I’m thankful when Mr. Bossier throws a hand in the air because I’m wincing in pain from biting my lip to remain silent.
I clutch at the glossy arm rests.
“Your Honor, please tell me we’re not gonna listen to this. It’s absurd.”
The judge cocks his head and gazes at my lawyer before turning back to Lucky and giving him a curt nod. “Continue.”
I’m relieved because I want to hear where he thinks he’s going with this line of bullshit.
“Seriously, I didn’t know, Judge.” He whips his head in my direction. “Jade, I’m telling the truth. It’s because of that motorcycle accident.”
My heartbeat putters out in my heaving chest. “What accident?”
He wrinkles his forehead and confusion agitates in his eyes. “At work. A corporate wide email was sent out.” His deep voice trails off when he sees me shaking my head.
Mr. Shipley clutches him on the shoulder. “If you insist on going through with this, you need to go ahead and start at the beginning.”
For fuck’s sake, yes! Somebody, please explain this shit!
“Ok, yeah. Well, I really only know what’s happened since that day. A little from before the accident, but not much. It’s like a ghost. I try to reach out and grab it, but it always vanishes, just out of grasp. It’s so damn frustrating.”
I experience these weird pangs in my chest, squeezing at my heart.
“Mr. Gauthier, are you trying to tell me that you are suffering from amnesia?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“And you have medical records to back this up?”
“Absolutely.”
Mr. Bossier rotates in his seat. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”
“Because my client’s medical history is not in question here. This case is between Ms. Belhomme and Gauthier Offshore Services. There was no reason to include Mr. Gauthier’s health history.”
“Alright, counsel. Settle down so we can get to the bottom of this.” The judge pushes his chair backward and reclines like he’s ready to take a nap. He gives Lucky the go ahead and I move to the edge of my seat.
Lucky shakes his head with his round pools of brown bouncing without focus. I can see it on him, he’s overwhelmed. Whatever he’s talking about, he’s sincere. He believes what he’s saying.
“I woke up in the hospital with no idea who I was or how I got there. I lost my wallet in the wreck and the driver of the car that hit my bike died. I had a few bumps and bruises, but it was the impact on the head that left me so fucked up.” He jerks his chin up. “Sorry, your Honor. Um, so I sat there for days until my fiancé finally tracked me down and took me home. She got me caught up on work and the case, but she obviously left out a few important details. Anyway, it wasn’t until yesterday when I met with Mr. Shipley that I learned Ms. Belhomme’s true identity. If she’s truly Art’s daughter, and the will really does say she should have his share, then I don’t want to stand in the way of that. It’s not right.”
Judge Delacroix flings his hand in the air, signaling for him to stop talking as he flips pages, speed reading the contents.
“And this part of the will, the amendment, has been made available to all parties?”
Mr. Shipley, who appears pouty, with his shoulders slumped forward, utters. “Yes, your Honor.”
“Of course,” Mr. Bossier confirms.
He goes back to focusing on the file. “Ok, let’s talk about logistics. I see here that Judge Wilton signed an order putting the addendum to the will into effect, but then Judge Landry vacated that judgement, placing a hold on the finances and assets involved.”
“Yes, your Honor. That’s what we’re hoping to take care of today. My client is being kept from what’s rightfully hers. And the freeze on her account has caused great distress for her and her family. She has bills and an institutionalized mother. Not to mention an elderly roommate, all of whom my client is the sole provider.”
“That’s what we’re working on, counselor. Hold onto your knickers. The only thing I need to know right now is this, does Mr. Gauthier here have the authority to make this kind of decision on behalf of this corporation?”
It seems like this is somewhere Mr. Shipley should jump in and speak up, but he just sits back with a bad case of resting bitch face.
“I do, your honor.”
“Counselor?” The judge directs his question to the sulking lawyer.
“He does your honor. With the board currently under suspension and his mother out of town, it’s his decision to make.”
“What does his mother have to do with it?”
The last thing I want to do is sit here and listen to them drone on about the woman whose hate for me is based solely on her disgust for strippers.
“Yes, he and his mother, Mrs. Tilly Gauthier, are equal owners of Gauthier Offshore Services. When she left the country, she provided a notarized document giving my client proxy over her domain.”
I can’t be sure, but I could swear I notice Lucky’s mouth hang open when Mr. Shipley mentions the letter. He quickly picks up his chin, snapping his lips shut and diverting his gaze.
He has yet to glance in my direction since saying his peace.
For a second, it hits me like a ton of bricks that he’s suffering. He looks different to me, wounded. And that slimy bitch, Carrie, doesn’t surprise me either. Not one bit. She’s a snake of her own kind.
