BIANCA
At promptly ten o’clock the next morning, a sleek black sedan pulled up in front of my restaurant and glided to a stop at the curb.
I had no idea what kind of car it was, but I knew it was fancy-schmancy. Only really expensive, snobby-rich-people show-off cars had those stupid silver ornaments sticking out of the front of the hood like a middle finger to everyone who looked at them as they drove down the street.
Standing next to me at the window, Eeny said, “Your chariot awaits, boo.” Then she burst into hysterical cackles.
I sighed. At Mama’s insistence, I’d told no one about her illness. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to publicly admit she was sick. Or maybe it was vanity. Either way, I’d been sworn to silence. She hadn’t even told the Colonel. So no one at the restaurant knew the real reason I accepted a job from the Beast, but they were all getting a kick out of it. Hoyt had told me yesterday that one of the line cooks had started a pool to see how long it took before I quit.
But I couldn’t quit, no matter how bad it got. Mama’s life depended on that money.
I said, “Please don’t forget to process the shellfish and get it on ice. And the Nieman Ranch delivery should be here no later than noon.”
Eeny snorted. “Expectin’ Carl to be on time with the meat is like expectin’ to see a gorilla ridin’ a tricycle down the sidewalk. That boy is slower than a Sunday afternoon.”
And dumber than a box of rocks, I thought. He could throw himself on the ground and miss. He’d been delivering meat to me every day for months and still called at least once a week to get directions.
“Well off you go, Cinderella,” said Eeny, bumping me with her shoulder. “Don’t want your chariot to turn into a pumpkin!”
“I’m glad this is so amusing to you, Eeny,” I said, giving her a stinky side-eye look.
Grinning, she patted me on the arm. “It’s good for you to get out with a man every once in a while. Keeps the juices flowin’, if you know what I mean.”
My stink eye grew stinkier. “This isn’t a date, Eeny.”
“Oh, I know,” she said airily. “But judgin’ by the way Jackson Boudreaux looks at you like you turn his brain to scrambled eggs, it ain’t all business, either. At least for him. Lawd!” she cried suddenly, pointing out the window. “Who’s that tall drink o’ water?”
Emerging from the driver’s side of the sleek black sedan was an equally sleek black man. Dressed in a smart suit, his salt-and-pepper hair short and tidy, he stood looking at the front door, smoothing his tie. He was tall, elegant, and quite good-looking. I judged him to be somewhere north of sixty-five in age.
Immediately I thought of my mother. She’d be all over this one like white on rice.
“Must be Jackson’s driver.” I watched him come toward the door. “Wonder if he’s as mean as his boss.”
“Mm-mmm!” said Eeny, smacking her lips. “He could be meaner’n a drawer of snakes and I’d still take him for a roll.”
I formed a terrible mental image of all three hundred pounds of Eeny rolling around naked in bed, chicken feathers and voodoo charms flying, getting her freak on with the well-dressed driver.
I grumbled, “Thanks for sharing,” just as the gentleman in question came through the door.
“Mornin’, ladies,” he said, smiling. “Don’t you two look prettier than a picture standin’ there by the window!”
He flashed a set of pearly whites and an adorable pair of dimples, and Eeny nearly fainted.
“Good morning.” I stepped forward with my hand extended. “I’m Bianca, and this is Ambrosine.”
“Call me Eeny,” she drawled, flagrantly flirting. “How do you do?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, shaking my hand and nodding warmly at Eeny. “I must admit, I’ve been dyin’ to come in and get a taste of your cookin’ since you opened, Miss Bianca, but I just haven’t found the time. I was a real big fan of your mama’s restaurant. And might I say you bear a striking resemblance to your mama, too. Those beautiful cheekbones.”
Eeny and I shared a look. This man could charm the birds right out of the trees. What on God’s green earth he was doing working for the Beast was anyone’s guess.
“Thank you, that’s a lovely thing to say. Mr. . . . ?”
