Chapter 15

Maverick

Holy fucking hangover, Batman.

What the hell happened to me last night? I don’t even remember getting to my room and I sure don’t remember where all these damn feathers came from.

Oh, wait, it’s coming back to me.

Flashes of bright lights, a pink and purple boa, and loud music filter through my mind, helping me remember being at a club with Jules. There were a lot of drag queens...and some mild groping of my ass...and, oh shit, whiskey. Right on time, a burp I swear starts in my toes, makes its way out of my mouth confirming my drink of choice last night.

Fucking Johnnie Walker. You are no friend of mine, sir.

This is why I don’t drink in excess. Sure, I’ll have a drink with clients or go out for a few beers with Shep. I even had my fair share of binge drinking in college, but that was over the day I graduated. Actually, before that. I had my fill after living a couple years at the frat house. Twenty-eight-year-old Maverick knows when to stop. Except for last night.

Fuck.

I slowly roll from my stomach onto my back and peel the feather boa off my sticky skin. Someone definitely helped me to my room because I don’t normally sleep in my clothes. Any clothes, for that matter. The fact that only my shoes are off means another person was with me, and either they couldn’t or wouldn’t undress me. Not that I’m complaining. I think it would’ve felt really strange to wake up like this and butt naked, as well. My first guess is that Jules helped me in here because he’s the one who got me so fucked up. I mean, he didn’t pour the whiskey down my throat, but he certainly didn’t try to stop me.

Something catches my eye and I look toward the nightstand, finding a glass of water and pills.

Carys.

I vaguely remember talking to her last night, but I was hoping it was just a dream. She’s never seen me drunk off my ass and there’s no telling what I said to her. It must not have been too bad, though, if she helped me to my room. Jules might’ve done the same for me, but there’s something about the gesture of leaving me water and medicine that has Carys written all over it. And, if she did that even after I upset her yesterday in her apartment, maybe that means she’s forgiven me.

I’m dying to see her again, but not like this. Not when I feel like shit and have no idea what I said or did when we were together. I gingerly roll out of bed and swallow the pills, finishing off the water in record time, before turning on the shower.

Shower, first. Eat as much greasy food I can find, second. Third, coffee. All the coffee. It’s the only way I can conquer this damn hangover. Then, hopefully, I’ll feel human enough to find Carys and apologize for whatever I did to upset her yesterday afternoon, and for whatever I might have done last night before I passed out.

Feeling a good eighty-five percent better after standing under the hot water spray for a good while, I dry off and get dressed.

As I’m about to leave my room, my cell goes off in my pocket, alerting me to a text.

Dad: The papers are waiting for you at The Mont. Get to work.

I didn’t even know my father knew how to text, but I guess it’s a form of communication that doesn’t slow him down, like a phone call would. My finger hovers over the middle finger emoji for longer than I’d care to admit before I resist temptation and slide the phone back in my pocket. Seeing his message does nothing to improve my hangover.

I need coffee and breakfast. Stat.

George is at the front desk when I get downstairs. I nod my head at him and give a slight wave before making my way out the front doors and onto the too bright sidewalk. If I’d stayed any longer, I would’ve started looking for her and I’m just not ready for that yet.

Even though it’s technically out of the way from the Hotel Monteleone, I go back to Neutral Grounds for a large coffee and breakfast sandwich. CeCe is there, of course, and is much too chipper for me this morning.

“Rough night?” she asks.

I groan and massage my temples. “That obvious?”

“Kinda,” she says with a laugh. “Plus, you’re wearing shades inside and you’re inhaling your breakfast like you haven’t eaten in days. And you’re also scruffier than yesterday, but don’t worry. It looks good on you.” She winks as she walks off, but it’s not super flirty. It’s just friendly and familiar—like CeCe.

“Thanks, I guess,” I half laugh, half moan. “I went out with Jules last night and I can’t even remember getting back to the hotel. I’m sure you hear stories like that all the time around here.”

“Jules?” Her expression is one of surprise but then she fixes it. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you and Carys were having a...thing. Maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.”

Oh? Oh.

“Oh, yeah, wishful thinking on my part, too, I’m afraid.”

She doesn’t look like she’s very happy about my response, but instead of asking what she really wants to know, she asks, “So, who’s Jules?”

“Jules works at the hotel.”

CeCe crosses her arms over her chest. “Couldn’t you go out with someone who doesn’t work at the Bayou?”

“What? Oh, no, wait.” I pause, taking a much-needed sip of my coffee and wondering if hair of the dog wouldn’t be better. “You’re misunderstanding. Jules is a guy, and he took me to the club that he also works at. Club Revelry.”

