Chapter 14
“Where are you?” Poppy spoke to Sonja, whose incoming call alerted her that her phone was working again. Since she and Brandon had, um, broken in his newest ship’s kitchen counter, she hadn’t even checked it.
“I’m safe and with a friend.” Sonja’s voice was flatter than normal but not as scary as Poppy had anticipated.
“I thought Henry was with you?”
“He’s not there?” Oh shit. She heard the concern, the worry, and maybe a little bit of anger in Sonja’s voice.
“No. I thought he was going to find you. But it’s been crazy weather here. This is the first phone call I’ve been able to take in almost five days.”
“Yes, I saw the reports. You still have power at the house?”
“I, ah, I’m not at your house.” She quickly filled Sonja in on how she’d ended up at Brandon’s. “But it’s all worked out. He needed help preparing for a big meeting and I’ve been able to help him with his prep.”
“Well, that’s a turnaround from how you two were sniping at each other when you met.”
“How are you feeling? Morning sickness? Have you told Henry?” Poppy wanted to know the answers to these questions as much as she was unwilling to share what had happened between her and Brandon. How could she share what she didn’t understand?
“I’m doing well. And I can’t tell Henry about the baby if I haven’t seen him, can I?”
“So you haven’t even talked to him?”
Silence, then a shuddering sigh. “I can’t face him right now. I’ve been such a coward.”
“You’re not a coward, Sonja. What’s the real reason you ran away?”
“I read about you in the news, Poppy.” Sonja had her own way of avoiding the hard questions. The hairs on Poppy’s nape stood up.
“What’s in the news?”
“That the biggest retail deal for a fashion and home decor line in a decade has been canceled. That Attitude by Amber has been tanked. Oh boo, what are you going to do?”
Poppy fought the tears that burned to fall. Then sat straight up as a bolt of realization jerked her out of her self-pity. “I’ve got to go. Glad you’re okay.” She threw her phone down and raced from the guest room, needing to find Brandon.
He was at the kitchen counter, sipping a cappuccino while he thumbed through his iPad.
“Hey.” A quick glimpse of blue eyes as he gave her an even quicker once-over. Did he already know?
“Good morning, Poppy. You’ve figured out the cell coverage has resumed. I heard you talking to someone.”
“Yes. It was Sonja. She’s fine, but hasn’t spoken to Henry yet.” She fidgeted. “I need to tell you something.”
“Let me guess.” His eyes were on her again but the heat wasn’t sexual. He was pissed. “Are you going to admit you’ve lost your entire career? Your New York City business was one thing, but now you’ve torpedoed your Attitude by Amber line. How long have you known about this? Were you hoping to endear me to you with your styling ways so that I’d hire you on permanently?”
“No, no. And the work we did together is gratis. I won’t take a penny from you.”
“Bullshit, Poppy. You expect me to believe that a woman of the world like you didn’t deliberately deceive me about your work situation? Do you even have money to fly back to New York?”
She swallowed. “Yes. It was a round-trip ticket, I can change the return anytime.” Not that she was going to. She’d figured out what she wanted to do with her business, and New Orleans was where she wanted to start a pilot project of sorts. Nothing she was going to share with him. Not now.
He didn’t say anything, just sipped his coffee with his eyes boring a hole through her. And made her realize that she actually cared about his opinion of her. They’d all but agreed to keep their connection sex-only, with a dose of her helping him out for the San Sofia contract bid. Neither of them wanted more. She certainly didn’t.
So why did her heart feel like an invisible hand was working it like Play-Doh?
He got up from the stool and walked to the deep stainless sink, rinsed his cup out. “The airport’s open as of noon tomorrow. Let me know when you need a ride.”
“But what about your meeting for the anti-drug boats?”
“It’s been postponed until next week. You’ll be gone by then.”
“Wait a minute, Brandon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Attitude by Amber being tanked. It’s not been my best time, these past couple of months. There’s no way I’m leaving NOLA before you’re done with the meeting and land the account. Because I know you will.”
His eyes reflected scorn, disappointment and maybe a glimmer of need. As in he needed someone to believe in his ability to get back on his feet. She knew what that was, how low you had to be to be willing to give something your all, to trust someone else so completely.
“Take me back to Sonja and Henry’s—the power’s got to be back on there, right? I’ll drive back here as needed to help you prep. We can go over the presentation at least one more time. I’m guessing you’ll be interviewed more than once if you get in the running for the contract.” He didn’t get to shut her out like this. Her helping him had been more than a nice gesture. It was what had saved her in her darkest moment.
He regarded her with what might be doubt but she hoped it was more like disgusted disappointment. Because what they’d shared last night, all night, had been more than scratching each other’s itch and she couldn’t bear it if he hated her. Like Sonja not wanting to acknowledge her doubts about fleeing the wedding, her need of his acceptance was nothing she wanted to acknowledge.
“Let’s not make this more than it is. Was.” He spoke slowly, his face guarded, the scars of Jeb’s betrayal smoothed over by his detached stance. She saw underneath it, though. “You’re still on my payroll, until I land the San Sofia contract. I’m not going to take rent from you, Poppy.”
It made sense to accept something for her work, even though it had been fun to style Brandon. And she wanted to appear as professional as he when it came to a firm boundary between work and play. “I won’t take a penny unless you do get it. I meant it when I said to consider it my rent, but I’m okay with you paying me, after you get the contract. You can pay me like an agent. We can agree to a flat fee or a percentage.” She meant it. She’d have to come up with another way to fund her initial legal bills if San Sofia walked, but she’d worry about it then. Maybe her lawyer would consider giving her an advance on the expectation she’d get to unfreeze her assets soon.
