Close to the Edge

by Kylie Brant

  The rain had grown heavier. The streetlights shot the wet pavement with tiny splinters of light. She drove slowly, her headlights barely denting the inky darkness. Her earlier relief began to dissipate as the full weight of the situation struck her.

  She supposed, by her mother’s definition, she and Peter had been perfectly matched. With his tall blond good looks, they’d made, Charlotte had often said, a handsome couple. Certainly he’d come from a family whose background and fortune had been deemed appropriate by her mother, as well. Jacey had known him since she was a child, and she’d wondered, the last several months of their relationship, if that long acquaintance was to blame for the lack of any real…passion between them. They’d seemed more like a couple married twenty years than two people supposedly in love.

  She didn’t even remember now which of them had first proposed the idea of stepping back from the relationship for a while. It had been Peter, she was almost certain of it, but she’d seized on the idea with an eagerness that had been just as telling. And there was no use being less than honest, nothing she’d experienced during their time apart had made her regret the decision.

  Traffic was light. Those who didn’t have to venture out into the rain were probably snugged warmly inside their homes. The idea of doing the same lacked the appeal it had presented an hour ago.

  Truth be told, when she’d recognized Peter’s return address on the mail that had been delivered, she’d dreaded opening it. It had been easier to put it off until she had a free evening to devote to handling her personal correspondence. Hardly the reaction of someone pining for her lost love.

  Grimacing, she turned on to St. Ann Street. She never would have described herself as contrary, Charlotte’s opinions aside. So why this welter of emotion now, brewing and bubbling inside her? Apparently, she was a bit more temperamental than she’d realized.

  She brought her car to a stop in front of her Creole-style house, for once not pausing to take pleasure in the double verandas, the enclosed courtyard. Resting her forehead against the steering wheel, she let the events of the last hour swamp her.

  She’d been dumped, in as public a way possible. And as much as it pained her to admit it, her mother had been right about one thing.

  She was going to have to start planning just how she was going to deal with it.

  Chapter 3

  “I come bearin’po’boys.” Lucky pushed Jacey’s office door open the rest of the way and held up the bag of food, waggling it enticingly.

  She didn’t look up from the papers she had strewn across her desk. “I’m not hungry.”

  He came into the office anyway, pushing the door closed with his shoulder. “It’s almost closin’ time and Joan told me you didn’t have lunch. You have to eat. Men like curves on their women, not all bones and angles.”

  She did glance up then, and the look she gave him would have sent most scurrying out the door. But Lucky considered himself a courageous enough sort. Besides, he happened to know her weaknesses.

  “It may surprise you to discover that what men like is not a maxim that dictates my every action.”

  He made a show of opening the sack, inhaling deeply. “It may surprise you to discover that these sandwiches are made with Leidenheimer’s bread.” He saw, and enjoyed, the way her expression changed. “But I forgot. You don’t like Ferdis anyway, right?”

  “No.”

  He noted her gaze never left him as he stopped at the curved-leg library table she used when conferring with clients. “Too bad about that. Me, I’m extra hungry today. But I’m not sure I can eat both of these. Maybe I will save the ham with roast beef gravy to eat later.”

  “Beast.”

  She could, he noted with sheer male appreciation, move quite quickly when she wanted to. She was out of her seat and had snatched the sandwich from him before he could even finish teasing her with it.

  “I guess I could eat something after all.”

  “And to wash it down…” He reached into the bag and withdrew two beers. He couldn’t really imagine Jacey drinking a beer. She was more the wine and champagne type. He was counting on her turning it down, leaving more for him. He happened to know she kept some fancy flavored water in the small ice box tucked beneath the counter.

  She snuck a look at the closed door. “I don’t want alcohol on the premises, Lucky.”

  “Relax.” He slouched low in one chair, hooked the one across from him with his foot to drag it closer. “Joan was on her way out as I came in. Something about a church dinner.” He stretched out, propping his legs on the opposite chair and crossing them at the ankles. The secretary was a straitlaced teetotaler. Her views on the evils of liquor were well known in the office.

  “In that case…” Jacey reached out and swiped the second beer from him.

  He attempted to hide his dismay. “You don’t even like beer. Do you?”

  “Probably not, but this will teach you to bring something I do like the next time, won’t it?”

  Giving in gracefully, he leaned over to twist the top off her bottle, then dealt with his own. “Last night was pretty bad, huh?”

  “It was okay.” She bit into her sandwich, eyelids sliding shut in real bliss.

  Her guarded tone didn’t fool him. He had reason to know that any amount of time spent in the company of Charlotte Wheeler could leave lasting ill effects. “You’ve been holed up in here since dawn this morning, and from the looks of you, you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  He knew her well enough to recognize the signs. She was wearing what he always thought of as one of her frighteningly capable power suits. The trim-fitting red jacket and skirt might have been sexy if she’d gotten rid of the no-nonsense buttoned-up blouse beneath. She had her hair scraped up into a knot, and wire-rim glasses perched on her nose, which meant she hadn’t put her contacts in. He’d always thought it weird that someone with her money hadn’t gone for that new eye surgery everyone talked about, until he’d discovered that she was deathly afraid of needles.

