The ache in Jazzmyn’s back began to nag at her, and she longed for a respite from her toil. She was tired of the late nights of adding up receipts, checking inventory, and tallying the totals for the day; tired of placating obnoxious customers, demanding suppliers, uppity health inspectors, and Kyle. Tonight’s outburst had pushed her further than ever before…sooner or later she was afraid he would push her too far.
“Jazz,” Scott called from the kitchen doorway. “You want me to lock up?”
“The servers already split up their tips?” she asked.
“Lydia saw to it. She left about five minutes ago. Kyle closed down the kitchen and headed out the back door behind her.”
A jolt of surprise ran through Jazzmyn. “Kyle left?”
Scott nodded. “You want me to wait for you to do the receipts and give you a ride home? My bike is parked out front.”
“No, go on home, Scott.” She walked toward him. “I’m just going to lock up the office and come by early in the morning to do the deposits. I’m too tired for any paperwork tonight.” She stopped in front of him.
Scott focused his small hazel eyes on her as he knitted his brow. “You all right, Jazz? You’ve been tired a lot lately.”
Jazzmyn patted his forearm. “I’m fine, Scott.”
He moved back from the kitchen doorway to allow her to pass. “That’s what your old man said. Six months later he was gone.”
“I’m not like Dad, Scott.”
“Yes, you are.” Scott peered into the darkened dining room. “I watched Jack pour his soul into this place from the first day he opened it. Ever since you quit graduate school to take over for him, I haven’t seen you have any kind of life.” He looked back to her. “You’re here every morning and close every night, just like Jack did. You can’t spend all your days trying to please people like Judge Serpas and Ms. Mae. You need to start pleasing yourself before life passes you by.”
“Are you being my bartender now or my friend?” Jazzmyn questioned with a smile.
“Both. Your father would want me to tell you to have a life away from the restaurant, Jazz. I love you too much to watch you kill yourself like your old man did.”
“Thanks, Uncle Scott.”
“Uncle Scott?” A dubious grin stretched across his lips. “You haven’t called me Uncle Scott since you were fifteen and thought you were grown-up enough to start calling me just Scott.”
“I was fifteen and had a crush on you. I was trying to be sophisticated so you would be interested in me.”
Scott let out a heartwarming chuckle, and Jazzmyn watched as the sides of his eyes crinkled up. When she had been a young girl, that little feature had driven her mad.
“Interested in you?” Scott shook his head. “Somehow I don’t think your father or the New Orleans Police Department would have approved.”
Jazzmyn moved into the kitchen. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Scott followed behind her. “And what are you trying to do with the wino?”
Jazzmyn turned around to face him. “Not you, too.”
He placed his hands in his black trouser pockets. “You spend a lot of time with him at the bar, Jazz. I know you, and you’re not sitting there and listening to all of his BS to be polite.” He studied her for a moment. “You like him, don’t you?” he finally inquired.
Jazzmyn shrugged slightly. “I like talking to him; he’s interesting, has traveled all over the world, and is very smart. He looks at my eyes and not my bustline when he talks to me. Anything more than that, I don’t know.”
“If you ask me, the man definitely has plans for you.”
She frowned at him, a little concerned by his comment. “What makes you say that?”
Scott walked past her and into the narrow hallway. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. It’s almost the way an addict looks at a drug…like you’re something he needs, not someone he wants.”
“Well, don’t worry, Scott. I think all he comes here to do is flirt with me. I doubt it will go any further than that.”
Scott moved toward the entrance to the office. “Don’t be so sure about that.” He waited as Jazzmyn came toward him. “Are you positive I can’t offer you a ride home?”
She shook her head as she stopped before him. “No, go on. Lynda and Scott Jr. will be waiting up for you.”
“Correction, Lynda will be waiting up. Scottie will be, hopefully, passed out in his crib until his 2 a.m. feeding.”
“Ah, the joys of a new baby.”
Scott pointed his finger at her. “Something you need to get working on having soon, Jazz.”
“Takes two to make one of those, Scott. I still haven’t found my other half.”
“He’s out there, kiddo. Just start looking.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Have you got your gun?”
Jazzmyn nodded. “In my purse. I never leave home without it.”
“Good girl.” Scott made his way to the back door with its red “exit” sign above it. “I’ll wait outside for you to lock up and set the alarm.” He then pushed the heavy steel door open and walked outside.
Jazzmyn went to her desk and unlocked the drawer containing her purse. She pulled out the brown leather handbag and withdrew a .32 hammerless Smith and Wesson revolver from it. She checked the safety on the gun and then replaced it in her purse.
After she locked the office door, Jazzmyn walked over to the small keypad by the rear entrance. She typed in her security code and then pressed the silver handle on the heavy metal door and pushed it open.
When she stepped into the cool night air, she saw Scott standing beneath a nearby streetlight, talking to a tall man in a suit. When both men turned to see her exiting the building, Jazzmyn smiled when she saw Julian’s handsome face staring back at her.
