She’d rounded almost the entire property—leaving out the actual plantation fields, which of course wouldn’t be her job—when she arrived at the large barn to see what kinds of tools were at her disposal. Wrapping a hand around the huge iron handle, Emma yanked, setting the sliding door into motion. Light flooded in and she stepped back in awe. Of course a plantation this size would need combines and tractors, but with the antebellum feel of the place, she’d somehow forgotten real time and found herself unprepared for the modern sight.
A row of pegs held shovels, rakes, and hoes trapped in upright positions. Above the pegs, a shelf held bottles of plant care solutions, hand trowels, and pruners—just out of reach for someone her height. She tipped up on her toes, stretching with all her might and a puff of indignation. Snagging the closest shears, she rocked back on her heels before testing the tool’s action and sharpness. These would do. She struggled to replace them on the shelf, then struck them off her list with a line.
“Finding what you need?”
The man needed to quit sneaking up on her. It was as if he didn’t trust her.
“Yes. Thank you.” Emma made another note, this one more nonsense than anything, but it kept her from looking at Theo. She didn’t want to risk revealing the fact that he made her heart pound in nervousness. Or was it something else?
“I thought you’d be working already.” He pointed to her sketchpad as if she were taking a leisure day to draw for pleasure.
“I am working.” Growing up with brothers, she knew how to claim authority by throwing a mean glare. “Creation takes seven stages.” She crossed her index fingers, ready to count them out. “First, the idea. Second, the plan.”
She shook her notebook and then tucked it under her arm again to point at the third finger. “Third, you gather the materials. Fourth, you ‘do the work.’ Fifth, evaluate—observe what works and what doesn’t. Sixth, revise the plan according to your evaluation, and seventh, enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
Emma stopped and tapped her finger against the notebook. “Technically, there are more like fourteen stages because I do everything on paper first, making sure everything will work before you do it physically.” Theo had probably stopped listening to her four steps ago, and she needed to grab his attention again.
“Right now I’m assessing the materials.” She ruffled a few of the pages she’d written on already, exposing her lists.
Theo nodded slowly. “If you say so …”
She gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to argue with her process. Surely he couldn’t come up with an exception.
“How do you enjoy something on paper before you’ve actually done the work?” A mischievous glint came to his eye, and he scrubbed a hand through his short, sandy hair.
So he had been listening. The realization made her happier than it should have. “It makes sense if you think about it.” Hearing herself, she blanched. She’d been so distracted by his looks, she had insulted him. She quickly hurried to explain. “You’re trying to tell me you’ve never planned something out, imagining how someone would react? A special date, perhaps?” She felt the familiar blush coming on and turned away, trying to find something so she would appear busy. “You go through each step, thinking about what might or might not be the results. I have to ask things like, will it be comfortable? Is it functional? Will it be beautiful year-round?” She could go on, but he was finally nodding in understanding.
“Ah … I see. So you daydream.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.” Was it that hard to admit she was a professional who knew what she was doing? But he was teasing, and she knew that. “Other than the leaf blister on the live oaks, are there any other problem areas?”
“You noticed the roses too.” Theo squeezed his eyes shut as if picturing the property in his mind. “Actually, yes. I noticed a problem with the flowerbeds by the gazebo. Will you come take a look?”
The walk over was a bit of a trek. “More wilting? Or premature browning?” While they walked, Emma thought she might as well get a head start trying to figure out what the problem might be.
“No. More like missing petals,” Theo explained.
They cut through the center of the parterre garden that Emma would never tire of seeing and then through the grass, badly in need of a trim. “Maybe something’s eating them?”
A couple of live oaks—younger than those that formed the grand allée, but easily a century old themselves—created a soft canopy above the gazebo, dappling the ground with sunshine. At least they looked unaffected by the leaf wilt the other trees were suffering.
A clump of Spanish moss fell from the tree above them.
“Zoe?” Theo asked, incredulous as he looked up. “What are you doing up there?”
Apparently this wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
Zoe sat on the branch closest to the ground, though it was high enough it was a wonder Zoe had been able to get up there without a ladder. She hid her hands behind her back, but that only made Emma more curious to catch a glimpse of what she was holding.
Theo stepped around so he could see behind her. “Is that a sandwich?”
“Fine.” Defeated, Zoe moved her hands, and her sandwich, into her lap.
“Hungry?” Theo teased. “Because I don’t think trees eat sandwiches.”
“Ha ha.” Zoe didn’t allow a real laugh, but her sarcasm was light and teasing. “If you must know, I was feeding the squirrels.”
“A sandwich?” How Theo could ask this with a straight face was beyond Emma. She was already sucking in her cheeks to keep from laughing.
Zoe shrugged. “They like peanut butter sandwiches.” She sighed. “A few of the squirrels will come up to me at the office, but sometimes I like to meet them where they are.” Zoe pulled off about an inch-sized piece to show Theo and Emma. “When I’m up in the tree, they’re more likely to take it from my hands.” She reached up, cooing in a soft voice, “Come on, Chip, come here.”
