by Karen Gordon
“I’ve got my stuff in here, but I can clear out and you can take the bed it you want.” He opens the door to reveal an equally adorable room that has been overrun with very male stuff. The bed is unmade. In one corner are two large black duffle bags with his clothes coming out of them. The top of the dresser to my right is covered with an array of electronics.
“No, that’s really nice of you, but I can crash on the couch.” I look into the living room again to avoid looking at his inviting bed. I am exhausted and ready for a nap so I can get back over to the hospital as soon as possible. I set the bags I’m carrying near the couch and sit down. Oh, it’s heaven, so fluffy soft. I close my eyes for a minute and feel the gentle spring breeze.
Sebastian is watching me and cracks a small smile. “You can get some sleep now if you want. I’ll be downstairs for a few hours and then I’m gonna come up here and crash for a few before tonight.”
He won’t be here? I’m briefly disappointed before I realize that this will actually work better. I can do this without embarrassing myself. I can take a nap now then go to the hospital while he’s here sleeping. We can come and go in shifts. It’ll be a lot less uncomfortable. (But it’ll also greatly reduce the amount of time I can spend staring at him and drooling.)
“Thank you.” I make a production out of organizing my bags so I don’t have to look at him and chance him seeing my case of unreciprocated desire. “It’s really nice of you to let me crash here.
“Not a problem.” Again, I hear a hint of interest from him. Or am I imagining it? He lingers in his bedroom doorway for a minute before calling to me as he walks away. “K, well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”
When I finally hear the kitchen door close I slump onto the couch in relief. I breathe and try to process the last forty-eight hours—the flight, the chaos of Mardi Gras, Carla, the hospital, and now this guy and my ridiculously inopportune hormones. I need to touch base, get some perspective. I call Dom.
✈ ✈ ✈
“So what’s your plan?”
“I’m going to stay as far away as possible, avoid talking to him, and create crazy-hot fantasies in my head like I always do.” The truth sucks but at least I can be honest with Dom about it.
“Good, that’s good. The last thing you would want to do is actually find out if he wants to have some hot sex.” She makes sure I can’t miss her sarcasm. “Or, God forbid, get to know him better.”
“I know! See you understand me.” I refuse to take the bait and let her goad me into chasing him.
“I do understand you and that’s why I know you can do this.”
“Can’t.” I’m too tired to have this argument.
“Can, should, will. At least talk to him.” She doesn’t give up easily.
I know she’s right, damn it, I need to put my big girl panties on. I can sell an eighty million dollar plane but I can’t make small talk or throw a few hints at a guy I’m interested in. This is ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. “Maybe.”
“And don’t interview him or turn him into a research project.”
I have to laugh because she knows me too well. My style of seduction is more like an interrogation.
“Got it.” I lay back on the couch, relieved to have had a consultation with my other half and ready for sleep.
“I want updates.”
“Got it.” My voice fades as exhaustion sets in. “You’re the best…”
“I know.”
I chuckle softly and press “end”.
My body is spent, one of my brain’s favorite times to kick into gear. It starts with a short mental checklist of how I want the day to go: nap, visit Carla, dinner somewhere, then back here when I’m sure Sebastian is working downstairs. Oh, and my clients, I need to contact them.
I feel a little more relaxed now that I have a plan but I still can’t seem to stop the rush of thoughts. So I focus them on something pleasant. Sometimes I mentally take a hike in the woods on a beautiful spring day when I want to lull myself to sleep. Today I do something so much more pleasurable: I analyze every detail of Sebastian to formulate a hypothesis about why I lust him. I start with his eyes: mmmm blue eyes, intensely blue, sexy eyes. And his shoulders: just broad enough, not too-big (like freaky, body-builder big), perfect for laying my head on to go to sleep. Oh yeah, sleep, that’s what I was going to do…
Chapter Ten
As soon as I wake I check the time on my phone. I only slept for an hour but I feel fantastic. The room is a little warmer and the breeze from the French doors now carries the sound of crowds starting to gather. Mardi Gras! I’d almost forgotten. I need to get to the hospital before the streets get too crowded and it’s hard to get an Uber.
