Chapter 17
“Here’s a perfect color for your skin tone.” Poppy pulled a frothy lemon-yellow scarf off the boutique shelf. “You can wear this with the blouse you have on, as well as with a knit T-shirt or even a dress. Scarves are the quickest and often the least expensive way to update your wardrobe.”
The customer who’d wandered into the shop tilted her head. “So I don’t have to buy an entirely new wardrobe?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good, because I can’t afford it right now! My boys are teenagers and all of my extra money goes to groceries. But I need some updating. I just got a new position.” Evident relief added a glow to her smile. She looked over the accessory area again, her gaze landing on a pale blue wrap. “What about this?”
“Perfect.” Poppy continued to work with the woman until it was certain the customer was happy with her purchases. The bell on the front door rang out as she left and Poppy heard hand clapping behind her. She turned to see Bianca with a grin that split her face in two.
“Well done, Poppy. You’ve got the touch! Exactly what this shop needed. Where were you last year?”
Poppy shook her head. “I wouldn’t have been able to sell anything that wasn’t already in stock. Your eye for color and texture is incredible.” She fingered a pink scarf she’d coveted since she started working with Bianca. “Look at this design—I can find peach and blush and fuchsia in any department store. But you’ve found the perfect shade of pink, a peony pink, if you will, that coordinates with both cool and warm color palettes. And it’s in a lighter cotton blend. That’s a talent.”
“Stop being coy, Poppy. You’re the best at what you do or you wouldn’t have such a huge business in New York.”
“Had.”
Bianca’s face dropped into compassion. “I’m sorry. No news on the lawsuit being dropped?”
“Not yet. My lawyer is certain it will be.”
“I want the best for you but I have to say that selfishly I’d love to keep you all to myself!”
“I’m serious about starting an office here, Bianca. If you’ll have me, I’d like to make this my permanent location in NOLA.”
Bianca squealed. “Are you serious? That’s amazing! Yes, yes, yes!” She clicked toward Poppy on her stiletto sandals, her full tulle skirt bobbing as if in agreement, too. “Thank you so much, Poppy. I won’t let you down.” She whispered fiercely into Poppy’s ear.
Poppy hugged Bianca back. “Let you down? You’re the one who gave me a break. I could have been anyone and you trusted me enough to give me part-time work.” Poppy had been spending almost forty hours per week here while Brandon worked on the San Sofia presentation. She’d come in early today and was staying longer, waiting to hear if he’d received an offer. It was too anxiety-provoking to be at the house with him, not that he’d be there.
And each time she went back to his house, she was reminded that she needed to go back to her own home. New York. Her time in New Orleans was never supposed to be more than two weeks, and she’d doubled that and then some.
“I’m going to get some of your new order organized.” Poppy walked into her office not a moment too soon. Fat tears started to roll down her cheeks, tears that had nothing to do with gratitude toward Bianca or relief that it looked like her new business idea was a viable one.
Her sorrow was closer to her heart, the heart that had found healing in NOLA with a certain sexy bayou bachelor.
* * * *
“Poppy?” The soft feminine voice reached her through her intense scrutiny of a wardrobe selection for a new client—the fifth in as many days. Poppy looked up and her mouth popped open as she saw Sonja, standing awkwardly inside her studio office.
“Sonja!” She stood up so fast that papers and scraps of fabric fluttered to the floor, some of them scrunched under her mules. Poppy didn’t care as she embraced her best friend. “Oh. My. God. When you go big, you go big! How are you feeling?”
Sonja shrugged and gave a wan shadow of her usual smile. “Par for the course. I throw up until noon, then crave salty crackers until dinner, when I wolf down as much as I can without getting nauseous again.”
“Here, have a seat.” She gave Sonja her desk chair and sat on a stool. “Tell me what’s going on. When did you get back?”
Sonja looked around the studio, turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees before sitting in the offered place. “I think you have more to tell me. You’ve done all of this in less than a month?”
“Yeah. But I had help. Bianca is a dear and I’m so lucky it worked out. Without her, I might still be pounding the pavement for a job.”
Sonja’s knowing gaze offered no sign of compromise. “You still underestimate yourself. You’d be working wherever you want to. You just needed time to regroup. And about that, how’s Brandon?”