“Julian, what are you doing here?”
“I told you I would return, but unfortunately you had already closed for the night. I decided to wait at the rear entrance to catch you on your way out.” Julian nodded to Scott. “I was just informed that you are in need of an escort home,” he added with a dazzling smile.
Jazzmyn scowled at Scott.
Scott held up his hands, attempting to allay her furor. “Hey, don’t get mad at me, he offered. I would feel better knowing someone walked you home…even him.”
Julian gave a bemused smirk. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“Just make sure she gets home safe, that’s all I ask.” Scott nodded to Julian and then walked over to Jazzmyn. “See you tomorrow, Jazz. Be good.” Scott winked and then headed down the sidewalk toward Magazine Street.
After Scott disappeared around the front of the building, Jazzmyn turned to Julian. She pulled the purse slung over her shoulder closer to her body. “You don’t have to see me home. It’s pretty safe around here.”
Julian walked up to her. “Don’t be an idiot, Jazzmyn. It’s New Orleans, and it is never safe. Besides, Scott already threatened to have me beaten to within an inch of my life if I laid a finger on you.” He raised one dark eyebrow. “I gave him my word that I would conduct myself as a gentleman.”
“Your word?” She lightly snickered. “And he believed you?”
“I was very persuasive.” He held out his hand to her. “My car is around front. Shall we?”
She looked down at his outstretched hand and hesitated. What did she really know about this man? Kyle’s concerns about Julian briefly swirled about in her head. The weight of her purse on her shoulder reminded her of the gun hiding there. If Julian did turn out to be a depraved weirdo, she felt confident that she could protect herself.
Jazzmyn took his hand, and the second her flesh touched his a current of electricity zoomed throughout her body. The sensation was exhilarating and at the same time unnerving. Never before had she felt anything close to that from any man. She gazed up into his dark eyes and sensed something different in them, something she had not seen prior to that moment.
Julian squeezed her hand and began leading he
r down the side of the building toward Magazine Street. Jazzmyn walked beside him, looking up at him as if she were seeing him for the very first time. She was drawn to him; she could not understand it. It was as if his touch had awakened something in her. She felt feminine, attractive, and her thoughts quickly turned to sex. Jazzmyn blushed at the provocative images of Julian racing across her mind. This was not like her…she never thought of sex. She was usually too tired or too busy to dwell on what she was missing. An overwhelming sense of need to understand Julian, to learn all she could about him, swept over her.
“I think I will rather enjoy seeing you out of that rather pungent element of yours,” Julian said as he led her beneath the bright lights of Magazine Street.
“What pungent element?” Jazzmyn asked, a little confused.
Julian nodded to the building next to them. “The restaurant, of course. I think Kyle has been a little heavy-handed with the garlic lately.”
She stared at him, feeling somewhat surprised that someone else had noticed the liberal use of garlic in the food. “How can you tell?”
“I have a very sensitive sense of smell,” he admitted with a smile. “Now that I have you away from your restaurant, I’m looking forward to seeing how you…‘meet my thoughts head on with your own’ when you are alone with me.”
Jazzmyn laughed, feeling her apprehension ease slightly. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed Julian, but I’m exhausted and not up for our usual playful banter.”
“That’s good. It will give me a chance to get to know the real you. I want to see what kind of woman you are outside of that monastery you lock yourself up in every night. There is a world beyond The Sweet Note Bistro, Jazzmyn.”
Her body sagged with relief as she felt the warmth of his hand. “I wouldn’t know too much about that world. Ever since my father died, my life has been the restaurant.”
Julian strolled along next to her, intently examining her face. “Would he have wanted you cocooned away like that? Somehow I think your father would have wished for you to have a life beyond your restaurant.”
“But my father never had a life, period. He spent every day of the last thirteen years of his life running the restaurant.”
Julian stopped walking and turned to her. “You told me once he was a musician.”
She surveyed the light traffic on the street. “He was a jazz pianist. He played for a bunch of local bands, but quit after my mother pestered him to get a real job. That was when he scraped together some money and opened the restaurant. The only problem was, once he got the restaurant, he lost my mother.”
Julian let go of her hand. “You said she ran off with an actor.”
She glanced back at him. “I don’t remember telling you that.”
He grinned. “But I remember.”
Jazzmyn chalked up her forgetfulness to fatigue. “My mother met someone while working on a movie being filmed in the city. She was always enamored with Hollywood, and would jump at any chance to work as an extra in local film productions.” She set her eyes on the cracked cement below her feet. “One day I came home from school and found all of her clothes were gone. Dad told me she had gone on a trip, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that she wasn’t coming back.”
“How old were you?”
“I was ten when she left.”
He pulled his car keys out of his front trouser pocket. “Are you still in touch with her?”
Jazzmyn shook her head. “No. When she left my father, she left me, too. I never heard from her again.”
Julian’s eyes carefully pondered her face. “I get the impression that was very hard for you.”