I find my toiletries bag so I can brush my teeth and fix my make-up enough to at least look presentable. I’m definitely vain enough to want to look pretty if there’s even a sliver of a chance of something working out with Sebastian.
I see him behind the bar when I go through the restaurant. It’s busy and most of the tables are filled with people having lunch. The bar isn’t as crowded. The room is joyfully noisy with Zydeco music underscoring the din of clinking plates and glasses and conversation.
I try to order a car but there are none available in this part of town. My new plan is to walk to the hospital. It’s a few miles but I can do it, especially without my bags. I stop near the door to study Sebastian as he works, chatting everyone up as he pours drinks. He has a beautiful ease to him. His smooth, deft movements remind me of the way Danny used to look when he worked (and all the hours, and hours, I spent watching him).
When he catches me watching him, I try to hide the red flare on my cheeks by looking down to intently study nothing on my phone. I look up to see he’s still watching me. He motions me over and I swallow down my nerves as I weave through the crowd to approach him.
“You headed to the hospital?”
I nod and continue to fiddle with my phone.
“When you see Tilford, tell him I said thanks.”
That gets my attention. Thanks for what? Me? Sebastian is wiping off the bar but looking at me. He smiles and I feel that addictive jolt again. Desire slams through me and I wonder if he is feeling it too.
“Um, ok. Thanks for what?” I try to sound casual but my voice is tighter than normal as I push myself to ask.
He stops wiping and studies me then says, “He’ll know.”
I have to swallow and force a breath to pull my gaze from his. “Ok…” I fumble with putting my phone into my purse. “I’ll tell him, and I’ll…” I make the mistake of looking up and seeing that he’s still focused on me. “I’ll, uh, see you…later.” I can barely squeeze the last word from my constricted lungs and it comes out all breathy.
✈ ✈ ✈
Carla and I finally get to spend a few hours together. She’s still a little drugged up but definitely happy to see me. She keeps insisting that she’s fine and I shouldn’t have come but when we have a meeting with Dr. Tilford I’m glad I did.
“Since you live alone, we’re looking at a few weeks in rehab. You’re going to need someone to help you in and out of bed and with bathing. You’ll have a walker, then crutches. Full recovery can take up to a year.”
The extent of her injuries hits both of us hard. Carla’s not elderly but she’s not exactly in great shape either.
“Quit smoking.” Dr. Tilford doesn’t soft sell this. “It’s hell on your body and will only slow recovery.”
Carla looks absolutely defeated but doesn’t argue.
“We can release you day after tomorrow but only to a rehab facility. The nurse will bring you a list of places to check for openings and what insurance they take.” He turns his attention to me. “Your daughter can help you call around and find a place so don’t get stressed out about it.”
Carla smiles over at me and shakes her head. “I won’t stress with her here. There’s damn little she can’t do.”
Dr. Tilford laughs at
that and nods. “Ok, well, I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow and hopefully release you on Thursday.” He grabs his paperwork from Carla’s bedside table. “Miss Ramsey, I hope you have an enjoyable Mardi Gras.” When he winks at me on his way out I remember Sebastian and his message.
I catch Dr. Tilford in the hallway. “Before you go, Sebastian told me to tell you thank you.”
This really gets him laughing and I’m dying to know why. I feel like I might be the butt of an inside joke. But he doesn’t offer my any clues. He only says, “Yeah, I bet he did,” as he walks away.
✈ ✈ ✈
After Carla and I have lunch together she gets more pain meds and starts to fade. I leave the hospital a little after two in the afternoon.