“I thought we at least had the start of a friendship.” She placed her hand on the counter, hesitating. No one had made her feel at once full of esteem and afraid of her next move. “You can play ‘Gus’ all you need to, but I’ve seen Brandon. That’s who I’m here for. Not the sex, although that was intense, not your stormproof house, but for you.”
He picked up his iPad and held it to his chest as if it were a shield. “I accept your continued professional support. We’ll go back to Henry’s to get Sonja’s car, if it survived the flood, so that you can come and go as you need to. If it’s in need of a dry-out then you can continue to use one of my vehicles. If the 300 series isn’t working out, I have others. You’ll probably want to stay here, though. And you’re welcome to. It’ll take a couple of weeks to get all the utilities back on in Henry’s neighborhood, not to mention to get the river stench out of the downstairs.”
He seemed to overlook that he was incredibly fortunate to be mostly independent of the grid that drove the average Louisianan’s life, but she didn’t call him on it. And to throw out that he had a BMW that he’d lend to her so casually was another sign that they were from different worlds. Any extra money she made she sent to her mother and sister. She’d paid for Ginger’s college singlehandedly, and had purchased a small-town home for her family in one of the nicer suburbs of Buffalo. None of her family lived like they had when she was young, at the hands of brutality. Abuse from the one man they should have all been able to trust, her father and her mother’s husband.
He looked up at her. “You’re being awfully quiet. Am I pushing you into staying here?”
Could she handle staying in this house, in close quarters with Brandon, for another week? She definitely needed Internet and electrical power because not only was she supporting Brandon as a client, she had her own work to do. The idea had sprouted in the midst of her pity party and blossomed as she’d helped Brandon lay out suits and set up his PowerPoint presentation.
“No, not at all. I’m used to being more independent, living in hotel rooms as needed.” But she didn’t have the funds for that, and she needed more time to set up her next career move, and Brandon’s house worked for her. She was comfortable here, if she ignored the almost constant sexual tension. And that wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly.
“I promise I’ll give you all the space you need, Poppy.”
“I know you will. I’ll stay here but you won’t know I’m around. Unless you have a question about your prep for your meeting for the San Sofia contract.”
He set down his iPad and stalked around the counter toward her. She held her ground and lifted her chin. If she could hold his gaze maybe he wouldn’t see the quakes that started the minute he moved closer. He stopped a foot from her, reached out and tugged on one of her locks.
“Thank you, Poppy.” His fingers ran along her neck, his thumb brushed over her bottom lip.
“For what?” Geez, did her breath have to get behind her voice like that? She sounded like one of the women in the bars who’d all made it clear that they were available to Brandon. And yet he’d taken her to bed. She could blame it on the storm, they both could, but neither of them was that shallow or immature. They’d done what they’d wanted to. What did this man see in her?
He leaned in and kissed her, as if it were their first. His lips were firm, his tongue warm and reassuring as his mouth moved over hers. She leaned in, her hands on his chest, and kissed him back. When he lifted his head he pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you for being here.”
“I could say the same.” Who’d rescued whom?
He straightened and the take-no-prisoners business expression was back in place.
“That’s how you need to look.”
“What?” His head tilted, his total focus on her. She loved it.
“When you have your meetings for the San Sofia contract. You look confident, intelligent, and like anyone who’d turn Boats by Gus down is a loser.”
He blinked. “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s go get your wheels.” He walked out of the room and she waited for the relief to hit her. Relief that she had a respite, time to regroup. It wasn’t going to be easy, staying here, trying to remain detached from an emotional entanglement. Not with Brandon’s masculine stamp in each room. Since her business assets were frozen and she was down to nil in her bank account, a free bed and all the technology she needed was heaven sent. Instead of relief, she felt a fluttering in her belly that had nothing to do with the new career path that had started to form in her mind. Nothing to do with having a dry place to lay her head at night. Nothing to do with being able to stay in New Orleans and avoid the harsh critical spotlight of her New York City colleagues and clients.
The fluttering was the unfurling of an emotional landscape she had yet to traverse. Attraction, desire, chemistry, instant-crush; she was an expert at these. This sense of belonging was something else altogether, and it scared the grits right out of her.
She grabbed her purse and ran after Brandon, who’d disappeared into the hallway where the garage was connected.
“Coming!”
* * * *
The next couple of weeks flew as Poppy began to put her new career into motion. After canvassing all of NOLA for the perfect storefront, she decided to give herself a break and a treat at Café Du Monde. She bit into a hot beignet and savored the instant rush of pure white flour and sugar to her brain. It was the perfect formula for her kind of crack. New Orleans–style donuts, consumed at this tiny table in a corner at New Orleans’ most famous café, were a sensory treat for her. No one recognized her, or if they did, couldn’t care less. The lack of celebrity attention was a new freedom she was afraid to count on.
“What are you doing here?”
She jolted at the sinfully sexy voice. A voice that had whispered the dirtiest words in her ear while he’d made love to her. Had broadened her concept of hot sex more than once.
“Playing tourist, obviously.” She looked up at him and consciously wiped the sugar from her lips with her napkin, lest he think she was ogling him. In one of the impeccable suits they’d agreed upon for his meetings he towered above her and everyone else in the chilly morning air. Several heads turned to take him in and she realized that in this city, Brandon, or rather Gus, was a celebrity.
“May I?” Only then did she notice the white paper bag in his hand, the grease spots spreading. He held a cup of chicory coffee in his other hand—she could smell the warm aroma.
“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.