"Word was that you'd split," Joe said with a lisp. He had one of those deep bayou accents that always made you have to dodge spit. "Pack thought you were rejecting that rumored Babineaux piece," he said accusingly. "No idea why you would. She's sweet," he said. Somehow, he made the word "sweet" sound like a compliment as well as a derogatory term.
Derrick thought about putting the older bartender in his place, he was being awfully cavalier but knew Christian wouldn't like it. "Yeah, well, it is never as dramatic as everyone says. I was just out interviewing my new employee." He motioned to Christian.
Joe turned his attention to Christian, giving him the once over. Derrick wanted to step in front of him and block him from the other man's scrutiny. A move like that, though, especially in this place, would cause too many questions. Ones he wasn't prepared to answer.
"Couple of pints," Derrick ordered sharply.
"I would never have pegged you as a beer guy," Christian said, looking around the pub.
"Yeah? What type of guy am I?" he asked, actually curious.
Christian smiled mischievously. He leaned forward and Derrick mimicked him. "You see, I have this skill. I can look at a person and guess their drink of choice."
"You can?" Derrick said in the same tone. "And how does that tell you anything about a person?"
Christian took a sip from the pint that Joe set in front of him. He gave Derrick a comically calculating look. "You're a no-nonsense type of guy who still likes to have a little fun. Whiskey soda, squeeze of lime," he said sitting back and exhaling like he'd just performed some major feat.
Fuck it all if he wasn't spot on. For some reason, Derrick didn't want to let him know, though. "Wrong. I'm a rum guy."
"Really?" Joe asked, obviously eavesdropping. "Then why do I have this bottle of whiskey back here with—"
"Maybe some nuts?" Derrick said, dismissing the big-mouthed bartender.
"And you wonder why people dislike you," Christian said, and Derrick knew his plans to get screwed were already screwed. Christian had cleared out all his dirty thoughts. But Derrick was still sporting a stubborn hard-on, and he'd light that spark again if it was the last thing he did.
The pub door opened. Derrick didn't bother to look. The only person he cared about at that moment sat on the stool next to him, nursing a pint. He did notice, though, when another shifter with pale skin and short curly black hair sat on the other side of Christian. His wolf bared his teeth, and he sized the other shifter up, relaxing slightly when he saw the other shifter was young, barely old enough to be there from the look of him. He ordered a mixed drink from Joe and sipped it, his squirrel eyes never stopping, like he was casing the joint. He winced when he took a sip of his drink, the alcohol likely coming in contact with the deep cut on his lip.
"Looks like a nasty fight," Christian said to the boy.
"What's it to you?" the shifter snapped back.
Derrick growled. The smaller shifter shrank back from the sound.
To his utter surprise, Christian whipped his head in his direction and frowned at him. "Don't," he snapped. And it was as if every single person in the pub stopped everything they were doing and stared. Including Joe. Damn.
"He was being—"
"I know," Christian said, gentler this time. He'd no doubt noticed the change in the room. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. But, I don't think it was necessary.
"Sorry about that," Christian said, turning to the smaller shifter again giving him a small smile. "I'm going to be in the area for a little bit. Here's my number if you need to—"
Oh. Hell. No.
Derrick got to his feet, swiftly grabbing the two bags with one hand and Christian's elbow with the other.
Christian protested, but they were already at the door by then.
Derrick stomped forward, eager to pull Christian through the doorway and away from anything that would compete against him for Christian's time. He collided with a body coming towards them. He snarled at the obstruction, recognizing his uncle a moment too late.
His uncle's dark eyes widened for a fleeting moment. The whites of his eyes matched his blindingly white teeth and shone in contrast against his dark skin.
"Uncle Dante," Derrick said with a brisk nod. Of all the shifters to bump into in the bayou, it had to be this one.
"Derrick, where the hell did you run off to? Your Ma is worried down to the bone about you. Not to mention the search party Mémé sent looking for you. Your great father almost had an emotion. I, of course, figured the Babineaux pack had got ya. Despite the plans your dad has laid out."
