by Donna Hill
“Good.” Craig checked his watch. “Let’s all meet when Norm and Stacey arrive,” he said. His glance spanned to include everyone. He turned to Anthony, clapped him on the shoulder and with a toss of his head indicated that he wanted to talk out of earshot. He led the way out and across the hall to his room.
Anthony shut the door behind them. “Lemme hear it. How did you get her to change her mind? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
Craig tossed him a withering look from over his shoulder. “Yo, what are you trying to say, man?”
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m saying you sometimes maneuver women into that horizontal position that magically gets them to do what you want.”
“One time,” he corrected, holding up his index finger as pseudoproof.
“Twice.”
“All right, all right. Twice. But it was mutual. I never have a woman do anything they don’t truly want to do. I’m not that guy.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, man. I’m just pulling your chain.” He crossed the carpeted floor to the counter, fixed himself a cup of coffee then took a seat in a club chair by the window. “So, what’s the deal?”
Craig sat on the lounge chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles. He linked his fingers across his hard belly. “I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse,” he said in a pretty good imitation of Marlon Brando’s Vito Corleone.
“Yeah, what kind of offer?”
“Well, I was honest...or at least as honest as I can be. I told her exactly how important this film is to me and why. We talked.” His gaze drifted away as an image of Jewel filled his line of sight. A grin curved his mouth.
“She must have said something pretty powerful to put that look on your face.”
Craig blinked, gave a quick shake of his head and returned his attention to Anthony. “I don’t know what it was, to be honest.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “There’s...something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” He looked Anthony right in the eyes. “Getting her to agree to let us use her home for the shoot is a major coup, no doubt, but having lunch with her tomorrow is the icing on the cake.” He grinned.
“You dog,” Anthony teased, wagging a finger at him.
“It’s not like that,” Craig said, chuckling. “I swear.”
“Not yet.”
“Look, I asked her to dinner, and she flat-out said no. I bumped it down to lunch with the caveat that if she agreed I would tell her why I haven’t been back for ten years.”
Anthony’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “Say what?”
“She wanted to know...and that was the only thing I could offer to get her to agree to lunch.”
“The offer she couldn’t refuse,” Anthony said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Let me get this straight. You meet this woman. You want something from her. She tells you no—something you aren’t used to hearing, by the way—and you offer to reveal to her something I only got out of you after years of friendship and a bottle of bourbon? Is that about right?”
“Maybe if you’d had her body, those eyes and that mouth I would have told you sooner,” he joked.
Anthony burst out laughing, sputtering coffee. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth then leveled his gaze at his friend. “Hey, it’s cool, whatever you want to do. I’m just saying be clearheaded—that’s all. In another three months, we’ll be back in London for the next film. Long distance has never been your thing.”
Craig pressed his lips together and slowly nodded his head. “Yeah, I know. It’s all good.”
“Now for the practical question, how much more is this going to cost us?”
“Another ten grand.”
“What? Craig, man, we have a budget, remember? You’re adding ten K to the budget and we haven’t even started shooting yet.”
“I got this. Don’t worry.” He stood.
“It’s my job to worry. It’s what I do. I know you have deep pockets, but don’t bust a hole in them.” His cell phone chirped. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket. “It’s Diane. Norm and Stacey just arrived,” he said.
“Cool. Give them an hour to get settled and we’ll all meet over lunch. Have room service bring up whatever everyone wants.”
Anthony pushed up from his seat and set his coffee cup down on the table. He turned to Craig, slung his hands into his pockets and pushed out a breath. “I know you have a lot riding on this project,” he said in a low voice. “I only want to make sure that you make it to the finish line.”
“I hear you, brother.” He gripped Anthony’s upper arm. “I’ve come too far to screw this up, especially over a woman. No worries. Okay?”
Anthony studied him for a moment. “See you at lunch.” He turned and walked out.
Craig faced the window that offered a panorama of the place he’d once called home. He knew that Anthony was only doing his job. When he put on his other hat as first assistant director it was his responsibility to keep everything on point, including keeping an eye on the budget. But Craig also knew that wasn’t Anthony’s main concern. His concern rose out of their decades-long friendship. Anthony knew him, knew the demons that he dealt with—the string of relationships to fight the bouts of depression, the outbursts of anger and the weeks of isolation. The chasm between him and his father was at the center of it all, that and his very publicly failed engagement to international model and up-and-coming film star Anastasia Dumont, the daughter of Alexander Dumont, the London financier. Although the disaster of their engagement had ended three years earlier and it happened across the pond, it still stung. His and Anastasia’s faces and every detail of their relationship—at least what the tabloids could piece together—became cover copy for every pop magazine here and abroad for months. At least until the next personal scandal took center stage.
He’d almost waited by the phone for a call from his father telling him, “I told you so.” Craig wasn’t sure what stung more, the fact that the call never came or that his father didn’t even care enough to say, “I told you so.”
