PROLOGUE
You Got Served
Adelaide
New Orleans, Louisiana
Pulling the pencil out of my hair, I let out a grunt and stabbed two weeks’ worth of purchase orders with the sharpened tip. “Bam Bam, what the hell? Do you realize how much our liability insurance is going to skyrocket?”
Across our spacious new office, Savannah glanced up from her pathetically hidden game of computer Solitaire while Zep stood silently at the file cabinet with a raised eyebrow. Sighing, I shook my head at both and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.
“I know, Ads,” he mumbled as I heard his monster truck growl to life on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. I know I done bad. But, hey, you can take it out of my paycheck or whatever you need to do. I’ll make it right.”
“I’m not going to dock your pay, Bam. You’re family. Just come in on your down time and do some maintenance shit. I’ll eat the cost and take it out on your ass when I work it into early retirement.”
“You got it, Cuz.” He offered a low laugh, a sound I’d missed hearing from my thick-headed cousin. The laugh told me he understood my somewhat veiled forgiveness of his negligence and my need to not get overly sappy about it.
At least someone in my family got me.
Ending the call, I threw my phone across my desk and leaned back while running my fingers through my hair. Savannah discreetly cleared her throat, and I must’ve worn the stoned glaze of a serial killer because she chose her words carefully as Zep continued to stare at me.
“Everything all right with Bam?”
I snorted, shaking my head as if that said it all. When they both remained silent, I blurted it all out in a rush of verbal vomit. “Bam apparently thought maritime and vehicular laws were mutually exclusive.”
“Meaning?” Zep asked, leaning one arm onto the filing cabinet, an amused smile playing on his lips.
“Did y’all know texting while driving a boat is not only illegal, it tends to distract you away from larger boats crossing right in front of you at the dock?”
Savannah slapped her hand over her mouth. “No!”
“Yep,” I grimaced, re-enacting the play-by-play given to me by the cops with wild hand gestures. “Clipped the ass end of a competitor’s boat while texting some Hooters waitress. I swear, I love the boy, but he’s going to shut us down before we even get up and running.”
Savannah just laughed as computer generated music coming from her laptop alerted everyone that she’d won her forty-eighth game of Solitaire for the day. “This surprises you?”
“No, but there’s just so much work to be done and constantly putting out Bam’s fires keeps setting us back.”
“It’s Friday, Ads.” Savannah held up her phone and wrinkled her nose as if the statement meant anything to me. “Let your hair down and live a little.”
Friday was Friday just as Monday was Monday. I worked seven days a week while my sister left at five o’clock on the dot every weekday to spend the night at Pope’s house.
The first few nights I thought the arrangement couldn’t have been more perfect. Sav paid half the rent, and I got the whole house to myself. However, in the two weeks we’d lived in New Orleans, loneliness had crept into my secluded existence and smacked me across the face. With a jolt, I’d realized it was the first time I’d truly been alone in my life. I’d gone from high school, to college, to being a married woman living at Sugarbirch. My sister’s booming social life made me understand that sometimes nothing screamed louder than silence.
A low chuckle from across the room broke my introspection. Glancing up from the spreadsheet I was working on, I caught Zep standing against the wall with his arms crossed over a tightly stretched black t-shirt. He attempted to hide an amused expression at my sister and failed miserably.
I shot her a look. “It’s still four-thirty-seven, Sav. Just like it was ten seconds ago when you looked at the clock. You have somewhere important to be tonight?”
Spreadsheets. Stay focused on the spreadsheets. Numbers. Calculations. Projections.
Tight jeans. Broad chest. A hot as sin beard that wasn’t too bushy as to look unkempt, or too patchy as to look like he tried too hard. No, Zep’s beard was just right. I’d remembered him clean shaven in high school, but somehow the grown-up version, complete with his facial hair, tattoo sleeves, and well-defined muscles from hard manual labor turned a high school infatuation into something way more X-rated.
When the hell did I go from hating Zep LeBlanc to obsessing over him?
“Don’t you agree, Ads?”
Tearing guilty eyes away from the curve of Zep’s bicep, I began furiously typing in a lame attempt to seem busy. “Sure.”
“Great!” she beamed, packing her shit up and powering down her laptop.
“Wait, what the hell are you doing? It’s not five o’clock yet.”
“I just asked you if you agreed with Zep.”
Oh shit. What the hell did I agree to now? “Agreed with Zep about what?”
“Bolting,” she announced while throwing her huge boho purse over her shoulder and winking. “Zep suggested I go home and get ready for tonight. We’ve gotten a lot done today and Pope’s taking me to dinner on the water. I want to look classy for him.”
Ignoring the snickers coming from the lump against the wall, I lifted an eyebrow and motioned to her darkened screen. “Of course. You need to freshen up after your hard day of card dealing. Maybe Monday you can give yourself a well-deserved break and mix it up with some Candy Crush?”
“Bite me,” she retorted, blowing me a kiss as she shoved her chair under her desk.