The streets are definitely more crowded. Some are blocked for parade routes and others are just packed with party people. Most are in groups and ignore me but a few notice the out-of-place solitary girl. Two different groups of guys invite me to join them but don’t push it too hard when I decline. One guy falls to his knees and begs but it’s more of a show for his buddies than for me. It’s not until I reach Royal Street that I feel the first set of beads hit me upside the head. I look up to see where they came from but it’s hard to tell. All the balconies are full of men and women tossing beads. The group I look at motion for me to pull my top up. They holler. “Show your tits.” I shake my head and move on. More beads rain down on me. More calls to see my tits. I look around me and see cheering, tit-showing girls (and guys) all over the street and I figure, why the hell not? I may never be in New Orleans during Mardi Gras again. If I can do this, maybe I’ll get the guts to do the same for Sebastian too…or at least have a conversation with him.
I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it over my head, exposing my bra. It’s pretty tame for this crowd but I get cheers and more beads thrown my way. When I reach behind my back to unhook my bra and sling it off, I’m deluged with beads and cheers. I laugh and grab as many as I can, souvenirs of my bravery. A few go around my neck and the rest get tossed in my purse along with my bra. I make one final bow to my audience before putting my shirt back on for the rest of my walk home.
When I get there it’s still busy but Sebastian isn’t at the bar. I casually look around the restaurant but don’t see him. I was kind of hoping to keep my party mood going and maybe have him make me a drink. But the truth is I really need to get on my phone and computer and give my clients some attention, starting with Evan. I wince at how little I’ve thought of him when earlier this week I was wondering if I should kiss him.
✈ ✈ ✈
He’s irritated with me and doesn’t hide it well at all. “I’ve got a meeting in Vietnam day after tomorrow.”
“How long will you be there?”
“Not sure.”
His short answer is definitely his way of letting me know he’s not happy with me. He softens a little when he asks, “How is your friend?” I’d forgotten that I didn’t feel like going over my family dynamics when I called before leaving Cali. Then again, it isn’t wrong information, Carla is my friend, and my step-mom.
“She’s going to be fine, but I need to stay here until I can get her into a rehab facility. She lives alone and can’t go home yet.”
“Is there anything I can do?” He’s definitely softening up now.
“No, not really, I just need a few more days here before I can get back to you.” It sounds much more romantic than I’m feeling but I let it slide. Evan doesn’t.
“I’m sorry…if I was short with you. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
“No,” I reassure him, because I wasn’t avoiding him. I just wasn’t thinking about him either, especially today. “Why don’t you text me when you decide how long you’ll be in Vietnam. We can figure out a schedule then.”
I toss my phone on the kitchen table in frustration after we hang up. I really don’t know what I’m feeling for him but I know it’s not what I’m feeling for Sebastian. Evan is a great guy and we have so much in common. I really enjoy his company but…the jolt of lust just isn’t there.
I push those thoughts aside and open my laptop to get my contact info for the new company in Montreal. I still don’t have a definite confirmation on a meeting date with them. I tell them I can be there next week but I can’t set an exact date yet. I use buying a plane ticket as an excuse.
I get a solid hour of work done and I’m digging through some stats for Evan when Marguerite walks into the apartment. She stops when she sees me as if she forgot I was staying there.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to leave this for Sebastian.” She tosses a magazine down on the table and turns to leave.
“He’s not here. I haven’t seen him since I got back.”
“Naw, sugar, he’s sleeping.” She tilts her head toward his bedroom door. “Tell him I left it when he gets up.”
I’m a little unnerved that he’s here and I didn’t know it but I go back to work so Marguerite won’t see it. She’s a tough cookie and one that I don’t want to see me crumbling over her brother. I casually wave bye to her as she leaves.
I only last a few minutes before I have to look at the magazine she left. She’s opened it to a page full of photos of a society event, The Mystic Ball, and smack in the middle of the page is a picture of Sebastian with his arm possessively slung around a beautiful woman. The caption says, “Mrs. Arnold Giroud and Sebastian Fonteneau.”
Mrs. Giroud? Interesting. And why would Marguerite want to make sure he sees it?
