and all, she couldn’t risk falling asleep with Brandon.

  “I had some things I wanted to do.”

  “Seems you didn’t need to get this dressed up to walk around the French Quarter.”

  “What are you doing here?” She didn’t have to respond to the interrogating.

  He licked his fingers before taking a long sip of his hot drink. “I had an early appointment.”

  “With the Department of State?”

  “No, that was yesterday. I met with my private investigator and lawyers.”

  She focused on her second beignet, marveling at how quickly the little donuts disappeared from her bag. Brandon needed to talk and she owed it to him to listen. Wanted to listen.

  “I’m at an impasse. Without reporting it to the authorities, I’m never going to stand a chance of getting one dime back from Jeb.”

  “Maybe it’s time to rip the bandage off.” She wasn’t going to repeat herself. He already knew her opinion. Friends didn’t steal your entire net worth and disappear with it.

  “I can’t, Poppy. If anyone gets wind of this, especially our government or San Sofia, the deal will be dead in the water. They need to have total confidence in Boats by Gus.” He crumpled his empty bag and pushed it to the side.

  “Then plan to file a report as soon as you land the contract. You will get it, Brandon.” She believed it, she wasn’t paying lip service to him as she might have other clients. Other clients were concerned about how they looked to the outside world. Brandon was, too, but she saw the sincerity in his desire to work with the tiny island nation. He wanted to help stop the drug runners, to be on the right side of life.

  “Have you ever had a lifelong friendship go south on you, Poppy?”

  “Lifelong, no. Sonja and I have been solid since college, and I still have grade school friends back in Western New York. But I know what betrayal is.” Like him, she’d lost everything in terms of her career. Unlike him, she wasn’t one deal away from restituting her business. That was going to take a complete do-over on her part. And years.

  “What are you thinking about?” The warmth had edged back into his tone. It made her heart sing and she didn’t want her heart or any other part of her singing for Brandon Boudreaux. It was easier when he iced her out, as he had after finding out her brand line deal was sunk. Or when they were having mind-blowing sex, preventing her from thinking about what she was risking by getting so close to him.

  Too close.

  “I’m thinking that you have a chance to get your company back on track. That’s one more than most folks get when they lose a job. Most have to start over.”

  “I am starting over, Poppy. Maybe not with the kind of work I do, or even how I do it. But for the first time in my life, I’m on my own.”

  * * * *

  He watched her amber eyes widen as she took in his words, her mouth working as though she were going to challenge him.

  “If anyone can do something on his own, it’s you!” Her smile was forced along with her Positive Poppy banter. He let it go.

  Since the storm had lifted Brandon was rarely in the house. He couldn’t be near her, not without wanting to be with her, and he was no good for her. He’d overreacted to the news about her brand line, too, which really pissed him off. If their relationship was laid-back, if he was the man he knew she needed right now, the last thing he could expect from her was all the intimate details of her failed business. Poppy needed a rebound relationship, which he was willing to be. Anything more would spell disaster for both of them. He had to focus on saving his livelihood and she had to get back on her feet, too.

  He’d given Poppy a key fob, hoping he’d be able to allow her to simply be a roommate with benefits. But it was impossible. He wanted her and she allowed him to have her every chance they got. Even better, she wanted him and wasn’t shy about it. And while he expected she’d be in and out he didn’t know what she did all day while he was gone. Seeing her sitting here in the Café Du Monde, dressed to kill, had shaken him. He’d been immediately drawn to her, immediately recognized her.

  Brandon’s meetings with the government officials had gone well and tomorrow he met with the actual representatives of San Sofia who would decide whether or not he’d get the contract.

  While he’d been busy building boats and going to the preliminary meetings, Poppy had apparently been doing some business of her own.

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Yankee girl, but there’s nothing I do alone in my industry. From my team to all the contractors and agencies we work with, it’s a team effort.”

  “Do you mean to sound condescending toward my job, or is that just an extra talent of yours? I know that you think fashion and celebrity stylists are frivolous, but I do happen to make a difference in the world, too. It might not be helping in the war on drugs but I help people to feel better about themselves each day.”

  “What kind of people are you talking about, Poppy? You mean you make rich, privileged people feel better about being so selfish with their financial blessings?”

  “That’s not fair. Your clients are ten times as well-off as mine. They have to be, to be able to afford one of your sailboats. If you want to throw down on demographics, bring it.” Her chin jutted, actually jutted, over the table and the gleam in her eye was one of hostile intent.

  “Do you want to punch me, Poppy?”

  “No—well, maybe just a bit. Yes. Yes, I want to punch you right in your nose. You know nothing about what I do.”

  “I know that you’ve helped me prepare for my toughest contract interview yet. And since it’s going to be my last negotiation unless I win it, there’s extra pressure. Your styling and coaching has got me this far. I’m grateful.”

  “Then why all the commotion about what I do, if it’s relevant or not?”