Derrick fought his instinct to shift his body over and protect Christian from his uncle's prying eyes. He adopted a casual tone. "None of that, none of that. Just popped out for a bit."
"Popped out?" Dante looked between the two of them. "Who's your friend?" he asked.
"My new employee, Christian McGannon."
Dante did not look like he believed him. "Employee?" He looked over Christian's casual clothes. "What does he do?" Dante could doubtlessly sense that Christian was not a shifter. That fact alone narrowed his employment opportunities drastically.
"Public relations, mostly," Christian cut in, giving Derrick's uncle a winning smile as he stuck out his hand. Dante shook it firmly. Christian's wince from shaking his injured wrist was barely noticeable. Derrick doubted Dante did notice it.
"Pleasure," he said, pulling Christian toward him. Derrick stepped up, awkwardly, into the space between the other two men, forcing his uncle to drop Christian's hand. "Won't you want to be getting back?" his uncle asked. "Your car is back at home. I'll take you. It will serve the double purpose of getting me into your sweet mother's and Mémé's good graces."
Nothing was going to go his way, Derrick realized. What could he expect now that he was within the city limits? His luck had most likely turned the moment they'd crossed state lines. He couldn't refuse his uncle, not without broadcasting the fact that he and Christian had been on a mission to have sex. With his father's plans for the pack, that would not be wise.
Derrick carried the bags to his uncle's familiar cherry red Cadillac with whitewall tires. He treated his car better than his ex-wife, which probably had something to do with the ex part. Dante opened the back door and gestured for Christian to climb in. Derrick met them after stowing the bags in the trunk. He slid in after Christian, taking the vacant seat next to him.
His uncle made a face. Fuck. Another mistake. He was too out of practice. A week out of Des Allemands and he had already slipped letting his accent show and was making the types of mistakes he hadn't even made as a teenager. He had a persona to uphold. An important public image. That was why Christian was there. Yeah right. Tell yourself that. It was how he'd gotten Christian here anyway.
"Should have known you'd be back for the Robichaud Jubilee. Missing that would be like asking to get written out of the will. If that old bag ever dies," his uncle grumbled from the front seat.
That old bag was Derrick's uncle's mother, his Mémé. Derrick wasn't shocked at his uncle's language, though. He was the second son. Uncle Dante had always felt that made him inferior, less wanted. He'd said as much every time he'd had too many and got weepy. Derrick knew it made him weak. A man could only be as respected by others as he was by himself.
As a kid, his uncle had scared him. He'd never admit that to anyone now. These days he understood why his uncle was always so resentful toward him. Derrick had, simply by being born, that which Uncle Dante would never have. Barring some disaster. Uncle Dante would never assume the role of pack master of the bayou. Not unless he challenged the current alpha and no one had successfully challenged a Robichaud alpha in generations. It had been so long that most just referred to it as the Robichaud monarchy.
"Perfect time for you to come onboard," his uncle said, speaking to Christian through the rearview mirror.
Derrick stiffened.
"Shifter bitches get real frisky this time of the year. And, with you working so clos
e with the prince of the bayou? You'll have your day filled with groupie tail alone." Dante laughed at his coarse joke.
Outwardly, Christian let nothing show. Not to someone like Dante. Derrick could sense his dislike for the other man and appreciated it. But Christian only said, "I'm sure it will be something to experience," and let his gaze slide to the window.
Derrick had had enough of looking out the window. Luckily, they were nearly home. Soon, his uncle turned and stopped in front of a gated entrance. The tall fence that attached to the gate surrounded the entire Robichaud estate.
Dante punched in his code, and the gates swung open silently. They were cast iron with an elegant R, in cursive, centered on each side. Christian sat up straighter.
"You weren't joking," he muttered.
"About what?" Derrick asked.
"You told me you weren't homeless, weren't poor. I didn't expect that you were…."