Poppy shook her head. “No way. You first. A runaway pregnant bride trumps anything going on in my life.”
Two worry lines appeared between Sonja’s brows. “About that, Poppy…you’re still the only one who knows.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe Sonja had kept her pregnancy from Henry all this time.
“I haven’t seen Henry in person yet. I took an extra week of vacation, and I’ve decided to go back to work at the Boudreaux firm as before, here in New Orleans. I don’t have to deal with his father except once or twice a month, and it pays the bills. Plus Hudson begged me not to quit.”
“You’re kidding. That bigot doesn’t want a lawsuit, me thinks.”
“I thought that at first, too, but he sounded sincere and believe me, I see it all in the courtroom. I think the wedding fail was a huge wake-up call for the family, especially Hudson and Gloria. It’s one thing when the son who’s always been the independent one breaks ties, but when the conformist—Henry—threatens to never speak to them again, that’s reason to reevaluate your motives. Plus with their sister out of the country, it hit them hard that all of their children were gone.”
“Did Henry tell you this?”
“No. His father did, and then his mother called me. Of course with her, it’s hard to tell. She’s probably secretly thrilled that the wedding is off, for now. I think she’ll always be the kind of mother who doesn’t accept whomever her children decide to be with. She’s been calling the shots for so long in that family.” Sonja’s narrative trailed off as she fingered a length of pale cream ribbon. “They’ll feel differently when they know they’re going to be grandparents.”
“When are you going to tell Henry?” Poppy had hoped they’d been together all this time, working it out.
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a little while longer to get away with looser clothing. But I will tell him. I don’t want it to be any kind of bargaining chip in our relationship moving forward, though.”
“Phew! So you agree you belong with him?”
Sonja’s smile grew sad. “I believe he’s the love of my life. But that’s not enough for a lasting relationship. The fact that we even allowed his parents to come between us at all is a deal breaker. We’re through. It’s over.”
“What exactly did they say to you, Sonja?”
Sonja shook her head decisively. “No. This is a conversation for me and Henry. When the time’s right.”
There was more Sonja wasn’t telling her, Poppy was certain. She understood keeping some things close to the heart. “I understand, of course. But know that I’m here when you want to talk, okay?”
“Deal. Now, what about you?”
“Do you remember how I loved working with you when we came here for spring break in college? Handing out the clothes after Katrina with your church?”
“How could I forget? Do you know, I still have some of my church members asking about you. You were such a big help and you know you have a natural knack for boosting people’s spirits. They never forgot all you did.”
“Actually, I think it’s the other way around. I find nothing more exciting than the look on someone’s face after I’ve helped them narrow down their style and figure out a way to live comfortably in it.” Now she’d add affordably to that list. Why hadn’t she realized sooner that she wanted to make more of a difference in people’s day-to-day lives?
“And you’re going to do this here, with Bianca? Until you go back to New York?” Sonja acted casual but Poppy knew her best friend well enough to see the catlike observation going on.
Poppy smiled. “You’re sitting in the office for Poppy’s Do-Overs. And not only will I have this business, working with Bianca, I’ve committed to putting ten percent back into the community. Not only in dollars but in time. I’ll set up shop at the local battered women’s shelter, or have them come here, whichever they find safest and most comfortable. Yesterday I met with a single mom and her teenaged daughter. I got to help both of them pick out clothes and put outfits together. The mother is going interviewing for jobs, and the daughter is prepping to apply to college.”
“Girl, I’m so proud of you. Will you take it national as soon as you can?”
Poppy’s stomach dropped at the thought of expanding “No. An office here, only here. I don’t want any hint of a franchise business model and I want the local community to be able to trust me.”
“That’s fantastic!” Sonja gave her a quick hug. “I’m so glad. I often thought you’d be happier doing something a little more grounded.”
“I don’t know about ‘grounded.’ At least in terms of a job. I was the one who wasn’t living in reality, back at my old job. This, this feels right. As if I’ve returned to myself. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all. So tell me, where does Brandon fit in all of this?”
Sonja’s question was clear. “I’m not doing this for a man, if that’s what you’re really asking. Brandon and I are friends. I helped him get ready for some business opportunities, and he gave me a place to stay during the flooding. Speaking of which, how’s your house?”