“Where are my manners! I’m Rayford Hayes, Mr. Boudreaux’s majordomo.” He gave a short bow. “At your service.”
He must be a new hire. No way someone this pleasant could work with Beastie for more than a week without losing his mind.
Wanting to get this meeting over with as quickly as possible so I could get back to the restaurant and prep for dinner, I said, “Shall we go?”
“Yes, ma’am. Eeny.” He turned his warm gaze to her and lifted two curved fingers to his forehead in a little salute. “Have yourself a wonderful day.”
Her soft sigh and furiously batting lashes had me pulling my lips between my teeth so I didn’t smile.
“You do the same, Mr. Hayes,” she said, waving at him with her fingertips. “Toodle-oo!”
Shaking my head, I followed Rayford out the door. He opened the car door for me. When I hesitated, he asked, “Everything all right, Miss Bianca?”
“Yes, but . . . would it be all right if I rode up front with you?”
He looked surprised. “With me?”
I was beginning to feel a little silly for having asked. “It’s just that I’m not accustomed to being chauffeured. It seems a little . . . well, let’s just say it’s not my style.”
Rayford’s dimples flashed in his cheeks again. “Why of course. Whatever makes you most comfortable.” He closed the rear door, opened the passenger door, and held out his hand. “Right this way.”
Smiling gratefully at Rayford, I settled myself into the passenger seat. He closed the door, rounded the car, and got in on the driver’s side. He started the engine, and we pulled away from the curb.
“This is a very nice car,” I said, looking around at miles of supple leather and acres of gleaming wood. There was enough technology on the dashboard to make an astronaut dizzy.
Rayford chuckled. “You don’t sound too impressed.”
I wasn’t impressed, but I did feel a bit embarrassed. “I don’t even own a car. I live six blocks from the restaurant and walk to work every day. I couldn’t tell you what kind of car this is if you held a gun to my head.”
Rayford’s chuckle was louder this time. “I’ll be sure not to tell that to Mr. Boudreaux. It might break his heart.”
He has a heart? Who knew?
“Have you worked for him long?” I was trying to make casual conversation, but I was curious, too.
“I’ve worked for his family for most of my life. Known Jackson since he was born.”
Startled by that, I glanced at Rayford’s handsome profile. “Really?”
He nodded. “Went to work for Clemmy and Brig before I even had hair on my chin. Started out in the stables, muckin’ stalls, worked my way into the laundry, eventually got promoted to the kitchens.”
Stables? Laundry? Kitchens, plural? Sounded like he’d been working at a castle. Fascinated, I listened as he continued.
“From there I learned everything there was to know about runnin’ a grand house. Though Jackson’s estate is much smaller than his parents’, it’s still an awful lot of work.”
I bet. Just trying to keep your sanity living with him must be murder.
“So how did you come to be with him in New Orleans?”
A pause followed in which Rayford thoughtfully looked out the windshield before saying gently, “That’s not my story to tell, Miss.”
Oh boy. I just stepped in a big, steaming pile of none-of-your-damn-business.
“Got it. Sorry. My mama’s always telling me I talk too much. Says my gift of the gab is a shade closer to a curse.”
He sent me a smile and smoothly changed the subject. “How is your mama, anyway? I didn’t know her well, just an occasional customer like I said, but I was real sorry to hear about what happened to her restaurant during Katrina.”
My stomach did a slow roll. I glanced out the window and watched the road speeding by. “She’s fine, thank you for asking. I just saw her this morning. We only live a few blocks apart so I like to stop by on my way to the restaurant.”
I felt his look and wondered if he heard the change in my voice. If he did, he was too well mannered to mention it.
The rest of the drive was spent in pleasant chitchat. By the time we pulled up to an elaborate scrolled iron gate surrounded by a high stone wall, I’d almost forgotten to worry about my mother.
“Here we are,” said Rayford. Like magic, the iron gates parted and swung slowly open, and I got my first look at the Beast’s home.
I’m ashamed to admit I actually gasped.