Just as she reached the door, the reality of the situation she was leaving me in smacked me clean across the cheeks. “And just how the hell am I supposed to get home if you take Daddy’s truck? We don’t have the van anymore, remember?”
Not even stopping to turn my way, Savannah waved a hand in Zep’s general vicinity as the door closed behind her. “He said he’d take you home. Damn, Ads, you’re out of it today. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get laid.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop. A fucking pin. It drew deathly quiet as Savannah’s mouth bomb detonated and twisted both our faces as if she’d just fanned a deadly fart in the room and barricaded the door.
People talk about elephants in the room. This one wasn’t just in the room; he’d shit all over it and tap-danced in his own poo. I needed to diffuse the situation before the fucker sat on my chest and squeezed the life out of me.
Returning to my spreadsheet, I motioned to Zep while punching random keys and spewing out of my mouth whatever entered my brain. “You know, you should go too. I’m sure you have weekend plans as well. No need to hang around here, Zep. I can call Uber.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
My fingers flew so fast across the keyboard I wasn’t sure if they actually hit the buttons. I pulled in deep breaths, waiting to hear the door open and slam again, only to catch the scent of sea salt and spice behind me, grinding everything but my libido to a screeching halt.
His unique scent infiltrated my senses, and a heavy hand landed on my shoulder as he glanced at my screen and grinned. “I’m no accountant, but I’m pretty sure numbers go in those boxes instead of ‘WTFs.”
“What?” Horrified, I narrowed a stare at the screen, where, sure enough, every slot for number calculations had been filled with repetitive questions to myself and my sanity.
What. The. Fuck, indeed.
Groaning, I rolled my chair away from him and slammed the laptop closed. “Long week, Zep. Keep your jokes to yourself.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no jokes. It’s been a WTF week for me too.”
I rolled that bit of information around in my head and tucked it away for later as I reached for my purse. “So, knock off early.”
Instead of leaving, he perched his ass right on the corner of my desk. An irrational part of me wanted to grab it while the other part wanted to lodge my foot in it for taunting me. And thus, was the push and pull of the past two weeks in the four walls of my own personal hell.
“What are your plans for the weekend, Adelaide?” The way he drawled my name tightened in my belly as he inched closer.
Unable to take it anymore, I grabbed the invoices and power walked across the room to the file cabinet, attempting to shove papers in random folders, while I laughed nervously. “Oh, you know, nothing exciting. I’ll probably pour a glass of wine and spend most of it in a bubble bath.”
Ping.
That was the sound of the pin dropping again as I realized I’d just informed Zephirin LeBlanc that I’d be drunk and naked for the next forty-eight hours.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Zep’s throat work hard on a swallow as if he were doing his best to force the image out of his head.
“What about you?” I asked, slamming the file cabinet closed, desperate to change the subject. “Big plans with Miss Gereaux?”
Please say no. Please say no.
My stomach flipped again and my heart ached in anticipation of his answer. The rational side of me knew I should make small talk—force myself just to chatter away nonchalantly and act like a normal person having a close working relationship with her first boyfriend. Like it didn’t bother me. Only it did. So, I painted on a smile and tried not to look too eager to rip apart his personal life with a magnifying glass.
Rubbing his forehead with the pad of his thumb, he blew out his cheeks then released them. “Addie, Josie and I only went out on a few dates. She’s nice enough but she’s not my girlfriend if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Right.” He cocked his head to the side and studied me. “Are you jealous?”
I shrugged, forcing a blank expression. “Curious.”
More like fucking obsessed, but he didn’t need to know that.
“She’s not my type, Addie.” Squinting his eyes, he leaned back on his palms.
“I thought giant jugs were every man’s type?”
“I’m not into blondes.”
Dazed, I pressed on. “What are you into, Zep?” That may have come across as a bit intrusive, or maybe I just looked desperate. Either way, my head demanded an answer that I wasn’t sure it was ready to hear.
Opening his mouth, he chuckled softly and shook his head as if thinking better of furthering the conversation. “Never mind. Look, it’s almost five o’clock. You’ve worked your ass off for two weeks straight getting things up and running. Let me take you home so you can leave work at work and try to de-stress?”
My mind swirled with thoughts of bathtubs and Zep, and a flush worked its way up my neck. “It’s no big deal. I already said I could call Uber.”
“That’s stupid. I’m right here.” He rolled his eyes and pushed off the desk as he barreled toward me, his eyes a little wild. “Besides, I don’t trust Uber. Being alone and fucking gorgeous doesn’t bode well for you.”
I froze with my fingers around my purse. There tended to be a little thing called final straws, and for some reason, I grasped at them like they were the Holy Grail. A wave of nervousness swept through me as I glanced up at him through heavy lashes. “You think I’m pretty?”
My own husband never even told me I was pretty.
No, Addie…” He sighed, his breath fanning my hair around my neck. “I said you’re fucking gorgeous. You always were. I don’t know how, but time has made you even sexier than you were back then.”