There were a lot of words that people used to describe the amount of money the Robichaud family was worth. Derrick enjoyed watching Christian's face. If he was impressed by a couple of gates, there was so much more he could show him. The truth was, you didn't become and remain the leader of the entire bayou pack without a considerable bankroll. They had business ventures all over the bayou and unlike the Babineaux pack all of their incomes were legal.
Dante took the driveway up, and Derrick tried to let the familiarity of his surroundings calm him. Here was his home, full of chirping cicadas and cypress trees cloaked in Spanish moss. This was where he belonged, and he was genuinely happy to be able to show it all to Christian. He'd care about what that meant later. He was happy, and that was all that mattered.
Chapter 7
Christian waited for the weird uncle to get out of the car before he grabbed Derrick's arm. "Tell me exactly what the hell I am walking into," he hissed. "There is so much more going on here than you led me to believe."
Derrick looked taken aback.
"You told me to help you make a better impression, to smooth things over. But this…." Christian looked through the front windshield at the huge, riverfront mansion they were parked in front of. It was something between a log cabin and a houseboat but for billionaires. The windows that lined the east wall shone with a golden glow that could have been comforting if the rest of the home didn't allude to unquestionable, absolute elegance. How did a scruffy man passed out in an alley come from a place like this?
Christian immediately felt chastised. That was what he got for judging. Still, this changed things. He didn't know these people's language. Not the words they spoke, but their morals, codes, mores, and ethics.
Did they have ethics?
Of course, they do, you jerk. Though, all Christian knew about the very rich and privileged was how often they seemed to drink brandy in sitting rooms. What the hell even is a sitting room?
"I can't do this, Derrick. I don't know how to navigate these people." Christian turned in the backseat to look back the way they'd come. The driveway was illuminated by a row of lights on each side, but further down it was completely dark. He could just take a super long time hitchhiking back home. He still had a fair bit of money saved. Enough for a hotel room here and there.
"No." Derrick grabbed his arm well above his injured wrist and held him tightly.
Christian froze. "You said I could go whenever I wanted," he said slowly, quietly. His words muted in the silence inside the car.
Derrick exhaled harshly and let go. "Of course you can, but you aren't even giving it a shot. I need your help. I do. These people are just like regular people except maybe richer and drunker. Your skills are just as applicable."
Christian begrudgingly grinned at his joke.
"See, you are enjoying yourself already. Please, stay." Derrick held him with a piercing, dark stare that looked straight into his soul while making a detour in his pants. "At least for the Jubilee."
Christian's logical side told him there was something too possessive about the way Derrick looked at him, how he'd held on to his arm. His mind told him to run. Christian couldn't listen to his logic or his mind. It wasn't exactly like he was listening to his heart either, it was too early for that. More like his basic instinct. That's what he would call it. His instincts told him to stay. That there was something he couldn't walk away from. Not yet.
"Okay, but first things first. Let's try to explain your drunken disappearance."
All of a sudden the door next to Derrick was yanked open and a tiny beautiful woman with long black hair ripped his huge frame from the car. Christian jumped, rightfully startled as the woman began hugging and hitting Derrick.
"Ma," Derrick said plaintively. "Ma, stop."
Derrick's mother was like a fancy elf, dressed in a designer lounge suit and with skin so pale white, it shone under the moonlight. She had beautiful dark eyes that reminded Christian of Derrick's. When she'd leaned in to grab Derrick Christian had gotten a whiff of her, a smell like jasmine and juniper.
Derrick pulled away from her long enough to open Christian's door. She grabbed Derrick once more and yanked him up a manicured cobbled pathway. Derrick managed to grab Christian's shirt and pulled him behind him so that he took the steps of the wide, wood plank stairs up, behind Derrick and his mother. The front door was already slightly ajar so Christian could only see half of the intricate carving, trees and shoreline of the bayou with the image of a howling wolf at the top.