Sonja gave her a measured look but didn’t push her, for which Poppy was grateful. It was hard enough starting all over again with her vocation, her livelihood. Losing the man she never really had, the man who’d healed her through the worst time in her life, that was something entirely worse. And nothing she was going to discuss with anybody, even her best friend.
“It’s a mess.” Sonja’s assessment said volumes, and not just about her home.
“I wanted to go back after the storm and stay there, but the damage mitigation team still had all the fans and plastic covers up. Said the mold threat was too great for me to stay.”
“I was able to get my things. I’ve moved out, ahead of Henry returning, and rented my own place. It’s not far from here, actually. I’ll be able to walk to the firm office if I want to.”
“Sonja, I’m so sorry.”
Sonja shook her head. “Don’t be. This is all for the best.”
Poppy wasn’t so sure.
* * * *
Brandon walked with purpose to Poppy’s boutique. He knew it was called something else but to him, it would always be hers. Anything she touched was hers. Including him.
The thought should scare him, make him want to shake her off. Instead, he wanted more of Poppy with each passing day. And it wasn’t because she’d helped him prepare to win the San Sofia contract. He knew that now because, in fact, he hadn’t gotten the contract. He’d lost the big government deal.
Yet he felt like a winner, and he still wanted her. He needed Poppy in his life. But how he was going to convince her of this eluded him. He knew he had to try, though, because he’d learned enough over the past month to grasp that sometimes life didn’t give you second chances. He might have one with his family, a way to find common ground, to see if he’d misread some of what he thought had been his parents’ blatant racism. Poppy, however, was once in a lifetime. There’d be no second chances with other women.
His heart pounded as he neared the boutique. Trying to explain to Poppy why she should stay in New Orleans with him scared him more than any of the negotiations he’d been through for the contract that in the end hadn’t happened.
His cell rang and he wanted to ignore it but it was his private investigator, Stanley.
“Tell me you found Jeb.”
“I have. He’s in Asuncion, Paraguay.
“That makes no sense.” Brandon thought for a moment. “When is he coming back here? With the money?”
“He’s not, and he doesn’t have the money any longer, not in any of the accounts I could access. None of it.”
Disappointment flared into anger. He completely trusted Stanley and believed him. The retired FBI agent ran a part-time PI firm and had come highly recommended. He’d used Stanley’s services before, for background checks on clients who had shady reputations. Boats by Gus didn’t do business with crooks or drug dealers.
“Jesus. He blew through fifteen million dollars in a month?” So he’d lost it all, thanks to Jeb. And his own personal blind spot. “How did you find him? And how do you know the money’s gone?”
“I called in a few favors from former colleagues. I have contacts in Paraguay but no one seems to know why he’s there. Or if they did they can’t tell me.”
“So it could still be something legit.” He could give Jeb one last chance.
“You’re being naive, Brandon. I’m not your attorney but I suggest you talk to him. Better yet, report this. A man who stole from your company is not your friend, no matter what your history. Do you want to be implicated in whatever business he had in South America? We’re talking some life-altering circumstances, Brandon. Drug running at best, weapons smuggling at worst.”
“No, wait on it for now. Let me talk to my lawyer. Thanks, Stanley. I’ll get back to you.” He quickly connected to his lawyer who picked up immediately.
“Brandon.”
“I need help.” Brandon filled him in, his decision solidifying as he did.
“You’re going to report this, right?”
“That’s why I called you. Yes. And I’m going to need you with me when I file my report, to make sure Boats by Gus isn’t implicated in whatever Jeb was involved in.”
“This isn’t going to be a slam dunk. There could be charges pressed against you for being complicit to Jeb’s actions if they were illegal. You’re going to have to explain why you waited so long to report Jeb’s theft, Brandon. If he was involved in drugs or munitions you could be on the hook for funding it.”
“But you’re my witness, as is Stanley.”
“Meet me at the police station in fifteen minutes. We’ll file your report. Have your PI call it in to the FBI.”
Brandon stared at his phone after he disconnected, waiting for the shock to hit him. He was about to report Jeb, his brother in all else but blood, to the authorities. Instead of regret, determination formed into a single solid ball of steel in his gut. He’d be damned if anyone would take Boats by Gus from him or his ability to pay Poppy for her part in getting him this far.