The proper lady I’d been groomed to be the last ten years should’ve been appalled at the way a thin layer of sweat broke out all over my body at the deep rumbles in his voice or the way his eyes seemed to burn through every fiber of clothing I wore. But all I wanted was to hear more—to know I wasn’t the undesirable ice cube Roland had tossed aside without a second thought.
“Zep, don’t…” Deep down, I wasn’t a liar, but those two words weren’t just of the little white variety. I didn’t want him to stop, and that was exactly why he had to.
He nodded, and I thought I’d effectively doused the flame smoldering in the tiny space between us. I thought it until his hand gripped my hip and pulled me toward him with an undeniable assuredness.
“Here’s the deal, Addie. I’ll play whatever game you want me to around Savannah and our crew, but this is just you and me here. It’s no bullshit time. I won’t pretend that I don’t replay our one night together over in my head like a fucking home movie. I won’t pretend I don’t know first-hand how soft your skin is, or how there’s a spot on your ribcage that makes you squirm.” He moved closer, his free hand gripping my other hip. “And I sure as hell can’t pretend I don’t hear you scream my name in my head over, and over, and over…”
Sliding a rough hand up from my hip to the back of my head, he wrapped my hair around his fingers and pulled slightly backward. His eyes darkened and the upward tilt of his mouth had me focused on his lips. His words echoed in my head, breathing life into a fractured memory it seemed neither of us had forgotten.
We both breathed heavily, our lips close enough to touch but holding back, waiting for a green light from the other that it was all right to break every rule we’d made for ourselves. Desperate to do something with my mouth other than attacking him, I bit my lip, almost drawing blood. It was a move that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Addie,” he groaned as if in pain. His other hand slid up the side of my jaw while his thumb feathered across my cheek bone. I closed my eyes in anticipation. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of wanting. I was just fucking tired.
Just as his lips opened, so did the front door.
“Adelaide Bordeaux?”
I’d never seen two people move so fast in my life. One minute Zep was about to devour me, the next it was like I’d accidentally activated some bubonic force field that kept him eight feet away at all times.
I cringed at hearing my married name. “Who are you?”
A man, slightly on the thin side, in a plain pair of khaki pants and boring white button-up shirt, tapped a manila envelope in his hands. “Adelaide Dubois Bordeaux?”
Okay, now he had my attention. “Yes?”
Nodding curtly, he shoved the envelope in my hand and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been served. Have a nice weekend.”
Before I could ask him anything, he’d backed out of the office and slammed the door. With a shaking hand, I tore open the envelope and flipped through the documents. A mixture of hatred and shock rushed through my veins as the paper crumbled in my fingers.
“Addie?” Zep asked cautiously. “What the hell is that?”
Outrage burned me to the core. “Divorce papers,” I announced in a flat voice because if I allowed any emotion to invade my speech, I just might have started destroying shit.
“What?” He snatched the papers out of my hand, scanning them with the same shocked expression.
Defiance pounded my chest and rose in my throat. “You know what? This is something that should have happened a long time ago; only I should’ve been the one serving, not him. Never him.”
As the final chapter in my life with Roland lay crumpled in Zep’s hands, I blinked away the tears and swallowed my anger, forcing it into something more productive. Something I’d recently found tended to dull the senses and ability to feel.
Vodka.
“Zep, do you really have plans for tonight?”
Apparently confused, Zep placed the papers on my desk and held my stare as if trying to figure me out.
Good luck, buddy.
“I was going to have dinner with some friends. Why?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Cancel it. We’re going out.”
“What?”
“Yep, we’re going to get good and drunk tonight and celebrate the biggest fuck-up of Roland Bordeaux’s life. I’m a free woman, Zephirin. We’re going to get shitfaced and both of us are finding Mr. and Miss Right Now.”
Shock registered on his face, and his brows pulled together in hesitation. “I don’t know about—”
“It’s decided then,” I announced, giving zero fucks about any opposition to my declaration. “Get your shit, LeBlanc. First round is on me. We can toast to me being douche-free.”
Turning off the lights in the office, I grabbed my purse, keys, and phone and stormed out, assuming Zep would catch up to me at some point. My mind drifted as I smacked the side of his truck, waiting for him to unlock it.
In the span of a few hours, my life had taken a complete one-eighty turn, tilted sideways and reversed, only to be blindsided into a full spin out. With everything in a complete upheaval, there was no way in hell I could pursue anything other than friendship with the man who’d dominated my thoughts for the past few weeks. More than anything, I needed one constant that wouldn’t change; one man who wouldn’t turn his back on me or disappoint me with some stripper barely out of adolescence. I’d made the decision for us. The closest Zep and I would ever get again would be a platonic handshake between business partners.
However, whether he liked it or not, Zep LeBlanc was my wingman for the night, and with any luck, we’d both find some nameless bar fly to screw each other off our minds once and for all.
What could go wrong?