“He’s an artist, and he’s also very shy,” Ophelia defended. “You came at him with that dyed red hair and breasts that deserve their own zip code. It probably scared him half to death.”
Brenna laughed. “They’re mostly prosthetic. It’s always bad when I meet someone for the first time when I’m in costume—but don’t think you can change the subject that easily! What’s making you blush like that, Ophelia?”
Ophelia plopped down onto the couch cushion recently vacated by Brenna’s feet. “Vincent kissed me last night. I’m not even sure how it happened. I cut my finger and he was bandaging it and the next thing I know, he’s got me pressed up against the kitchen island and, oh sweet lord, that man can kiss. I swear to God, Brenna, I felt it in my toes.”
Brenna gaped at her and squealed, and then immediately clutched her head while wearing an expression of agony. “Oh, God! Don’t let me do that again! I drank that whole bottle of wine and my head is fucking pounding—but Jesus! I can’t believe he finally did it! So, what now?”
“Nothing,” Ophelia sighed. “Vincent isn’t looking for a relationship with me. He’s not looking for one with anybody. He just wanted something to make him forget everything else for a while. You know how I feel about him, Bren—I don’t want to get my heart broken, and there’s no other way for it to go.”
Brenna patted her knee like she was someone’s eighty year old grandmother. “Sweetie, sometimes you have to take the risk.”
“I don’t do risk. Remember me? Half the time, I’m so well behaved I can’t even stand myself.”
“You need to let your inner bitch out,” Brenna advised. “First person I’d unleash her on would be Kaitlyn DuChamps. I can’t stand her!”
It was true. Brenna and Kaitlyn had met on a few occasions and they’d taken an instant dislike to one another.
Of course, there weren’t many people that Kaitlyn did like as far as Ophelia knew. “She wasn’t always like that. I’m not sure what happened to Kaitlyn, but at some point, I think she just became a very unhappy person.” She’d no sooner completed the statement than a pillow smacked her squarely in the face. Sputtering, she demanded, “What was that for?”
“For being too damned nice! Go. Get out of here. Do something fun today for a change. Buy naughty underwear, or a vibrator so you can stop dreaming about orgasms and actually have one!”
“I’ve had orgasms before,” Ophelia protested. It had been far longer than she cared to think about since she’d had one, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of it.
“Whatever. Just go out and be Ophelia...Not Ophelia the personal assistant, or Nana Ruby’s good little Ophelia. Be yourself, have fun and do something you want to instead of something you should!”
Ophelia tossed the pillow back at Brenna. “You’ll be singing a different tune when I blow the rent money on slutty panties!”
“As long as you plan to use those slutty panties to earn it back, I don’t care!”
Still smiling, Ophelia went to the tiny bathroom that they shared and climbed into the shower. She did need some fun, she thought. It had been ages since she’d done anything just for herself. After quickly washing her hair and shaving her legs, Ophelia emerged to find that Brenna had retreated to her bedroom. She’d probably sleep until the early afternoon.
Dressing in a pair of denim capris and a flowing shirt, she slipped her feet into a pair of ballet flats. She braided her hair for ease, and a pair of cat eye glasses completed the look. It was her day off and casual was the theme for the day.
Heading out into the already substantial heat, Ophelia breathed in the scents of the city. They weren’t always pleasant, but they were home to her. Deciding to play tourist, she headed for the French Quarter.
Some shopping would make her feel better and if nothing else, there was a bakery there with the most amazing beignets she’d ever tasted. Since she couldn’t have what she really wanted, pastries would have to do.
~~****~~
Vincent stared out the window, deep in thought. It should’ve been the renovations on the hotel that pressed on his mind, but instead it was Ophelia.
His actions had been disastrous and he knew it. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d been haunted by dreams of her, and it wasn’t the first time that she’d inspired long, cold showers for him. With a muttered curse, he turned around, only to immediately regret the decision.
Claude stood in his doorway, beaming at him, Melina Tate on his arm. “Vincent! Look who I found just wandering around in the Quarter today!”
Melina scoffed at Claude’s introduction. “Don’t mind him. I wasn’t just wandering around. I came here with a purpose today, Vincent. Mama has put me in charge of rounding up eligible bachelors for the charity auction at the country club, and you are the most eligible bachelor in Nola.”
Vincent smiled coolly in response, making no move to close the considerable distance between them. “Thank you, Melina, but I’m afraid I have to decline.” He could feel the tension creeping into his shoulders as her pretty lips turned down in a childish pout. That kind of drama was the last thing in the world he wanted.
“Now, Vincent, you surely don’t intend to send me home disappointed?”
“Yes, Melina, I’m afraid that I do. Given Thomas’ present health and the renovations on the hotel at this time, I simply don’t have the time.”
“Is that why you haven’t called me?”
The hopeful note in her voice was not lost on him, neither was the hint of desperation. He could have murdered Claude in that moment.
Courting the Tate dynasty had been Claude’s ploy all along, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that Melina’s coincidental appearance was anything but. “Excuse us, Melina, but I need to speak to Claude privately for a moment.. business.”