Understanding dawns on CeCe and she relaxes her stance. “Ah, gotcha. Okay, then. Sorry for getting all up in your business, but I gotta look out for my girl.”

I hold my hands up in a defensive pose. “I get it, and I’m glad Carys has you on her side.”

“And to answer your question from earlier, yes, I do hear hangover stories like yours all the time. New Orleans queens know how to throw down.”

Laughing, but also cringing from the added movement to my still throbbing head, I walk toward the door. “That, they do. I have to do some work, unfortunately, but I’m sure I’ll see you again. Have a good day, CeCe.”

“Stay out of trouble, Maverick,” she hollers at me, laughing.

Making my way toward Royal Street, I walk at a leisurely pace, letting the combination of coffee, breakfast, and the ibuprofen do its trick. Even hungover, I can’t help but appreciate my surroundings. There’s a hustle and bustle that’s common in cities, mostly food deliveries to hotels and restaurants, but the people here aren’t frantic, as if they don’t have a moment to spare. They still make time to stop and say hello to anyone who walks by, and laughter is usually quick to follow.

Even though it’s technically still morning, the sun is already high and it’s hot. There’s no other way to describe it; it’s just fucking hot, which doesn’t help the smell of the city. I’ve been told the streets get hosed down overnight to get rid of everything the drunk crowds leave behind, but if that’s true, the water’s magic doesn’t last long. I think I’ll head to the French Market later, where the only smells are of delicious foods and spices.

Once I’ve stepped inside the Hotel Monteleone, I’m immediately greeted by an employee. I give them my name and explain that Henry has some papers for me and after a few minutes wait, Henry quickly walks up to me with a large envelope in his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Kensington. I must say, I was disappointed to learn you were here in New Orleans and staying elsewhere. Is there anything I can do to make you reconsider your arrangements?”

“No, thank you, Henry. It was a very impromptu decision to come down here, and I thought it’d be fun to stay somewhere closer to the action.”

“I see,” is his response and there’s no doubting the judgement in his tone. “Well, your father sent this for you.” He hands me the heavy envelope and takes a step backward. “Have a good day, sir.”

A few seconds later, he’s gone through a door behind the counter and I’m completely dismissed.

Normally, we’d chat, at least about the weather.

Huh.

I admit, I’m a little surprised at the cold shoulder, but I just can’t find it in me to care. I take a moment to pull out the papers and look over them, trying to get as much time in the air conditioning as possible. After typing the addresses of the buildings I’m supposed to check out into my notes for easy access, I make my way toward the door. Looking around the hotel lobby, I mentally wave a middle finger salute in the air as I leave.

Standing at the corner, I plug the first address into my GPS app and start walking.

It only takes me about five minutes, and when I look up, I’m on the same block as the Blue Bayou, just at the opposite corner. A flood of adrenaline and dread fills me, and I quickly type another address into the app, hoping like hell it’s somewhere miles away.

Less than a minute walk. “Fuck.” Every address on this list is within the block of buildings occupied by the Blue Bayou.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter, turning sharply on my heel and heading back in the other direction.

Hitting redial on my call from yesterday, I wait for my father to pick up as I punish the sidewalk beneath my feet. Sweat is beading on my forehead when he finally picks up.

“Maverick, I’m assuming you got the papers I sent.”

“What do you want with the Blue Bayou?” I ask, not beating around the bush or playing games. I have no time for that.

A long pause forces me to pull the phone back and make sure the call didn’t drop, but finally he answers my questions with one of his own. “What’s the Blue Bayou?”

I’m forced to tamp down my frustration, so this doesn’t escalate to a full-blown argument, because if there’s one thing I know about Spencer Kensington, it’s that he does his fucking homework. He never leaves a stone unturned when he’s trying to close a deal. Don’t play stupid is on the tip of my tongue, but then he comes back with another question.

“What do you know about the Blue Bayou?” His tone is cool and calculated, and if I were a betting man, I’d bet he’s piecing together this little mystery.

“I asked first.”

He huffs his own frustration, never liking to be challenged, then sighs in concession, “It’s a piece of property within a block of properties,” he says, his words thick with sarcasm and bite. “I want it. The offers are in the paperwork I sent over. I need as much detail and contact information you can obtain. Face-to-face meetings would be even better. If we can close this deal within the month, I feel like we could negotiate a larger percentage, if not on this contract, then the next.”

My mind is spinning so fast I can’t even get my mouth to work. When I do finally manage to spit out some words, the only thing that comes out is low, muttered, “What the fuck?” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean my head back and try to keep my cool. Losing it won’t help anything or anyone, especially Carys. If I show an attachment, it’ll only make matters worse.