Poppy. She deserved a man who stood up for what was his, not someone holding out hope when it was clear he’d been robbed. Poppy was right.
He stood in front of the boutique, watching Poppy’s profile as she talked with a customer. It wasn’t time yet. Giving the boutique a cursory glance, he turned away. As he walked back to his car he threw the flowers into a trashcan. He’d get her new ones later, when they had something to celebrate.
* * * *
Poppy took the call from her lawyer with trepidation. “Tell me something good, Louise.”
“The good news is that we have a court appearance in seventy-two hours.”
“That’s quick! How did you do that?”
“Well, that’s the not-so-good news. I promised you’d be here to testify.”
Poppy groaned. “I thought you said it would take months.”
“Getting your funds, yes. But scoring a slot with the judge this quickly is too much of a boon to try to move it. The judge wants both you, Will, and Tori in front of a mediator appointed by her on Friday morning, eight o’clock.” Louise’s no-nonsense tone crashed through the protective cocoon Poppy had allowed New Orleans to weave around her.
Brandon was the safest part of the cocoon and yet the most dangerous to her sanity. No, that wasn’t true. Her feelings for Brandon were what were making her crazy.
Poppy stared out the office window. It’d been a long day with no word from Brandon on how the contract bid went. A text would have been nice.
“Poppy, you still there?”
“Yes. Friday fits my schedule perfectly. It’s time for me to come home and get my affairs in order so that I can get on with my life.” She wanted to file for her new business LLC, and she needed the money that had been frozen with her former EA’s lawsuit to do so.
“So I’ll see you Friday?”
“Yes. See you Friday, Louise.”
Her phone buzzed almost immediately after she ended the call with Louise. Brandon. She inhaled deeply, hoping to keep the disappointment out of her tone. And realized with a shock that she was incredibly let down that she’d have to leave New Orleans, leave Brandon, for any length of time.
Holy fried okra.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself. I was wondering if you’ll be home for dinner tonight?” His voice was the balm she needed.
“I was going to stay late but I don’t have the energy right now.”
“You okay?”
“No. Yes. No—it’s been a long day and I haven’t had the success I’d hoped for. I knew this was going to be a long haul, the new job, but…”
“Come home now, Yankee girl.”
She ignored the many layers to the word “home” and complied. As always, Brandon got her. He knew she needed to lick her wounds. And she hadn’t even shared her legal news with him. For the first time, she keenly wished she’d met him at a different time in both their lives. A time when she had nothing to worry about but how good they were together.
At least they’d still have tonight.
* * * *
He wasn’t sure what made him do it. He stood surveying his domain, the result of most of a day’s work.
The sun was starting to set and it threw the screened-in porch into a rosy gold light, something he’d appreciated from the dock more than this room. It was chilly out here as the day’s warmth dissipated, but anticipation revved his motor and made him feel the room might be too hot for what he’d planned.
He’d made sure the space heater was good to go, and the several dozen candles he’d lit flickered in the quiet space. He’d pulled the futon he usually napped on out into a full-size bed and fitted it with satin sheets. Brandon was particularly proud of the satin sheet bit, as he’d picked them up while out and about earlier, gathering supplies for tonight’s main event.
He was going to make sure Poppy knew she could trust him. That he was her friend and confidante first, lover second.
His dick hardened at the thought of how they’d make love tonight and he had to admit, in the few minutes before she’d be home, that it was difficult to remind himself at times that he wanted to be more than her sex buddy. It wasn’t as if he was promising her anything more. But lately her expression had grown grim, less playful than when they’d first agreed she’d stay with him at his house. She said she was excited about her new job in town but her enthusiasm took a hit each time she tried to act as if she were still the big stylist she’d been in New York.
He knew that rough spot. He’d been fighting to keep the shipyard running as if fifteen million hadn’t up and disappeared in one moment, one flight to South America.
And he still hadn’t found Jeb or the money. There was nothing past his verified arrival to Paraguay, and Brandon no longer had the means to launch a private search in a foreign country.
All Brandon had left was the hope of a future job. The possibility of it. And Poppy.