Christian stepped in behind Derrick and his mother and forgot to breathe. Beyond the door the layout was open. A grand staircase in front of them led up to the second floor where a railing was all the separated a majority of the upper story from the bottom. People walked about, most dressed casually, but not quite as dressed down as Derrick's mother. Some of them had stopped and looked over the railing to see what the commotion at the door had been.
Christian got the idea that this place was a central hub of sorts where pack members came for business or meetings. That there were still so many people so late at night was a testament to how busy those businesses probably were. There were more going up and down the steps. So many people, it felt more like a busy hotel than a home.
Derrick was ahead of him, still being mauled by his mother, so Christian shut the door behind them. It was heavier than he expected and shut with a deafening bang. Every person milling about stopped what they were doing and stared at the three of them.
Dante lumbered down the stairs. A wide, calculating smile plastered on his face. "See," he said more loudly than was necessary for the imposing male figure next to him to hear, "I brought your boy home."
Derrick was hardly a boy, Christian thought, noticing a trend already. It almost felt like he'd interrupted some sort of royal drama, the unhappy king, meddling queen and errant prince. Again, Christian felt out of his league. These were the people he was meant to placate?
"I told your father it was all too much pressure," Derrick's mother continued, hugging her son around the middle. She was nearly in tears.
"Now, now, Emma dear," Derrick's father said with a deep voice. "Remember yourself, my love." Derrick's father looked at Christian, standing with his back against the door. "Especially in front of strangers." He was a stocky, mountain of a man with tanned skin several shades lighter than his brother's. He had a serious face that, unlike his wife, gave nothing away. His unreadable expression could make a weaker man anxious, and the way he moved so slowly toward them was unnerving.
Christian realized it for what it was, a power trip. This man wanted them to know that he was the one in control. He could take as long as he liked to reach them and they could only wait. As annoying as that was, Christian still found himself waiting patiently. Some molehills were actually mountains in disguise.
"Son," he said as he reached Derrick. He didn't embrace him as Derrick's mother had. "Glad you came to your senses." He turned to Christian, leveling him with the full force of his judgmental glare. "Derrick Antoine Robichaud the second, and you are?"
"C
hristian McGannon, the, uh, only me."
"I see, Christian McGannon the only you, can I ask what brings you to my home, accompanying my wayward son at such a later hour?"
Christian thought to mention his wayward son was a grown man but didn't because Derrick took over.
"This is my new Public Relations adviser. I'd initially left to locate quality assistance. With the Robichaud Jubilee coming up, I thought now, more than ever, was a good time to take more of an initiative on my image."
Christian stiffened. Not a lot of what he'd said was true. He'd lied with ease, though.
The senior Derrick was only looking at Christian. His eyes narrowed. Christian refused to squirm under his scrutiny. He'd met bullies before. His dad was one. The senior Derrick glanced down at Christian's wrist. Christian doubted his eyes missed much.
"You should get that seen. How did it happen?"
"I was harassed. It was an issue that is resolving itself." Christian didn't want Derrick's family to think he brought any drama with him. That wouldn't mesh well with him being Derrick's PR adviser.
"How lucky it is that you are here now, where you can be taken care of." He didn't even try to mask his words in false kindness. He turned from then and went back up the stairs. Christian expected the people that were standing on the steps watching to bow as he passed. They waited for their alpha to climb the stairs and disappear down a hallway before the masses flocked down the stairs to greet Derrick.
Christian leaned back against the ridiculously fancy front door. Derrick had made it sound like he was going to be walking into an angry mob. Other than his father, whose natural mode seemed to be disapproving, everyone was happy, overjoyed even to see Derrick come back. Which begged the question: why was he here again?
His professional purpose looked pretty much moot from how Derrick was surrounded like a rock star. Sure, there had been a few romantic moments back at his apartment and on the train, but were they great enough to convince Christian to stay? Experiencing anything romantic with Derrick seemed so far from happening again. Especially now that there were so many eyes watching.
Wolf's Mate Mpreg Romance Box Set Page 21