“I’m sorry?” my father questions, shuffling the phone.

“Why this property?” I ask calmly, trying to sound interested, but not invested. “What is the end goal? I need more information if I’m going to be able to negotiate with the land owners. And have you researched permitting and zoning? This is a predominately historical area of the city. I doubt they’ll allow someone to tear everything down and build a high-rise.” I’m not sure if those words are for him or me. All I know is that I want to think of a way to turn him off of this path. Like a hunting dog, I know I’ll need a decoy. “How about I take a few days and check out some properties downtown. Are they settled on New Orleans?”

“I didn’t ask you to scout new properties. That’s been done for you. Take the locations, find the owners, make the deals. That’s what I pay you for. The only property currently occupied is the hotel you mentioned, and I have it on good authority that the owner is in financial distress. A child could negotiate this sale. Don’t be a child, Maverick. If you can’t complete this simple task, your position at Kensington Properties will be terminated.”

I swallow. Hard. Not because he threatened my job, I was already considering it, anyway. This just confirms it. But it’s the hunger in his words, the fact that he’ll do whatever’s necessary to obtain these properties, which includes the Blue Bayou, that has me fighting to keep down my breakfast.

That and my still lingering hangover.

“I’ll expect an update tomorrow,” he continues. “I can probably delay for a few extra days, but I need this done. Now. If you can’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumble, ending the call and shoving the phone in my pocket.

What are the fucking odds? The one time I find something that feels like it’s me and I connect on a personal level, my father comes after it? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s some sort of conspiracy, but he has no way of knowing I’m here, and even if he did, what’s the punchline? I’m sure it’s merely an outlandish coincidence, kind of like stumbling into the Bayou and finding Carys. Sometimes, shit happens and you have no logical explanation for it.

So, the better question is: what’s my plan?

Stall?

Divert?

I’ll buy as much time as I can until I find the right time to talk to Carys. I know she won’t sell, but I also know my father won’t give up. And what kind of financial distress? Not that she would tell me, but I feel like we’ve been open with each other and she knows how I feel about the hotel.

Suddenly, I feel sick and it’s not the lingering Johnnie Walker. It’s so much more than that.

Walking down the sidewalk, I make my way around the block. He’s right. Most of the buildings on this block look like they haven’t been occupied in a while. I wonder if the buyer would be willing to buy up everything, excluding the Blue Bayou? Also, what are their intentions? These are questions I need answers to.

The conversation I had with CeCe the other day comes to mind, so I decide to head back over there and pick her brain for a minute. She seems pretty forthcoming with information.

As I walk, I compartmentalize. It’s how I work through problems.

Worst-case scenario: I lose my job and my father takes it upon himself to come down here and try to convince Carys to sell.

Carys won’t sell. At least, I don’t think she would. Opening the files, I scan the papers, searching the offers. The number listed for the acquisition of the Blue Bayou seems like a low-ball at first glance, and my blood boils hotter.

If I thought it was enough to give Carys a good life, I might consider telling her about it, but not until I have a better grip on the entire situation.

Worst-case scenario: Carys gets mad at me for butting into her personal life and business.

Regardless, I can’t let her be taken advantage of, not by my father or anyone else.

That’s not happening.

I’ll make sure of it, even if I piss her off in the process. Somehow, I’ll figure a way out of this. I’ll even help her out of whatever financial distress she’s in, if she’ll let me. My father assisting in the acquisition of the Blue Bayou and its surrounding properties—and doing God knows what with it—is my own personal nightmare. It’s what I’ve been running from and I won’t let that happen, not here...not to Carys.

“Back so soon?” CeCe asks when she sees me.

“I wanted to ask you about what you were talking about yesterday,” I tell her, cutting straight to the chase.

“Carys?”

“No, about the commercial investors.”

CeCe’s eyebrows furrow and she finishes off a drink she’s making and hands it to the customer. “Have a nice day,” she tells them, before turning back to me. “What about them?”

“I was just wondering if you know who they are and what they might be looking for.”

She thinks for a moment and then walks over to the cash register, pulling out a card. “This is the last guy who stopped by here. He told me he was looking for a considerable amount of space. That’s all he said.”

“And you told him to fuck off, right?” I ask, taking the card from her. The name on the card is different from the one in the file that’s tucked securely under my arm, but it doesn’t mean they’re not working together. Often, one company acquires property under a different name, or there’s a chance a parent company is involved.

She fights a smile and nods. “Basically, but maybe I was a tad more diplomatic.”