The familiar tap of her leather-soled sandals on the hardwood floor echoed deep in the house behind him. Poppy was home.
* * * *
Poppy dropped her bag on the granite counter and scanned the great room for Brandon. Only when her gaze landed on the open double French doors did she realize he was on the porch. She smiled, grateful for the excuse to sit down and look at the water for the last remaining minutes of daylight. She’d change into more comfortable clothes in a bit.
As she walked through the doors she saw his silhouette against the edge of the room, his back to her.
“It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t—” Her words jammed in her throat which had tightened measurably as she took in the scene. Candles, dozens of vanilla white candles, were scattered about the room. On the window ledges, the small table tops, the wet bar that also served as a hot beverage station. The futon where she and Brandon had enjoyed many a morning coffee or afternoon cocktail was unfolded and flat, covered in shimmering linens. Linens with—wait, were those rose petals strewn across them? Brandon’s body turned as if in slow motion and when his eyes met hers they were glistening, his smile sure and bright. “Yes, you are beautiful tonight, Poppy.”
She clutched at her throat, her chest with her hand as she motioned with the other. “What, what is all this?”
“It’s a toast to you. To the fact that we’ve successfully cohabitated for the better part of a month without either one of us losing our shit.”
“Oh.” His expectant expression collapsed and she closed the gap with three steps, grabbed his face on either side and kissed him soundly on his lips. “Thank you. You are a wonderful man, Brandon Boudreaux.” She let her hands rest on his shoulders and noticed the crisp linen under her palms, her cheek as she rested her face against his chest. He’d dressed up for her.
But why?
“It’s a little over-the-top, isn’t it?” Hesitation and embarrassment crept into his voice.
Unwilling to lift her head from the comfort of being able to hear the vibration of his voice, she blindly reached up and placed a finger on his mouth. “No. It’s perfect.”
Normally he’d already have her finger in his mouth, sucking, making her wild with her need for him. For this she pulled back and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to surprise you. I thought you could use it.”
More than he’d ever know. “I can. I do.” She stepped back and looked at the sunset, close to its climactic finale. The candlelight grew more vibrant as the dusk wove into twilight. As her gaze skimmed the room she noted a new piece of furniture.
“You have a telescope?” She’d never noticed it.
“It’s the first clear night since the storm went through. Do you realize we’ve had rain showers every day since, on and off?”
She laughed. “Yes, I do. Have you seen my hair?”
His eyes glowed with desire. His hands reached out and he combed her curls with his fingers. “I’ve seen every inch of you, Poppy.”
Awash in the familiar heat of her reaction to him, she felt a tug she hadn’t with him. Maybe not with any man. “Brandon, I…” She didn’t know what he wanted. What she was willing to give. And she still hadn’t told him she was staying in NOLA, but alone.
He dropped his arms. “Come here.” He pulled her to him, her back nestled against his front, and they stood for the several long minutes it took the sun to drop beneath the horizon. It was primal, two human beings watching their world go from day to night. It was Architectural Digest perfect, with the expert layout of the screened porch that was larger than any patio she’d been on. It was textbook sexy, with the candlelight, the bottle of champagne on ice that she’d just noticed, and the bed that looked like a seduction scene from her favorite romance movie.
“Are you hungry?” His breath moved the hair atop her head, warming her scalp and making her turn around. She wanted to face Brandon.
“Very.” She sniffed. “What’s that?”
“The marinade. It’s warming up on the grill.” He stepped away and walked to the wet bar. “Can I make you a cocktail? The usual?”
“Sure.” She watched him as he measured the liquor, poured it over the ice cubes in the old-fashioned glass, added simple syrup and soda water. He stirred it and threw in a slice of orange. “Here you go.”
“Thank you. Cheers.” She held up her glass and he clinked his, half-empty, against hers.
“You can stay here or come out with me to the grill. The mosquitoes shouldn’t be too bad.”
“With all those citronella plants I can’t imagine one bug would dare to fly near here.”
He laughed and it warmed her belly to know she’d put that smile on his face. She wondered if she had some kind of sociopathic tendency because for the life of her she couldn’t remember ever deriving so much pleasure from knowing she’d made a man smile like that.
Of course, no man smiled like Brandon.