Theo’s smile grew wider with every passing moment. “You know if you feed them, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Trouble?” Zoe shook her head, her long waves bouncing around her shoulders. “They’re sweet, not trouble.”
“Maybe making sandwiches is no trouble, but having them here … they’ll take over the place.” Theo looked almost afraid to ask Emma. “You’re the gardener. What do you think?”
He probably thought because she was female, she had a weakness for all things furry and fuzzy, but squirrels were awful pests for gardens. They broke hedges, chewed on new growth, and stole flower bulbs. She’d spent her short-lived career so far experimenting with garlic and cayenne pepper and other natural remedies to repel the vermin, but if they messed with her too much out here, she’d be dangerously close to purchasing an air gun to ward them off. But that didn’t change the fact that she thought this situation with Zoe was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Kind of like Cinderella feeding the mice. Someday those squirrels just might save her.
“Squirrels wreak havoc on gardens. Worst arborists ever, truth be told. They are hard workers and successful—too successful—but they never consult my plans.” She shrugged a shoulder. “But you can’t control everything.” Getting rid of squirrels wouldn’t keep trees from sprouting in undesirable areas, plus she didn’t want to offend Zoe. “No harm done, I’m sure.”
“Speaking of lunch, did you get any?” Zoe asked, climbing down from the tree.
Before Emma could respond, her stomach growled so loudly, Theo had to overhear.
He turned to Zoe. “Lunch is over. I guess she won’t be late next time.” His tone was joking, but a tension was evident, a reminder that she’d ignored his instructions.
Fine, whatever. Emma pulled a sweet and salty peanut bar from her satchel and ripped it open. Although she wasn’t that hungry yet, taking a bite while pointedly glaring at Theo made the bar taste that much better. It wasn’t like she was going to starve. She could take care of herself.
; While chewing the bite, she snugged the wrapper back over the exposed end and tucked it back into her bag for later. She opened her sketchbook to the next page and retrieved the pencil that had been securing her hair up off her neck, allowing her long locks to tumble down her back. “Thank you for the conversation, but I need to get back to work.”
She was pretty sure Theo could feel the brush-off. At least, she hoped he did.
“The affected plants are over there.” Theo pointed to the hydrangea bushes that skirted the gazebo. While they added some color, they weren’t quite right for the setting and were obviously a favorite of the squirrels. She could find a better solution.
“Thanks for bringing it to my attention.” If he wanted to be cold, she could shoot it right back at him.
Chapter 9
Theo had known as soon as he’d made the comment about Emma missing lunch yesterday that he’d blown it. Big time. He was just trying to make a joke, after all, playing on the fact that everyone talked as if he were a beast. But then Emma had taken him seriously and gotten all offended. If she couldn’t take a little joke, he had better things to do.
But it still bugged him. Obviously. Here it was the next morning, and he was still stewing over it.
He ran the beard trimmer over his face quickly, enough to tame the excess growth of the past couple of days. He’d take the time to shave this weekend for sure. Putting everything away, he grabbed a ball cap and jammed it on his head as he left his loft and jogged down the staircase open to the rest of his New Orleans home.
The house, a traditional Creole two-story smack-dab in the middle of the noisy French Quarter, had been left to him when his dad tired of the States and moved to Europe for good. It made sense. More and more of his father’s business meetings were there, and it was a lot more fun to meet over good food than conferencing over video.
Theo, too, liked the traveling part of their joint international real estate business. He also loved owning houses in several countries. Visiting each gave him the mixed sense of adventure and feeling of home each time he transitioned from one to the next.
This New Orleans home, though, was Theo’s new favorite. Not one for crowds or Mardi Gras—Theo planned to avoid it during that busy time—but he loved New Orleans for plenty of other reasons. The city was full of history, intrigue, and unique culture, but it also was as close to a home as he’d had in his life. It was the home he returned to every break from school growing up.
Recently, though, when his father had passed it down to him, Theo had had the house completely gutted and remodeled, and he couldn’t be more pleased with how it turned out. Up-and-coming architect Keenan Perry had designed the overhaul. Almost every part of the interior was removed, including most of the second floor, before being rebuilt into an opulent, modern space.
Large mullioned windows topped with arches allowed light to flood into the room. A master suite filled a loft on one side of the house, facing a two-story wall of books on the other, with an elegant wrought iron staircase that circled up to a narrow walkway for access.
Originally the home had belonged to his grandparents and eventually, it became Theo’s father’s inheritance as the younger brother. Theo’s uncle, the elder of the brothers, had received the plantation home next to Indigo Pointe, though the main house was little more than a small farmhouse in comparison.
Through the twentieth century, as his family purchased plots from Indigo Pointe’s fields, they were able to merge the plantations into one very profitable business. At the same time, the Lamberts carefully cultivated marriages, meticulous educations, and advantageous business ventures. In the last few years, they continued to build their empire around the world, but the final piece of Indigo Pointe, the plantation house itself, had always been frustratingly, elusively, out of reach.