“Have they been to any of the other businesses around here?”

“Uh, yeah, I know he stopped by the cooking school a few doors down. Oh, and Micah Landry said he’d seen him snooping around his place and the building next door that he recently purchased for an event venue.”

I breathe in deeply and let it out. “Thanks for the info.”

“Why are you so interested? What’s your MO, Maverick?” One of her eyebrows arches and she crosses her arms.

“I’m on your team,” I tell her. “Promise.” I look the card over once more. “Can I keep this?” I ask, holding it up.

“Sure, I was just saving it for kindling.”

I smirk at her smartassness. “Thanks.”

When I turn to leave again, she stops me. “Maverick.”

“Yeah?” I ask, one hand on the door handle, the other still holding up the business card for further inspection.

“Does this have anything to do with Carys and the Bayou?”

“Let’s hope not,” I tell her, walking out the door and back into the sweltering heat.

When I get back to the Bayou, Jules is on duty at the front desk.

“You’ve seriously gotta stop walking your fine ass around the Quarter. You’re gonna sweat your balls off,” he mutters, turning his attention back to the glossy magazine in front of him.

“Have you seen Carys?” I ask, knowing I need a shower and time to collect my thoughts, but I also need to see her.

“George said she went to her apartment after she finished helping Mary with the rooms. I’m sure she’s beat, she worked most of the day yesterday and all night last night.”

I nod, looking around the lobby. I need something to do, something to take my mind off this stupid property shit. My father. Finances.

“You need a drink,” Jules says.

“No. No, I do not need a drink.”

“Not that kind of drink.” He leaves his post at the counter and walks over to the cart where the delicious fruit-infused water is kept, pours me a glass and sets it down in front of me. “All that sweating is a good way to detox, and baby, you needed it.”

“No thanks to you,” I mutter, downing most of the water in one gulp.

“I didn’t pour Johnnie down your throat. You did that all by yourself.”

“You did make me sing backup on karaoke,” I accuse, with a pointed finger. As I’ve been walking around town, most of last night’s activities have caught up with me.

“And you were brilliant...a total piece of cake. The ladies loved you.”

I smirk. “At least someone does.”

“Still haven’t talked to Carys?” he asks, closing the magazine.

“No, well, I sorta remember talking to her last night, but not about anything coherent,” I smirk, wondering exactly what I said to her. “But she wasn’t around this morning and I’ve been busy all afternoon.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” His expression is thoughtful, yet guarded. I know him and Carys have really hit it off, so I’m guessing this is him feeling me out.

“At least another week. My father put me to work on a... project.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d hold off on any heavy talk with Carys today. She had quite the morning.”

“What happened?” I ask, my heart rate increasing at the thought of anything bad happening to her. I’m telling you, less than a week and this girl has gotten under my skin. Normally, I’m a casual relationship kind of guy. She does her thing and I do mine. I wouldn’t go so far as to say no strings attached, but not many strings and they’re usually easily snipped. My last long relationship was with Rosalyn, but we mostly just enjoyed each other’s company in bed. She’s entirely too much like my father—money hungry, success driven—for me to ever feel anything for her below the surface.

“Oh, air conditioner leaking again on the third floor, door handle broke and locked a guest in their room on the second, the toilet was clogged in the public bathroom down here, and she burnt an entire batch of cookies...or something like that. She was devastated. Mary sent her home to go to bed.”

Fuck.

Right then, I decide to take care of the shit with my father and leave Carys out of it. She has enough on her plate. The last thing she needs is more stress or pressure from someone trying to buy the hotel out from under her.

“Jules?” I ask, lowering my voice and leaning in closer. “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea if Carys is in any kind of financial...distress?” I decide to go with the word my father used and hope it conveys what I’m trying to find out.

Jules bites his lip and looks to his left and then to his right in almost a conspiratorial move. “I know she’s not rolling in it. But from an employee standpoint, and I’ve only been here a short time, so I only have a brief experience to go from, I haven’t seen any late notices or past due stamps on the envelopes that come in the mail. And I got a paycheck yesterday.”

His response is way more straightforward than I expected, but it’s much appreciated.

I nod and take a deep breath, pushing away from the counter. “That’s good. I just worry about her, you know?” There’s no need for Jules to know about my father’s interest in the Blue Bayou either, so I play off my inquisition as pure concern, which isn’t a lie...just a small omission.

“I know, and if I didn’t think you had her best intentions in mind, I wouldn’t tell you shit.”

His well-groomed eyebrow goes up in a challenge and I smile.

I’m glad Jules is gay because if he wasn’t, he might be competition, and I want Carys to myself.

Soon.