Brandon lifted the cover off a sauce pot on one of the gargantuan grill’s side burners and the delicious aroma of fresh celery, garlic, and parsley hit her. “That’s amazing. What are you making?”
“Crawdads.” He took plastic wrap off a stainless-steel bowl he’d retrieved from the porch refrigerator and tossed its contents into a steel mesh basket. “I marinated them in my secret recipe, and the marinade is reducing down by half. Once these babies are done we’ll throw them on top of the rice.”
“Where’s the rice?”
“In the rice cooker on the kitchen counter.” He grinned. “I couldn’t finagle to fix everything out here, as much as I wanted to.”
“I can go get the rice.”
“No, you’re going to relax and enjoy the entire night. I mean it, Poppy. You’ve done so much for me these past few weeks. Let me do something nice for you.”
She squirmed, wiggling her toes in her sandals. “You gave me a roof over my head, Brandon.”
“A roof you could have had at a hotel during the flood. You agreed to stay here, with me, and you’ve seen me through my darkest time.”
Hope flared in at least two of her heart’s chambers when he said “through.”
“Brandon, does this mean that you got the deal?”
“What? Oh, no.” He sighed and flipped the crawdads over and over, each turn unlocking more of the heavenly scent. “I didn’t get the big deal. There’s still a chance for smaller jobs materializing as offshoots of the main contract, but I’m not counting on it. I’ve heard nothing.” He looked like he had more to say but stopped himself. As if he was protecting her from what he thought was inevitable. He was going to lose Boats by Gus.
She placed her hand in the middle of his back and rubbed in circular motions, trying to give him the comfort he unwittingly gave her each time he told her he thought she was the most creative person he knew, or when he listened to her suggestions for how to dress and carry himself during those grueling interviews with the San Sofia government officials.
“No news is good news, in this case.” Unlike her case, where the news is what had decimated not only her styling business but Attitude by Amber, too. She let her arm drop and let out a long breath before she took a decent sip of her drink.
“None of that, Poppy. Not tonight.” Brandon closed the grill lid and placed the basket of perfectly cooked crawdads on the stone ledge that surrounded it. “This is about you enjoying a perfect Louisiana evening.”
“With the perfect Southern gentleman?”
“What I’m planning to do to you, Poppy, is not the work of a gentleman.” He pulled her to him and gave her the softest, sexiest kiss. His tongue merely skimmed her lips, where their only body contact occurred. She had her drink in one hand and could have circled his neck with the other but let Brandon work his magic and lead the way for what her center told her was going to be a Cajun-hot night.
* * * *
Brandon poured them each a glass of the crisp Sauvignon blanc he knew was her favorite. The extra effort to get it today was worth seeing her shy smile.
“You remembered?” She looked from the bottle’s label to him, her gaze soft and open. Completely different from the hard, injured woman he’d first spotted on Henry’s dock.
“There’s little about you that I could ever forget.”
Her smile vanished and she blinked. Damn it he didn’t mean to scare her off.
“That’s…that’s the most ro—, I mean, nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Poppy’s blinks yielded a large solitary tear then dropped down onto her soft cheek. He reached over and wiped it away, taking the opportunity to caress her.
“I never want to be the reason you cry, Yankee girl.”
She shot him a wobbly grin. “These are the good kind of tears.”
“To good friends who also happen to be great in bed?” He held up his glass and was relieved when his attempt to make her laugh paid off.
“You’ve been true to your word, Brandon, I’ll give you that.” She clinked his glass. “To friends.”
Did that mean she still only considered them friends? He didn’t think they were more, but then again, he didn’t think about his friends all day long. Save for Jeb, and even then he was thinking more about all the money Jeb had disappeared with.
“What’s wrong? You look like someone stole your favorite Pokémon card.”
Irritation niggled in his belly. “Nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be better, sitting here with you.”
She stared at him, the kind of look that always preceded a deep dive into his psyche. “This is so kind of you. You’re a kind man.”
“Ah, that’s not a word I’ve ever been accused of before.”
“Then you don’t hang around people long enough for them to see this side of you.” She popped a shelled crawdad into her mouth and chewed. “Mmmm. This is heaven.”
“Thanks.” Actually, the way her full lips formed around her food was heaven—more like paradise. He stifled a groan and remained quiet. He was determined as hell to make this night special for her. She deserved it.