Truth be told, the fact that the main buildings had been the one holdout from the Lamberts having the whole plantation was a big reason Theo had wanted the property, but being there, feeling its history, hearing his family stories, knowing there was something different about the place, was what had sparked his interest in preserving history and, later, his career in real estate law and investment. It had been a lucrative profession, and he never lost his interest in saving Indigo Pointe.
It seemed to have taken the Treagers a while to catch on to what the Lamberts were doing, but once they realized and knew the Lamberts wanted to buy the big house on Indigo Pointe, the Treagers sold out to someone else solely out of spite. It was an awful shame that almost ruined the property completely because, as far as Theo knew, the new owner never came by the place more than once every few years.
It didn’t matter. Theo had won in the end, though it took years of effort and an exorbitant price—but then money was never the object standing in his way these days. Falling in love with the wrong girl, though, that could be a problem—as could messing it up with the right girl before he even got the chance.
Theo had messed up way too many times to count with Emma the last few days. Well, with everyone, really. And just like the once dilapidated New Orleans home, he needed to fix things, make them better than they ever were. Perhaps a complete overhaul.
He didn’t want to push Emma away. There was something he really liked about her. She was beautiful, witty, smart, creative, and well, just plain nice. For one thing, there was no way a horticulturist would like squirrels, and he saw in her eyes exactly how she felt about those darn rodents, but she took Zoe’s side anyway. And not once had she called Theo out on his anger, though she made her feelings known. Each of these situations added another layer to the person he wanted to get to know. What could he do to repair the damage he’d already done?
He had a sudden flash of inspiration. Beignets. No one could resist beignets, and it was possible he could be the one to introduce her to their deliciousness. That would make an apology go a little easier, wouldn’t it?
Chapter 10
Theo wrestled with the office door that morning as usual, noisily announcing his arrival, which was why he was surprised to overhear a snippet of conversation Emma probably had wanted to keep from him. She hadn’t asked him this particular question.
“Do you know of any locked gates or doors on the property?” Emma was asking Zoe. “Maybe a hidden tunnel or even a small cabinet?”
The woman was all over the map with possibilities, but it all came back to looking for more of the lock covers. Zoe wouldn’t know. She spent most of her time at the ticket office and museum looking at spreadsheets and accounts, cleaning up the books and crafting business plans to work out all of Indigo Pointe’s kinks. He couldn’t fault Emma for trying, though.
He allowed the echo of his feet on the wooden plank floor to telegraph his arrival, taking care to step with extra force. As he’d expected, Emma’s questions remained unanswered, the topic abandoned.
“Thanks for the orange juice,” Theo heard Emma say on the other side of the door. “I’ve never taken the time to squeeze my own.”
Theo heard the scraping of a chair and hurried through the doorway. “Before you go …” He took a quick breath, afraid to lose her. “I brought beignets.” He stepped over to the table where the women had been sitting and set the bag on the table top.
“Chocolate or regular?” Zoe eyed him with suspicion. She hated the chocolate ones, but they were his favorite.
“Ah, come on, Zo, give me some credit. I can be a nice guy sometimes.” He offered her his best cheesy grin. “I brought both.”
“Word to the wise,” Zoe told Emma conspiratorially, “eventually you’ll want to try both, but you can’t beat the original.”
Emma peeked into the bag, the dark and light donut squares nestled together under a blanket of sprinkled powdered sugar. A diabetic coma in a bag. She pulled a light square from the bag and took a bite, eliciting the biggest real smile he’d seen from her since she’d discovered the lock cover.
“Amazing,” she said around another bite. He hoped they were still warm enough s
o they would be their best.
Emma had on a pair of faded jeans, a small rip in one knee, a streak of mud already on them. “Have you been out working already?”
“Are you kidding?” Zoe said. “She had a pile of weeds and cut branches five feet high by the time I pulled in this morning.”
He was impressed. He was nowhere near a morning person himself.
“Early morning is the best time. The ground is soft, the weeds easier to pull, the snail problem easier to assess, and the temperature much more livable.”
“Snail problem?” Even if he’d seen a snail, it never would have occurred to him that it would be a problem.
“Just a small one?” She was so sweet, trying to make sure he wouldn’t be offended by her observation.
“A small snail?” He couldn’t help but goad her.
“A slight small snail problem,” she teased back, catching on quickly. Her dimples showed when she tried not to smile. It was the most adorable thing he’d seen in a long time. And something he vowed to see more of.
“You mean a scant slight small snail squeeze?” He couldn’t believe he’d been able to say that mouthful without laughing.
“I hope I don’t have to resort to squeezing them.” She made an exaggerated face as if encountering something particularly revolting. “I happen to have a scant slight small snail solution to our … scrape?”
Beauty and the Billionaire Beast Page 6