Rayford chuckled. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
I stared in awe at the palatial estate at the end of a long gravel driveway. Flanked by ancient weeping willows and set against the glittering backdrop of Lake Pontchartrain, it looked like something a president might use on his weekends away from the White House.
Rayford said with pride, “Rivendell’s got ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, and over fifteen thousand square feet on a five-acre lot. Jackson bought up the property on both sides and tore down the houses so he could have more privacy.”
I looked at Rayford in surprise. “Rivendell? The house is named after the elven realm in The Hobbit?”
Rayford’s brows climbed his forehead. “You a Tolkien fan?”
I shrugged. “A book fan in general. I’m a little obsessed, really. I read everything.”
“Do you now,” Rayford mused, sliding me a glance.
He wore a secret smile I found a little odd.
“My father used to always read to me before bed when I was little. I guess I fell in love with books way back then, and it’s been an ongoing affair ever since.”
“You’ll be wantin’ to see the library, then,” Rayford said. “I swear we’ve got more books than the Library of Congress.”
That gave me pause. The Beast loves books, too?
I decided he’d probably instructed his interior designer to buy a bunch of first editions so he could show off to his rich friends. Odds were he had an expensive wine collection he knew nothing about, too. A man who devoured food as joylessly as Jackson Boudreaux did wouldn’t have the soul to appreciate literature or fine wine, either.
As we drove closer to the house, I grew more nervous. The scope of what I’d gotten myself into was starting to hit me. If the event didn’t go off without a hitch, I suspected I’d be blamed for it. And I had no doubt Jackson wouldn’t hesitate to give me a piece of his mind in front of three hundred guests if he wasn’t entirely satisfied with the food.
“You’re lookin’ a little spooked over there, Miss Bianca.” Rayford smiled at me. “You okay?”
“Fine as frog’s hair!” I answered brightly. I’d rather chew off my own arm than admit I was feeling intimidated.
Rayford chuckled. “Good. He’s lookin’ forward to seein’ you, too.”
Wait. What?
Before I could gather my wits enough to respond, Rayford said, “Ah! Speak of the devil!”
When I followed his gaze, my heart sank.
Standing in front of the massive front door with his legs braced wide and his arms crossed over his chest stood Jackson, in regulation black everything, wearing an expression like he was about to launch a nuclear war.
The devil indeed, I thought, stifling a sigh. I’d assumed I’d be getting a tour of the house and kitchen from Rayford, but apparently the Beast had other ideas.
He probably thought I’d try to steal something.
As soon as we pulled to a stop, Jackson yanked my door open. He stood peering in at me with narrowed eyes, his head cocked. He snapped, “Why are you sitting in front?”
Right. I shouldn’t be bucking protocol because I’m the help.
Heat crawled up my neck and suffused my cheeks. Lord, grant me the serenity not to take off my shoe and hurl it at his balls.
“And a fine good morning to you, too, Mr. Boudreaux,” I said sweetly. “I see you’re in your usual sunshine-and-rainbows mood. Did you misplace your human pills again?”
His lips tightened.
On my other side, I felt Rayford trying to stifle a laugh.
Jackson stepped back and swung the door wide, a silent command to exit.
I kept my expression neutral when he surprised me by offering me his hand. I grasped it gingerly, half expecting him to crush my fingers in his giant fist. His grip was firm and steadying, not crushing at all, though my fingers were swallowed by the sheer size of his rough paw.
As soon as I’d gotten on my feet, he dropped my hand like it had burned him. Then he turned and disappeared into the house without a word.
Exasperated, I said to Rayford, “Is he always this charming?”
Rayford smiled at me. He looked a little sad. “Not everyone has the gift of the gab, Miss.” Looking at the empty doorway, he added, “And if you’re treated like a stray dog long enough, you start to believe it and act like one.”
With that mysterious statement, he turned and followed his employer into the house, leaving me standing in the driveway wondering exactly what I’d gotten myself into.