“Spill it, Brandon.”
He didn’t pretend to not know what she meant. She knew him well enough. Too well, hell yeah, but they were past the point of him playing cool and detached, save for in bed. “I did this because you were so upset on the phone, yes, but also because I meant it when I said I owe you everything for helping me through the past few weeks.”
“But you haven’t got the San Sofia contract. Don’t you want to wait until then?”
He shook his head. “I told you, it’s unlikely I’ll get it. And it’s not as important to me right now.” He reached over and grasped her hands, which she’d placed on the table when he started to speak. “You gave me back a belief in myself that I thought was gone for good. I know that the chances of Boats by Gus surviving are nil, but I know I can start over. I can land a job with a local shipbuilder, or even relocate if I have to. My life isn’t the sorry mess I thought it was a month ago.”
“Same.”
Disappointment rose in his chest when she tugged her hands free, but then washed away in the roar of awareness that hit him as she stood and walked around the small table to where he sat.
“You’ve saved me too, Brandon.” She tugged on his arms until he sat parallel to the table, and he watched in fascination as Poppy lowered herself to her knees in front of him.
“Poppy, as much as this is an incredible idea, tonight is about you.”
“And so it is. Let me do what I want, Brandon.” Her hands and fingers moved with lightning speed and his shorts were unbuttoned, the zipper down, her hand around his hard cock before he could utter another word.
“Do you like that?” She tightened her hand around his length, her other hand cupping his testicles. Brandon hissed and she smiled. The woman was pure pleasure and agony wrapped in the most beautiful package.
“I love it.”
* * * *
She’d slept with Brandon. All night.
The morning after Louise’s call and Brandon’s tender lovemaking, she’d fallen asleep in his arms on the futon. When she awoke there was a steaming mug of coffee on the end table and no sign of Brandon. She’d crept by the closed door to his office and heard the earnest, low pitch of his voice. He was working already.
There was nothing left for her to do but leave.
Poppy packed a few remaining items into her suitcase. The same one she’d arrived with just over a month ago. It felt more like lifetimes ago. She wasn’t the same woman.
It was easier this way, with no time or chance for a farewell round of sex. It wasn’t just sex anymore. Not with Brandon.
She had to get out of Brandon’s house, while she still could. Unlike the relief leaving New York had given her, flying out of the bayou filled her with dread. It reminded her of being a kid in Buffalo and knowing that she had to make that 9-1-1 call for her battered mother, for their safety. Because it meant something else had to end. Another one of Mom’s lovers had to go, another hope that maybe this time would be different crushed.
The flashback evaporated at the echo of Brandon’s footfalls in the hallway. The same thrill she always felt when he appeared shot through her, followed by an ugly sense of betrayal. Her betrayal. But how could leaving Brandon be a betrayal—they had no commitment, no agreement except that she’d get a commission for styling him, which she’d refused. He stopped outside her open door and the sight of his tall, familiar frame made the ache in her heart turn into a full-fledged bleeding stab wound.
“Hey, Poppy.” He leaned into her room. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“Packing. I have to go back to New York.”
“Since when?”
She looked at him, his expression a combination of wariness and something else that eluded her. Anger?
“Since I’ve decided to redo my business model.” She didn’t want him to see her face, not too closely. Her careful composure would never hold up under his intense scrutiny and she had to stay strong.
“Poppy, I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to pay you yet.”
“I’ve already told you it’s on me. And this isn’t about money.” Not really. Yes, she needed money, but the court hearing would help, she prayed.
He entered the room and stood next to her in front of her luggage, too close for comfort. “Then what is it about?”
“I need to go, Brandon. I shouldn’t have stayed here for so long. My home base is New York and I’m in the middle of changing my entire corporate structure.” More like launching a new career.
“You couldn’t predict the storm, the flooding.” He spoke of the weather but his eyes were on her, pleading for—what?
“No, but I could have gotten an apartment or an efficiency. Or…” She didn’t want to say it.
“Gone back to New York sooner.” He lifted his arms to her, but as she kept folding clothing and placing it neatly in her luggage he let them drop. “You regret staying here.”