  “Because I like the way your eyes sparkle when you’re mad.” Christ, had those words just come out of his mouth? So much for keeping it above board around Poppy.

  “I’m not mad. I’m annoyed that I have to continue this conversation with you and the millions of men like you who don’t get what I do for a living.”

  “Do you get what you do, Poppy?” The rug had been pulled out from under her, and in the ugliest of ways because it had been very public, very in-your-face.

  “I know that I provide services tailored to each individual client, not the same for all. Clients seek me out because they see the newfound confidence in their friends and colleagues who’ve used my services.”

  Her bottom lip trembled and he wanted to crush it under his mouth. To lick away her doubts. “I’m sure they do. And…I shouldn’t have said what I did. I promise I’ll find something else to get your blood boiling. Not your career.”

  She didn’t reply but the grim line of her mouth softened. He let the silence stand as he puzzled over the bubbling feeling in his chest. As if his heart was letting a little more light in.

  * * * *

  Poppy couldn’t escape the unexpected rendezvous with Brandon at Café Du Monde fast enough. He had rattled her cage as usual but this time he’d not stopped at the bars. He was inside with her, egging her on with the harsh whips of her own recriminations. She had lost sight of why she’d taken up being a personal stylist in the first place. The event in her life that had inspired her to pursue making people feel their best no matter what. She shook away the awful
memory, reminding herself that she was safe, her mother was safe. No one would hurt them again.

  She leaned her head back on the driver’s seat as the AC powered up. The BMW was the epitome of luxury and she loved every minute of driving it. Brandon knew she would, because she’d liked driving Sonja’s Beemer. When she’d retrieved it from his garage she saw several other vehicles including a no-nonsense Ford Fiesta she’d have been happy to use and told him so. He’d dismissed her offer and said that she was doing him a favor by giving the high-end car a workout. Her phone rang and she lifted her head, looking at the dashboard’s hands-free display. A thrill ran through her when she saw it was one of the boutiques she’d left her card at this morning. She pressed the accept button.

  “Poppy’s Do-Overs.” It felt so good to have her own sense of a job again, to have a new business.

  “Poppy, it’s Bianca from Fresh Lines. You were in our boutique earlier?”

  “Yes. It’s nice to hear from you again.” She tried to stay calm and not sound too eager. Professionalism over despair.

  “I’ve taken a look at your brochure, and your business is just what I need right now.”

  “Wonderful.” She fought against screaming her gratitude. After months of spiraling into the crater the breakup from Will had blasted in her heart, jubilation was a stranger. But a welcome one.

  To her delight, the boutique owner wanted to hire her to conduct monthly presentations about how to be your own fashion stylist.

  “I can start this week if you’d like.”

  “That’s great. I’ll put you on the schedule for Saturday morning. It’s the perfect time when the new moms want out of the house to shop.”

  “You think my audience will be mostly young mothers?”

  “Oh no. There will also be a couple of empty nester women who are regular shoppers, and the news anchor saw my post about your services on Facebook and wants to hire you for a private session!”

  “This is fantastic. As promised, you’ll get ten percent of my commission. I can bring a contract by tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I have a different idea for that. I have an entire room in the back that I use for storage, but I have plenty of space on the third floor to move my extra inventory. What would you say to using the main-floor storage room for your office? If you expand as you’d mentioned, I’d love for my shop to be your headquarters here in New Orleans. Until your income is steady, I’ll charge you rent based on the customers you bring. Totally on commission.”

  It seemed too easy. Too quick. “Answer me this, Bianca. Did you do a background check on me?”

  Bianca’s warm laughter conceded guilt. “Not per se but I did Google you. I thought you looked familiar! And for the record, your ex is a douche.”

  “Ah, thank you?” Poppy trusted her gut and no alarm bells had gone off with Bianca.

  “We’ll finesse the details tomorrow, but until then may I suggest that you join the NOLA Chamber of Commerce? The next meeting is this week and it’d be the perfect networking opportunity for you.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks again, Bianca. I really mean it.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Poppy smiled as she disconnected the call. Driving Brandon’s car was a treat but she’d have to find her own car soon. She didn’t own a car because it wasn’t needed in New York. If she found a place to live anywhere outside of downtown NOLA she’d need a vehicle. Plus Louisiana was better seen by car.

  Or boat.

  New Orleans was giving her a chance to circle back and reinvent Designs by Amber. For starters, she’d changed the name to Poppy’s Do-Overs. Instead of attracting high-end clients, she hoped to encourage established women in established careers to take a professional inventory and see if they were living their dreams. Part of her business model was to donate a set percentage to battered women’s shelters, and she hoped to offer her services at the actual shelters. She’d done work with social workers in New York City when she’d first started in personal styling but her charity work had fallen to the side as her time constraints grew.

  That had been a big mistake.