Anthony was right. He had to keep his head on straight and not get distracted by a beautiful woman who clearly had major issues of her own. The last thing he needed was to haul around someone else’s baggage. He’d tell her just enough to tamp down her curiosity, and that was it. He was as good at masking what rested behind his emotional armor as he was a writer and director—and he had the awards to prove it. Whatever he didn’t want Ms. Jewel Fontaine to know she would never know.
* * *
“I’m going to take your father on a stroll around the grounds,” Minerva said as she walked into the sitting room off the veranda.
Jewel placed the newspaper that she was reading down on the table. “I think I’ll go with you. I could use some exercise myself.” She pushed up from the chair.
“I saw a car pull off earlier. Was that the film people?”
Jewel tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth before answering. “Yes. It was Mr. Lawson.”
“Oh.” Her voice rose in a note of surprise. “And?” she added when Jewel offered nothing further.
“He came to ask me to reconsider.”
“And?”
“And I agreed.” She held onto her smile.
Minerva clapped her hands together in delighted relief. “Amen! I am so happy that you came to your senses.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“I thought about what you said.” Craig Lawson immediately came to mind. “It’s for the best.”
Minerva squeezed Jewel’s arm. “This will lift a big burden off your shoulders and give you some room to breathe.” She hesitated a moment. “I know I’ve said it a dozen times, but if you’re set against g
oing back to your art, you could have a whole other career in baking. It wouldn’t bring in the same level of money as your paintings and such, but...you love it and your customers love the magic you make.”
Jewel drew in a long breath and slowly released it. “One thing at a time, Minny, okay?” A faint smile of indulgence curved her mouth. “Let’s go take Dad for his walk. Then I actually do need to get into the kitchen. I have an order for three dozen red velvet cupcakes for Ms. Hatfield’s daughter’s sweet sixteen party.”
“See, they love you,” Minerva said with a grin.
Jewel slowly shook her head, tucked in her smile and followed Minerva to her father’s room.
* * *
He’d been out with more women than he could count or remember. There was rarely a time in his life when a woman was not somewhere in the shadows. He adored women, loved the look of them, the way they made him feel about himself. He’d experienced the gamut of emotions for the women he’d been with, but fear was never one of them. But if he were tortured and had to confess, he would admit that he was scared as all hell about this lunch thing with Jewel Fontaine.
He didn’t have a damned thing to prove to her. He wasn’t trying to win her over and get her into bed. This was business. So there was no reason for the churning in his gut or the galloping of his heart.
Craig made the last turn on the road toward Jewel’s home and realized as he gripped the wheel that his palms were damp. What the hell? He maneuvered the Suburban slowly down the narrow dirt lane and came to a stop at the end of it. He cut the engine. Too many scenarios of what came next raced around in his head. He pushed out a breath, opened the door and got out. No point in delaying the inevitable.
He strode toward the front door and up the three steps to the landing. He rang the bell. Moments later the nurse came to the door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lawson,” she greeted him with a wide grin. “Ms. Fontaine is expecting you. Please come in.”
All very Southern, Craig mused. “Thank you.” He stepped inside and was once again taken aback by the sweeping grandeur of the home. Tastefully elegant in every detail.
“You can have a seat in the parlor.” She indicated the room to her right with a tilt of her hand. “I’ll let Ms. Fontaine know that you’re here. Can I get you anything?” she asked before turning away.
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.”
Minerva hurried off.
Craig took a slow turn in the well-appointed room. Old-world charm seeped from every corner. The oak beams, padded antique chairs, heavy glass and wood tables and gleaming hardwood floors with strategically placed area carpeting all added to the flavor of what once was and still existed. He could envision the cigar smoke drifting into the air while men of power sat around making decisions and sipping shots of whiskey.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Craig turned toward the sound of Jewel’s voice and was hit once again with the impact of seeing her. He swallowed. His lips parted for a moment before a response could form.
“Not a problem,” he finally said. He took a step toward her. Her eyes widened, and her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. What was she thinking? If only he could let her know how hard it was for him to rein in the overwhelming desire to kick the door closed, press her body against the wall and kiss away the shimmering gloss she had on those lush lips. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the rise that pulsed and to keep from touching her. That would be a mistake. He tipped his head slightly to the side. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She spun away and led the way out, giving Craig ample time to pull himself together—although looking at her from the rear wasn’t much help, either.
They stepped out into the balmy early afternoon. The sky was crystal clear, the sun high and strong with a breeze off the surrounding brooks and streams cooling the air and carrying the scent of the spring blooms that sprouted from the ground and hung from the trees.
“Did you have someplace in mind?” Jewel asked while Craig held the passenger door for her and helped her in.
“Um, not really,” he drawled. He shut the door and rounded the vehicle then slid in behind the wheel. He turned to look at her. “I was hoping you would suggest your favorite place,” he tossed out as a Hail Mary.