Arrow right to the heart, that one. Maybe her aorta, even. “I don’t regret the fun we’ve had, Brandon. But we agreed, we’re buddies, right? And I owe you so much—you helped me have a project to focus on when my life was falling apart.” At the wounded shock in his eyes she shook her head. “No, no, not that.” She motioned at the bed. “Our sex wasn’t the project—I mean coaching and styling you for the San Sofia contract.”
“I was a goddamned project?” His voice was low but the ferocity of his anger vibrated with each syllable. “Tell me, Poppy, how many of your previous clients did you fuck with such abandon? Is that part of the styling package, the one where you take a sorry son of a bitch at his rock bottom and bring him back to life?”
“Stop. You know it’s not about that.” She wasn’t going to talk about their physical relationship. She couldn’t, not without caving and throwing her arms around him and sobbing. Because it wasn’t about anything physical. Not totally. This was a matter of the heart, the soul. Had she felt this way about Will, or any other man?
“You were so busy in your office, I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m taking it you got the contract?” She kept her hands moving, needing to at least look like she wasn’t hanging on his response. She wanted Brandon to succeed so badly—he deserved it, had earned it.
He stood there, and if it were yesterday or a week ago she’d know for certain that he was fighting his exasperation with her, overriding it with his need to physically have her, the way she needed him inside her. Except in the quiet dark morning he looked angry, and his anger was yielding to an emotion she never expected to receive from him.
Disappointment.
“No, I didn’t get the contract. Once the officials involved discovered that one of my trusted employees was in a highly suspect foreign country most likely participating in illegal trade of either weapons or drugs or both, Boats by Gus lost all credibility.”
Her fumbling hands froze midair. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “Shit happens.”
“You’ll find your way.” She forced a smile, hoping it hid the sickening swell of nausea she fought. Her help hadn’t contributed to a win, after all.
“I’m still going to pay you for your time, Poppy. I’ll need to file bankruptcy, liquidate assets. Depending on where I land I’ll reimburse you in installments if I have to, but you’ll be reimbursed. I’m sorry about this.”
She waved her hand at him. “No, no. It was gratis, believe me. And you didn’t get the contract, so who can say what I contributed? I have a little nest egg put away. I’m fine.” She lied and knew that he knew she was lying. Zipping the case shut, she looked at him.
“Thanks for the place to crash, and the meals, and the—”
He took two long strides and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. Poppy didn’t fight him, couldn’t resist his mouth as it closed on hers, marking her with a trademark Brandon kiss. Sexy, sensuous, but this time tinged with a new taste. Sadness. Regret, maybe. “It’s been real, Yankee girl.” He stepped back. “How are you getting to the airport?”
“My ride will be here in five minutes.”
He nodded. “Travel safe.”
“I will.” Awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt wheeling her suitcase through the large house, her insides hollow, empty of any emotion. Until she was safely belted in the back of the Uber lift, her bag in the trunk, and looked at Brandon’s house for the last time. As the bayou wind blew through the lowered windows, she let the anguish hit her. How had she been so stupid to think Brandon was only a rebound lover?
* * * *
Brandon stood on his back deck staring at the water after Poppy drove off. He felt like his skin had been rubbed bare, as if Poppy was a bandage ripped off an oozing scab. Except Poppy had healed him in places he hadn’t known had been hurting. And given him a vision of what an intimate relationship could be.
He thought of himself as a deliberate man. He knew his persona as Gus in Boats by Gus was a free-living, down-in-the-bayou dude, but he never made a business decision without forethought. Turning Jeb in to the authorities had been deliberate, as regretful as he’d felt for his once best friend.
Going after the San Sofia contract had been deliberate, a way to expand his business, give back to the world in general, and to save his company.
Letting Poppy go as easily as she’d zydecoed into his life, that had been deliberate, too. But at what cost?
The cost to him was irrelevant.
The fact was, no matter how much it tore up his insides, he couldn’t hang on to her. He had nothing to pay her, nothing to show how he’d support her. And how could he even consider asking her to stay when he stood to lose his house?
He reached into a potted plant and grabbed a handful of river rocks. One by one he tossed them into the river, waiting for whatever was inside him, building steam, to pop. He’d done the right thing, letting her go. That was the mark of a mature man, right?
Then why was he so fucking miserable?