✈ ✈ ✈
Maybe he heard his sister because Sebastian comes out of his room a few minutes later. He’s shirtless and he runs his hand through his messy hair as he stretches. I wonder if he realizes the effect this is having on me. I’ve never been known for having a great poker face.
I’m pretending to be engrossed in my work when he asks. “How’s things at the hospital?” His voice, gravely and quiet from sleep, rolls down my spine. I fight a shudder.
“My step-mom’s gonna be fine, thanks.” I hazard one glance at him before quickly returning to my laptop. I’m about to tell him about the magazine that Marguerite left when he walks over and stands next to my chair. He picks up the brochure book I carry for the plane and starts to flip through it.
“Damn.” He flips a few more pages and glances over the tech info on page five. “Damn, really?” I smile down at my fingers, frozen on my keyboard. I almost forgot I have access to the ultimate man lure. None can resist.
“It’s the first supersonic private jet.” I offer, in case he didn’t catch that from his reading yet.
“Have you seen it?” He’s still focused on the book.
“I’ve ridden in it.” That stops him. He looks over the top of the book at me.
“You’ve ridden…” He holds the beauty shot of my plane lower so I can see. “In this?”
I nod and go back to pretending to work.
“What do you do?” He’s interested now and luckily we’re on a subject I can drone on about for hours.
“I’m the North American sales rep for Ora Aviazione, they manufacture the plane.” I give him a moment to process this.
“Seriously?” He looks at the plane again and turns a few more pages.
“You interested?” Wait, did I just make a sexual double entendre to a man I’m lusting over? I sit a little taller, pretty damn proud of myself.
He chuckles and puts the book back on the table. “Sure, how much?”
When I tell him, “Eighty million,” he doesn’t hide his shock.
“Sell a lot of ‘em?”
“One, so far. Should sell at least one more this year, maybe two.” Ok, I’m bragging my top numbers but I want him to see me for the success I am, not a damsel in distress. I don’t want to tell him my commission but he can figure out that my bank account isn’t exactly empty.
He’s shaking his head and saying, “Wow,” when he sees the magazine Marguerite left.
&n
bsp; He picks it up to study the picture and caption then says, “damn it” as he tosses it back on the table. Before he walks away he stops and looks at me, really studies me, almost like he’s seeing me for the first time. I wait for him to say something, anything, about what he is thinking. But he only walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.
Chapter Eleven
After his shower, Sebastian goes back downstairs to help take care of the huge dinner crowd. Before he leaves he insists that I come down and try the food. He says he’ll save a stool at the bar for me. I look up from the work I’ve been trying to distract myself with so I can read his face. But I can’t. The blatant stare from earlier has been replaced with a generic friendly smile.
I nod. “Ok, great, thanks.” Trying to keep my look and tone equally as unreadable.
The screen door slams as he leaves and I continue to stare at it, wishing, willing some sign to appear to let me know if I’m being an idiot. I feel a spark then I don’t. Maybe it’s just him being nice. That would definitely be the safer assumption. But it would also keep me in this limbo, wondering what could happen.
As I’m going over the list of potential care facilities for Carla I discover the one HUGE problem with this gorgeous little B&B, the smell! (Ok, the noise is a little overwhelming too, but that’s probably more due to it being Mardi Gras.) The whole place smells of Cajun cooking. The longer I try to concentrate on my work the more I would swear they had an exhaust fan from the stove blowing right past me. I give up fighting the urge for some when my stomach starts growling. I still have hours of work to do but it will have to wait for now.
✈ ✈ ✈
I spend an unreasonable amount of time primping just to go downstairs. When I get to the bar there isn’t a stool waiting. They’re all full and I’m about to slunk away when Sebastian sees me. He waves me over then leans in to talk to a scruffy old guy sitting at one end. He points to me, hands the guy some cash, and the guy vacates the stool, waiving at me as he passes. I can’t help but laugh.