  “What did Charlotte do this time?” He bit into the sandwich, never taking his eyes off the woman across from him. Interaction between mother and daughter often left Jacey driven and focused for days, as if renewed dedication to her job could alleviate her mother’s disapproval.

  “Nothing. I’ve just been busy today, that’s all. I’ve decided to hire some part-time help so I wrote up a job description and ad for the paper. And the fund-raiser last night wasn’t a total loss. I picked up a case and I’ve been preparing a contract. The file arrived this afternoon.”

  Interest flared. “Tell me about it.” He listened intently as she relayed the conversation she’d had with J. Walter Garvey. He’d heard of the man, of course. It would be difficult to live in New Orleans and be ignorant of Garvey Enterprises, although he couldn’t say with certainty just exactly what the man’s business entailed.

  By the time she’d finished, he’d polished off his sandwich, while she’d barely touched her own. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he reached out to snag his beer with two fingers. “So he’s going to decide who to leave his company to based on the dirt you dig up on his grandchildren?”

  He had to wait until she’d finished chewing and swallowing her bite of sandwich before she responded. “By my initial calculations his business is estimated in the billions. So I guess you can’t blame him for wanting to be sure his successor has the ability to take his place at the helm.”

  Lucky tipped the bottle to his lips and drank. “Why do I have the feelin’ that Garvey wouldn’t consider anyone worthy to take over for him?”

  She gave a delicate shrug and continued eating. He took a moment to enjoy the sight. There was really no elegant way to eat a po’boy, but she came closer than most to making the task look refined. He liked her best in moments like these, when she forgot the manners that had no doubt been hammered into her from birth, and just enjoyed herself.

  There had been a time, when he’d first met her, when he’d been convin
ced that she was just another deb with a pretty shell, possessing more money than sense. A time when he’d been certain that her insistence on dabbling in private investigative work was going to get her seriously hurt.

  But there had been something about her from the first, a competence he hadn’t expected, and a hint of vulnerability that shredded him on the rare occasions it peeked through. The first had earned his eventual respect, the second a pesky thread of protectiveness. He’d been far more surprised than she when he’d decided to stay on three years ago. The time he’d spent employed at Wheeler and Associates was the longest he’d ever stuck at anything. Because the realization always filled him with a mild sense of panic, he preferred not thinking about it at all.

  Draining his beer, he set it down and eyed hers, which hadn’t been touched yet. “How many grandchildren are there?”

  “Four. Rupert has three children, two sons and a daughter, all by different women. So I guess they’re all really half-siblings. Lianna has one son. The four range in age from twenty-five to thirty-six.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I’ve run into all of Rupert’s children on occasion at various functions. I don’t recognize the name of Lianna’s son, Jeffrey Wharton. While she was married she lived in Boston, and apparently the boy bounced back and forth between her and her ex-husband for most of his life. According to the file, he’s been living in New Orleans for the last six months.”

  She slapped his hand just as his fingers would have closed around her bottle. He adopted what he hoped was a wounded expression. “C’mon cher, you know you’re not goin’ to drink that. Don’t be mean.”

  “Yes, I am.” To prove it, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long pull. Immediately her eyes squeezed shut, and she choked a little. “That’s…” She hauled in a deep breath, smoothed her expression. “That’s excellent.”

  He laughed out loud, delighted with her. “It’s an acquired taste, and one I wouldn’t have thought to your likin’. By all means, finish it.”

  “I intend to.” She’d do just that to prove a point, and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy watching her. Taking a more cautious sip the next time, she managed to swallow without grimacing. “Thank you for the sandwich. I guess I have been a bit single-minded today.”

  Lucky stood, began gathering up the wrappers and shoving them back in the bag. “You mean uptight? Oui, just a bit.” He, on the other hand, had come to work feeling loose and relaxed. A long night of steamy sex had that effect on a man. He would have suggested that she engage in the same, but given her choice in male companions, he doubted her experience would produce similar results. She tended to choose men who were little more than empty suits, all surface polish with no real substance beneath. Although she’d broken away from her high-society upbringing in her choice of careers, she didn’t seem able to shake it when it came to the men in her life.

  He stood, wadded the bag in his hand and banked it into the wastebasket. Noticing the way she was working her shoulder, he moved to stand behind her. “Here, let me.” When she would have batted his hands away, he dug his fingers into the tight muscles, eliciting a groan.

  “How do you do that?”

  “We all have our talents. Yours is turnin’ oversized bikers into eunuchs, and mine is loosenin’ up tight muscles.” He used his thumb to rub along her nape. “You’re all knots.”

  “I tossed and turned most of the night.” She let her head loll, allowing him better access. “I woke up stiff.”

  Her lack of sleep could no doubt be laid squarely at her mother’s doorstep, but bringing up the woman’s name would just have her tensing again. “You need to learn how to relax.”

  “So you always say.” She rolled her shoulders. He thought the muscles there were already becoming more pliable. “M-mm, with your talent, you could become a professional at this.”