“Of course! Claude, don’t you forget about your Sunday tee time with Daddy,” she chirped. “Vincent, I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll be in touch.” The blandness of his tone was unmistakable.
After Melina exited the office, the door closing quietly behind her, Claude whirled on him. “What the hell are you doing, Vincent? That girl’s family could be the saving grace of this company!”
“The company doesn’t need saving, Claude. Our cash flow is tied up in the renovations right now, but the properties are all sound. We don’t need Tate Textiles cheapening the DuChamps brand.”
Claude’s face purpled with rage. “You sound just like Thomas! People don’t want to pay for real luxury now, Vincent! They want a discounted rack rate and the illusion of grandeur! As long as the pictures look good when they post them on Tweeter or what the hell ever it is, they don’t care!”
“I care! DuChamp Hotels might be a small chain in comparison, but we have an impeccable reputation and I’m not going to see it tarnished by plummeting to the lowest common denominator! And stop throwing Melina Tate at me. I have no interest in her romantically or financially!”
“I was wrong—you’re not just like Thomas. You’re just like your father. Cold as ice!”
The fury hit him so quickly that he couldn’t contain it. His fist was drawn back and only the fear that crept into Claude’s face in those last seconds stopped him. “Get out of my office, Claude and don’t ever interfere with the way I run DuChamps Hotels again. If you want out, I’ll find some way to purchase your shares and then you can go into business with whoever the hell you want.”
Claude left, muttering something under his breath that sounded like ‘hotheaded asshole’.
After a few moments pacing, which did nothing to alleviate the tension that coiled inside him, Vincent barked at his secretary. “Ramona, I’m out for the day. Let the foreman know I’ll be checking in at the Royale later to see how things are going.”
Ramona just nodded and gave him a thumbs up. She wasn’t a traditional secretary. He’d inherited her, and all of her quirks, from Thomas. What she lacked in social skills she made up for in sheer effici
ency. She didn’t talk much because she viewed it as a waste of good air.
Shaking his head, Vincent headed for the elevators and a long walk to clear his head. After exiting the building, he strode down Canal Street and then turned onto Esplanade. He’d work his way towards the Royale and enjoy a little bit of the French Quarter along the way.
There was something soothing for him about the sounds and scents of the city. The distant wail of a saxophone could be heard over the din of traffic. He focused on that, moving toward it.
Vincent hadn’t walked more than two blocks when he stopped dead in his tracks and watched the woman peering into a shop window only a few yards away from him.
It was rare to see Ophelia not wearing one of her retro styled dresses. With her hair in a thick braid and those ridiculous glasses perched on her nose, she looked so much like she had as a teenager that he couldn’t help but smile. “I thought for a minute I had traveled through time. Or did the fifteen year old Ophelia Broulliard come forward?”
Ophelia gasped and turned towards him. “Oh, my God! What are you doing here?”
“Walking,” he replied, moving closer to her. Looking at the shop window, it was easy to see what had caught her eye.
There was a necklace on display, a ladylike confection of diamonds and pearls that looked like it should have graced the neck of Elizabeth Taylor during her heyday.
“Thou shall not covet, Ophelia. But it would look amazing on you.”
“It’s stunning, but I could never afford it. I could sell everything I own, including both kidneys, and never afford it.”
“Then, let’s not spend any more time thinking about things we can’t have,” he offered. It was as close to an acknowledgement of the previous night’s mistakes as he wanted to get, at least until he knew where things stood with them.
“Wisdom from an unlikely source,” she shot back, though her tone was teasing.
“Walk with me? It’s been one of those days, and I just don’t want to be in the office anymore. I’ll buy you beignets and chocolate milk.”
She laughed and fell in step beside him. “I’m not twelve, Vincent. I’ve finally developed a taste for coffee. But I’ll pass on the pastries.”
“You already had them, didn’t you?”
Ophelia blushed. “Okay. Yes. I’m guilty. Happy now?”
“Not really, but I’m feeling better than I was a few minutes ago. I almost punched Claude today,” he confessed.
A low whistle escaped her. “I can’t say that I blame you. Claude can be a bit difficult at times. But, I’ve never known you to lose your temper. In fact, I wasn’t even sure you had one.”
“Oh, it runs in the family.” He never wanted Ophelia to witness his temper. He worked hard to control it, to keep it in check, but there were times when the sheer level of anger in him left him shaken.
Ophelia glanced at him sharply, seemingly startled by the bitterness of his tone. She seemed to note the tension in him, the tightly clenched jaw, and the strain that was visible around in his eyes.
Vincent was struggling—with Thomas, with the business and probably with everything that had happened between them the night before.
“But you didn’t,” she protested. “You managed to rein it in, when most people would have probably knocked him flat on his behind.”
He chuckled again, in spite of himself. “Do you ever curse, Ophelia? Do you ever just let loose and stop being the proper lady?”
“What good would it do? I know Kaitlyn thinks I’m this goody two shoes, but I’m not. I have fun, I get drunk from time to time, and yes, once in a while, I do curse when I have a reason to.”
They strolled on together for a few minutes, walking in companionable silence.