She shrugged. “At first, after she left, I cried into my pillow every night. But then I had my family at the restaurant and things got better.”
“Did you ever try to find her?”
“I think Dad may have known where she ended up, but if he did, he never mentioned it to me. I wasn’t interested in finding her. When a parent tosses you aside like that, you pretty much figure they don’t want you in their life anymore.”
“But she was your mother,” Julian asserted. “You must have at least wondered about her.”
She casually noted the few people milling around Magazine Street. “When I was twelve I decided it was time to stop wondering about her. I pretended she was dead. After a while, I came to believe that she actually was dead. It made it easier in a way. When a parent dies, they don’t choose to walk away, it just happens.” Her eyes returned to him. “How old were you when your parents died?”
“A little younger than you.”
Jazzmyn wrapped her arms about her waist. “You’re not much older than me, Julian.”
“I’m a lot older than I look.”
She scoured the lines and curves of his face. “How much older?”
An edgy silence filled the air between them, but as Jazzmyn waited for his reply her fatigue got the better of her and an unexpected yawn escaped from her lips. She quickly covered her mouth and blushed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, slightly embarrassed. “That one snuck up on me.”
“Come on. You’re exhausted.” Julian nodded to the car parked behind her. “Get in and I’ll drive you home.”
When Jazzmyn turned and inspected the car, her breath caught in her throat. On the curb next to her was a dark blue Maserati GranTurismo.
Jazzmyn looked from the car to Julian. “Wow. This is yours?”
He raised his dark eyebrows. “Why are you surprised?”
“Most men who hit on me say they are one thing, but usually turn out to be another.”
Julian clicked the remote on his key chain and the car’s headlights flashed. He then stepped over to the passenger door and opened it for her. “There is one peculiar trait you might find refreshing about me as opposed to those other men who ‘hit’ on you.”
She barely came up to the middle of his chest as she stood before him. “What trait is that?”
He leaned toward her. “I do not lie, Jazzmyn.”
Her toes began to tingle. “Every man lies, Julian.”
“Not me. Most men feel as if they have to make up for their shortcomings with a lie. I prefer to show a woman all of my faults as well as all of my assets, so she knows exactly what she is getting.”
“If I get into this car with you, Mr. Devereau, exactly what am I getting?”
He lowered his face closer to hers. “A chance at a life outside that restaurant of yours.”
As Jazzmyn examined his deep brown eyes, she suddenly longed for that chance with Julian. Her father had always told her “life sends us nudges, but it is up to us to change our direction.” For years she had been wondering when the direction of her life would change for the better, and as she took in Julian’s face hovering over hers, she realized that the moment she had been waiting for might have finally arrived.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Jazzmyn mumbled.
She slipped into the front seat of the car and waited for Julian to close her door.
“Play it cool,” she sighed as Julian walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Don’t blow this, Jazz. Please don’t chase this one away.”
Chapter 5
Julian eased his dark blue Maserati into a spot in front of Jazzmyn’s Garden District home. As he turned off the car engine, he took in the four round columns and long, luxurious balconies of the majestic structure. The look on Julian’s face reminded Jazzmyn of soldiers returning home from Iraq after an extended tour of duty. He appeared overcome by his emotions, but also fearful of what he saw looming ahead of him.
“Nothing has changed,” he whispered.
“What do you mean?”
He motioned to her antebellum home. “I can’t believe the Livaudais House is still standing.”
She wrinkled her brow at him. “Why do you call it the Livaudais House? It’s never been called that.”
“Yes, it was, many years ago.” He glanced over at her. “This was th
e home the Livaudais family built after they sold their plantation to the city of Lafayette. The land was later annexed by the city of New Orleans and turned into the Garden District. This home is said to rest on the original Livaudais Plantation ruins.”
“How do you know that?” Jazzmyn asked, surprised by his disclosure.
“New Orleans history is something of a hobby of mine. I’ve always been fascinated by the changes the city has endured throughout its development.” He leaned back slightly in his car seat. “Perhaps it’s because I’m from here and have seen so much of the city evolve and, after Katrina, ebb away. It’s one of the most unique places I know, and no matter where my travels take me, I always end up coming home.”
Jazzmyn noted how his features softened slightly as he talked of his hometown. The admiration that filled his eyes touched her.
“The house was left to me by my father. It has been in his family since the time you just spoke of.”
He raised his eyes to the rearview mirror. “The Livaudais family was once very powerful in New Orleans. Their influence was said to have swayed many important men. I have also read that their social standing in the city guaranteed anyone marrying into their family a great deal of political clout.”
Jazzmyn frowned, questioning his keen interest in her family history. “It’s strange how you seem to know more about my family than I do. All I’ve ever learned about my ancestors was what my father told me, or from the old paintings of relatives scattered throughout the house.”
“It has to be a burden to keep up. I know you must do well at the restaurant to support yourself, but this place….” He turned to his driver’s side window and looked up at the large house. “It must cost a small fortune to maintain.”
The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) Page 4