Jewel grinned. “To be honest, it’s been a minute since I’ve been out. Can’t really say I have a favorite place.”
Craig turned the key in the ignition. “Then we’ll find a favorite place together. Sound like a plan?”
Jewel fastened her seat belt. “Sure. Let’s go.”
“I’m working off rusty memory,” Craig said as he pulled onto the main road. “From what I remember there are a bunch of cafés and restaurants downtown. Right?”
“Good memory. I can’t guarantee they’re exactly what you remember, though. There’s been a lot of turnover of small businesses the past few years.”
“Hmm, I can imagine. It’s always the little guy that gets hit the hardest when change comes.”
“Unfortunate and true.”
Craig stole a look and caught the pensive expression that drew her tapered brows together. “Anyone you know?” he gently asked.
Jewel considered the question for a moment. She nodded. “Phyllis Heywood. She owned a small boutique with a lot of handmade jewelry and accessories. The rent got so high she couldn’t keep place. Then there’s the bookstore and the diner that were around since I was a girl.” She paused. “They’ve all been replaced with high-end shops and a real estate office. And those are the ones that I know about.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly. And of course there are the businesses that never recovered after Katrina. A lot of people are still living in trailers and are out of work.”
Craig nodded. “I know it won’t solve all the problems that are going on down here, but this film will definitely bring business and jobs to the community.”
“But for how long?”
He wasn’t ready to reveal his entire plan. There was no guarantee that it would all pan out. “Let’s say we’ll take it one day at a time.” He reached over and covered her hand with his. An electric charge shot between them.
Jewel’s eyes seemed to brighten, and Craig heard her short intake of breath that matched his own. If he was going to get through this business lunch in one piece and not find some hidden corner to ravish her in, he was going to have to keep his hands to himself. He returned both hands to the wheel and concentrated on the winding road.
* * *
Once they were in the center of town, Craig suggested that he find a place to park and they walk around until they settled on a place to eat.
They strolled along the streets of downtown New Orleans and shared comments on the many changes that had engulfed the area. Intermittently their arms or fingertips brushed as they sidestepped other walkers and pretended the subtle touches didn’t happen. Instinctively, Craig’s hand found its way to the center of her lower back as he guided her along the narrow streets. The heat from her body sizzled on his fingertips, and it took all of his concentration to stay on task and not focus on what her skin would feel like next to his. Talk, don’t think, he reminded himself. Talk.
“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been here, but I got to admit, it feels totally different. Nothing like I remembered,” he said. “I mean, it kind of looks the same, but the vibe is off.”
“I know what you mean. I feel the same way. The only difference is that I’ve been here to see it happen.”
“Hmm.” He lifted his chin in the direction of a small bistro up ahead with a sandwich board out front announcing its menu. “Let’s check this place out.”
They walked up to the sandwich board, scanned the menu, looked at each other and grinned in agreement. Craig held the door open for her, and they stepped inside.
&n
bsp; The interior of Appetite Noir took one back to the early days of good old down-home New Orleans eating. The heavy wood beams, picnic-style tables, stained wood floors, zydeco and blues in the background, and the aromas of barbecue and crayfish made a tantalizing combination.
“Table for two?” a young hostess asked.
“Yes, please,” Craig responded.
The waitress grabbed two menus and instructed them to follow her. Craig took the opportunity to drop his hand to the small of Jewel’s back once again, and the gesture was still as thrilling.
The waitress stopped in front of a small booth-type seating arrangement and placed the menus on table. “Your server will be right with you. Enjoy.”
* * *
“I didn’t even know this place was here,” Jewel said as she took a slow look around. She set her purse on the space next to her and lifted her menu. Sitting opposite Craig Lawson would take work on her part. She would have to pretend that his eyes didn’t affect her, that they didn’t have the power to strip her of her facade. She would have to avoid watching his lips move when he spoke so that she wouldn’t fantasize about how they would feel, what he would taste like.
She stared at the menu. The words swirled around in front of her. This was why she should have said no. Stirring up the dead embers of her soul could serve no purpose other than to lead her down a road of momentary fantasy. To even imagine that there could be something between them was silly, childish. Craig Lawson was a man of the world. A womanizing man of the world based on what she’d read on the internet. He was a man that cast his lot into a world of make-believe. He’d left his home, his family, his roots to run after a dream. And there didn’t seem to be anyone or anything that had slowed him in that pursuit. But what would it be like to become part of the fantasy—even for a little while?
“Know what you want?”
Jewel blinked. Her gaze landed on his face, and she was certain he could read the salacious thoughts she’d had about him. She swallowed. “Um, no. Everything looks good.”
Craig chuckled. “That is true. But I can’t remember when I last had some Nawlins crayfish. I want a bucketful.”