  “Fa’true?” He pretended to consider it. “Maybe I’ll just do that. I could stop slavin’ away for you on that paltry salary you pay me and open my own business.” He pretended not to hear the sound she made in response. “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ of buying a van with equipment inside it. I could make housecalls first thing in the mornin’ to provide wake-up massages for the stressed out-women of the city. I could call it…Loosen up with Lucky.”

  She tilted her head back to look at him. “Why not? I know of some dog groomers who work that way. They go to the customers’ homes and provide the service in the back of their vans. You might even want to offer some of the same services they do—I’m sure some of the ‘clients’ you’d acquire could benefit from a good flea dip.”

  Lucky’s chuckle joined her laughter, even as he lowered his face to hers to growl in mock menace, “You’re a cruel woman, cher, to trample a man’s dreams that way.”

  “Dreams? Don’t you mean fantasies?”

  “Oui, and now I have a far different fantasy in mind, one that involves…” He broke off as he heard a sound in the outer office. In the next moment the door to Jacey’s office was pushed open, and a man filled the doorway.

  Time stilled for an instant as the three of them froze. In the next second Jacey straightened abruptly, in a move designed to dislodge Lucky’s hands. He was just contrary enough to keep them in place. “Brummond.” His fingers resumed their kneading motion. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.” His grin was as careless as his words. “Can’t say I’ve missed you.”

  Peter Brummond stepped into the office, his gaze first taking in the placement of Lucky’s hands, then the bottle in Jacey’s hand.

  “Jacinda.” The word was stiff. “I apologize if I’m interrupting.”

  “We just finished a working dinner.” Jacey tried to rise, but Lucky’s placement behind her chair prevented it. She turned and shot him a telling glance. “It’s after five, Lucky. Lock up on your way out, will you?”

  As a dismissal it was fairly obvious. There was no reason for it to burn the way it did. “Are you sure?” As far as he could tell, dropping Brummond a few months ago had been one of Jacey’s smartest moves. “We really weren’t finished here.”

  Her smile was tight, but her eyes held a plea, one he couldn’t help but respond to. “I’m sure.”

  He didn’t have to feign his reluctance. He didn’t know what Brummond’s presence here after all this time meant, but he was pretty damn certain it couldn’t be good. Slowly, he let his hands drop from her shoulders and rounded the table. The other man stepped aside, allowing him room to pass, then shut the door behind him.

  “What was that all about?”

  If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought there was a note of jealousy in Peter’s voice, but that was ridiculous. Peter was getting married. He’d made his choice. Both of them had.

  “Please sit down.” The graciousness in her voice would have made her mother proud. “I must admit I’m a bit surprised to see you, though.”

  The man had the grace to flush. He lowered himself to a chair opposite Jacey’s. “Believe me, I know I’ve handled this badly. I wanted to talk to you a dozen times, but I just…I didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.”

  “I understand congratulations are in order. Have the two of you set a date yet?” She had the distant realization that she’d never seen Peter Brummond so discomfited. It would have been satisfying if she weren’t so intensely uncomfortable herself.

  “We’re…it will be a small ceremony. Private. That’s why Mother insisted on the engagement affair. You know how she likes a party.”

  What Audrey Brummond loved most, Jacey recalled, was having the spotlight on her and her family. She couldn’t imagine that a private wedding ceremony had been Peter’s mother’s idea, hence the engagement party.

  Peter fidgeted in his seat. His blond good looks were just as polished as she remembered, saved from conventional handsomeness by a chin that was a shade too weak. “This thing with Celeste…well, it took me by surprise, too. That is, it all happened so quickly…”

  �
��You and I were no longer seeing each other,” Jacey put in smoothly. “You had a right to date other women.”

  His expression eased a fraction. “That’s true. I still felt though, that as a courtesy I should have informed you, but there never seemed an opportune moment.”

  “The announcement did take me aback,” Jacey conceded in masterful understatement. Never had Miss Denoue’s deportment classes come in so handy. She was hardly tempted at all to brain the man with the paperweight on the desk behind her. “But we’ve known each other a long time. I’m happy for you, Peter. I’ll be there at the engagement party with the rest of your friends wishing you and your fiancée all the best.”

  For some reason his face grew pained. “About that…Mother told me that she’d sent you an invitation. And of course I want you there, you have to believe that. But it’s bound to be a trifle awkward, don’t you think?”

  Little bubbles of anger fired through her veins as comprehension washed over her. Jacey’s fingers tightened on the bottle in her hand. The insufferable jerk hadn’t come to apologize at all. Oh, he’d done an excellent job with the downcast eyes and contrite expression, but the man had always been a master of getting what he wanted.

  And it was obvious that what he wanted was for her to stay far away from his engagement party.

  Because the temptation to use the bottle on him was growing too strong, she set it aside. The polite thing to do, of course, was to agree. In their world, appearances were everything. Her absence from the event would certainly ease things for him and his fiancée.

  The fact that it would almost certainly worsen things for her wasn’t a matter either of them were supposed to discuss.

  “Awkward? Do you really think so?” She hoped the smile she sent him revealed none of the smoldering anger she was experiencing. “I tend to think we’d do a better job of quieting the gossips if people see us together. Then they’ll realize we remain friends and the rumors will die down.”