  She needed hard cash to put down on a new place to live in New York and a new shop. Brandon’s work would be the bulk of what she needed to get going, but it wasn’t going to help her immediate needs. And she had to face facts. Returning to live in New York full time was not an affordable option. Not yet, and maybe not for quite a while.

  Hence her setting up a new website and having business cards and brochures printed on the cheap in a local office supply store. She’d spent the past two weeks since the storm handing out her card to every boutique owner within the city limits. It was humbling work after what she’d accomplished in New York, but she was starting over. With negative-nothing, because her reputation had been so damaged.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, or quick. But it might be lasting. A new life and career in New Orleans. As long as she promised herself that she wasn’t doing it for anyone but herself. Allowing the tiniest speckle of hope for a more lasting relationship with Brandon would turn NOLA into New York all over again. Up until Will she’d never relied on a man, never considered a lasting relationship. She’d never make that mistake again.

  Chapter 15

  Poppy leaned over to the slick contemporary nightstand and shut off her phone’s alarm, ruing the early hour. Until she looked to her left and saw the sunrise spill over the water. She’d figured out that the guest room overlooked Lake Pontchartrain, while the living area of Brandon’s house had a spectacular view of the Mississippi. The house’s unique position had kept it from flooding during the storm.

  Sonja and Henry’s place hadn’t been as fortunate. The bottom floor had seepage damage that didn’t look that bad to Poppy but Brandon assured her it would necessitate the entire hardwood floor being ripped up and replaced. He’d already hired a mitigation contractor for Henry, but with the high numbers of damaged homes it might be weeks before the house was repaired.

  Poppy ran a hot shower and laid out her outfit. She’d picked up some pieces with Southern flair, such as a blouse or skirt, while keeping her signature sleek lines intact. Turned out that if people shopping in the boutique recognized her, they were happy to have a “famous stylist” help them with their wardrobe choices. They didn’t care about the rumors of her mental illness or lack thereof.

  She walked into Brandon’s kitchen and found a bright yellow note next to the espresso machine.

  Left early for meeting. Meet me for brunch at 10:30?

  Brandon had scribbled the address of the restaurant at the bottom of the slip of paper. His strong scrawl reminded her of his lovemaking-deft, polished, but with enough wild to keep her on edge, wondering what he’d do next to bring her to another delta-shaking orgasm. The man knew his way around her body, that was a given. And she was trying to keep her heart out of this by always insisting on going to sleep in her separate room, apart from him. As if she could pretend it really was sex-only.

  Getting involved with anyone after all she’d gone through with Will had to be a rebound. That was the only logical conclusion. She had no other way to explain the constant craving she had for Brandon. His body, for sure, but his humor, the sense that he completely understood her.

  She took the note and neatly folded it. Nothing wrong with a little rebound action.

  * * * *

  Brandon sat in a comfortable chair in a minimally appointed waiting area of one of New Orleans’ top law firms. He knew it was one of the best because his father owned the top firm in the area. It was a mystery to him why Henry hadn’t landed this account. If the San Sofia procurement team had been handled by the Boudreaux firm, Brandon might have groveled enough to ask Henry for a leg-up on the competition.

  Of course, that would be illegal and Henry didn’t do anything outside of the lines. Brandon didn’t either, in fact. And he wouldn’t want to put Henry
at risk, ever, but he wished like hell he could confide in his brother about Jeb disappearing with the company funds. Henry would have succinct legal advice for him, as he always did. But he’d forevermore judge Jeb, and Brandon wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Jeb and he’s business partnership stuck in Henry’s craw. Henry never said as much, but it was there in the way they didn’t talk about anything but the most shallow aspects of Boats by Gus. Which was fine with Brandon because he had no desire to hear about how the old man was treating Henry to bonus upon bonus, how losing one son made him pour his focus on his remaining two children.

  “Mr. Boudreaux?” A woman in a suit that fit her body like an alligator’s skin stood at the front of the waiting area. Brandon stood and walked past the half a dozen or so other contenders for the San Sofia contract and gave the executive assistant his killer smile.

  “Thanks, Mary Beth.” He motioned for her to go first through the door and into the carpeted passageway. “How’s it going so far today?”

  He didn’t miss her checking him out. Was certain she wanted him to notice, in fact. Her cat green eyes were offset by a smooth olive-toned complexion, made all the more enticing by her long, straight brunette locks.

  “It’s been the usual, but I think it’s about to get more interesting.” Her perfect brow arched over her eye and he caught her message. He waited for the usual thrill of a flirt to swirl in his chest but…nothing. Mary Beth was his perfect type—brunette, tall, confident.

  She absolutely wasn’t a bleached-blond petite woman with the sharpest tongue this side of the Mississippi.

  “Gus? What do you think?” She knew from his file that he was the company’s namesake.

  “I think the competition is fierce. No one wants to stand out and risk losing a multimillion-dollar contract.”

  Disappointment warred with annoyance in her eyes and he offered her a bland smile this time.

  “You’re probably right.”