Vincent was surprised that he’d settled so quickly into being at ease with her, and she with him.
There was a kind of tension there, an awareness that hadn’t existed before, and the fire simmered below the surface for them both, but he still enjoyed her company.
The sound of her voice, the way she smiled at the people they passed on the street, her delight in the street performers. Ophelia was uncomplicated, she enjoyed life, and he felt more relaxed simply being around her.
Entering Jackson Square, he motioned to a small bench that was empty. “I’ll get us something to drink.”
“Thank you.”
Returning after a few moments with bottled water, he sat down beside her and broached the uncomfortable topic. “I was out of line last night—I shouldn’t have. God, there’s just no way to say it.”
“Kissed me?” she clarified. “Made out with me like we were a couple of horny teenagers?”
“Yes,” he admitted ruefully. “I want you to know that I would never take advantage of the fact that you work for the family. That was an aberration and it won’t be repeated.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks!”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I told you the truth. I’d wanted to do that for a long time. But I’m not the kind of man you’d want to bet on for the long haul.”
“Don’t. It’s fine. I know you’re not the relationship kind, and I know that it would be weird beyond description for us to just have some fling, and then try to act like everything was normal again...I’m not really a fling kind of girl. But we’re friends, right? You’ve been walking on eggshells with me for a while. I knew it, I just didn’t know why. Besides, I miss that cool older dude, I used to follow around as a kid.”
“Older dude? Really?”
She laughed. “Older than me anyway. Let’s do something fun. Since you’re sort of playing hooky, you have to do something you wouldn’t normally do.”
“Doing things I wouldn’t normally do is why I’m having to give you awkward apologies today.”
Ignoring that statement, she spied the small tables set up on the perimeter of the square. “I know! You should get your palm read!”
“Why don’t I just give someone fifty dollars and ask them to lie to my face?” he drawled.
“It’s entertainment!” she protested. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. You need a little fun.”
He relented. “Fine. Which one of the many psychics present should I choose? Or do I just sit here and wait for them to telepathically receive the message?”
“I’m starting to regret telling you I missed you! Go to that lady over there...the one with the pink hair. She read mine last week and she’s good!”
He was stunned. “Are you serious? You come here to get your palm read?”
“Not usually. She works in a shop over on Ursulines, too.”
“It was more about the palm reading itself, Ophelia, than the location,” he scolded. “You know this stuff is just bullshit, right?”
“It’s entertainment! Now go and be entertained,”
Sighing, Vincent stood and headed towards the table draped with purple satin and gold tassels. It looked like it belonged inside a lamp on ‘I Dream of Jeannie’.
Folding his tall frame into the metal chair, he faced the psychic with the shock of bright pink hair and facial piercings that he couldn’t name. “My friend insisted that I come here and get my fortune told.” His skepticism was evident in his tone.
“Your friend,” she observed. “You have a very loose definition of friendship.”
Vincent didn’t even flinch. It was very possible that she’d seen them walking together, possibly even overheard parts of their conversation. The tension between himself and Ophelia wouldn’t have been hard to pick up on. “How much?”
“Fifty for me to lie to your face. Seventy five if you want truth.”
She’d definitely been eavesdropping, he thought, but he gave her points for theatricality. Pulling a hundred from his wallet, he passed it to her. “Give me a good story to share with my friend and we’ll call it even.” He watched her pocket the money and then tensed as she reached for his hand. She turned it over in hers, and he kept his gaze focused intently on her face.
<
br /> Her fingers traced every line of his palm. “You have a very dark past. Lots of anger, violence—and pain. You lost someone very close to you.”
“I thought this was supposed to be fun?”
She glanced up at him and her eyes were surprisingly kind. “You had to watch someone you loved die horribly, with pain and fear—and betrayal. Now you’re losing someone else, and you’re unsteady. The waters keep getting muddied with other things. Problems with your work, with someone who covets what you have.”
Vincent’s gaze narrowed, a muscle in his jaw ticking, as he listened to her. “I’m impressed, but so far, all you’ve gotten are some vague coincidences and pretty basic deductive reasoning.”
“I wasn’t trying to impress you. Just letting you know what I see. You’re siblings have journeys of their own coming, but your journey might be the greatest of all. I see marriage in your future, even though you do not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And now you’re losing me.”
“Only because I’m telling you about what will be, rather than what has already passed...or what you want to hear. You aren’t like him. This dark man from your past. You’re more like the other one.”
“The other one?” he demanded, feeling more than a little unsettled by her.
“The one who’s sick now. He’ll be gone very soon, and then everything else will be set in motion,” she said cryptically. “You need to open yourself to the possibilities. Let go of the fear and embrace the idea that you can have what you want the most.”
Vincent rose. He’d heard enough. It was all well scripted mumbo jumbo. The fact that she’d hit a few things had been nothing but coincidence, he decided. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“No you won’t. You’ll put it as far from your thoughts as possible, but it will all creep back in when it needs to,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for the tip. I can go home early now.”
“Glad to be of service,” he replied sarcastically as he walked back to the bench where Ophelia was waiting.
Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty) Page 3