But this is beyond being a bitch. This is literally fucking with my life, and Lucky’s.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucky
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Carrie’s cheeks are blazing, flushed with heat.
Todd plucks the thick frames from his pale face. Sweat has broken out along the man’s forehead and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.
I know he’s stressed and I just put him through the wringer, so I give him a break.
Carrie, on the other hand, needs to get herself out of my sight. She chides her displeasure at my ‘impaired’ decision making, but it all falls away, meshing with the noisy background.
I’m too consumed with watching Jade Belhomme and her well rounded ass exit the building. Once she disappears, I can’t help but feel like I let her slip away… again.
“I have to go.”
Carrie pops her angry eyes and raises her voice to an annoying high pitch. “To where?”
I shake my head and step out of the way when she reaches for me. “I don’t know. I just can’t be here.”
“Sir, you know I don’t mean any disrespect.” Todd sucks in the heavy air through his teeth. “But, Mr. Gauthier, your mother is going to be upset. You should have consulted with the team. Everyone’s going to be…”
His bold degradation nips at my patience. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Not about them or my mother’s reaction. Everyone knew about this shit. What was happening to Jade, and not a single one of you cared. That’s some low shit and it doesn’t sit right with me. I’ll welcome whatever heat comes my way.” I stomp in the opposite direction, leaving Todd Shipley to pick up his goofy chin off the ground.
I ignore my driver as he shouts my name from the curb, continuing to walk with no direction or intent. Nothing on my mind, nothing but to get as far away from these people as possible.
Everyone I know is a liar. Everyone but Jade.
My hangover has reappeared and it’s dictating my steps, leading me straight to the closest liquor store. Thank the mind-numbing gods that I live in the drunkest city on the planet.
I eyeball the endless rows of alcohol, silently arguing with myself over a cold six-pack or a pint. I promptly turn up the bottle of Jim Beam when I hit the sidewalk.
The longer I stroll, the more I drink. The more I drink, the more I get lost in my own world. The growing ball of anger drowns out the fanfare of the great City.
The liquor has loosened me up, helping fuel the whirlwind of negative thoughts.
Why didn’t Carrie tell me about the letter?
Why did it take so long for her to track me down in the hospital?
How did Jade not receive the e-mail about my accident?
Why the hell does everyone want to keep this girl from getting what rightfully belongs to her?
And why the fuck did I wait so long to drink cheap bourbon?
I can’t bring myself to talk to Carrie. I can’t put the sensation into words, but I am completely disconnected from this woman. My own fiancé. Not only disconnected, but no love or affection. If anything, I’d say I hold nothing but contempt and resentment for Carrie.
And the exact opposite for Jade Belhomme.
If only she had answered my calls last night. We could have avoided this entire, miserable day. I’ve been strutting around the office like a big wig, swinging my dick around, and all the while she was in the dark too.
My chest tightens at the same time my air way constricts, strangling my breath knowing the way she feels about me. The hatred she carries for me.
There’s something about her, like it was different once. There’s a past between us, a history.
I drain the bottle and toss it in an overflowing trash can before scrolling through my cell until I come across Jade’s number.
My fingers itch to dial, but I hesitate. The security guard’s words rattle around in my brain.
The stripper case.
I have to know what’s in her head. I have to know what she’s thinking after the meeting with the judge. She’s got to be confused, but I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to cause her more pain.
It’s all getting to me, not being able to file my thoughts and gauge my feelings like a normal person.
I tap my index finger against the metal lining on my phone case.
Fuck it.
Each ring sends my heartbeat surging through my pulse points.
No answer.
I swipe the screen and dial a different number, this time to a direct line. I wait for the call to be connected.
“Mr. Gauthier’s office. This is Sheila.”
“It’s James. I need an address.” I hope she doesn’t catch on to my slurred speech.
“Um, I believe I can manage that, sir.”
This woman grates my last nerve, making me want to bang my head against a fucking boulder. “Just get me Jade’s house. Her address.”
“Ms. Belhomme?”
“Yes, Sheila, Ms. Belhomme.” The muscles in my neck constrict. People are always questioning me. “If that’s a problem, I can get someone else to do it.”
“No, sir. Not at all. I’ll get right back to you.”
“Text it when you got it.” I attempt to control my tone. “Any update on that assignment I asked about earlier?” I don’t know why I feel like I’m talking in code. I don’t know who to trust. Certainly not any of these idiots carrying around frozen hand grenades.
“Nothing yet. If you’d just let me ask Ms. Scott about…”
“Dammit!” My voice explodes. “Do NOT discuss this with Carrie. I’m giving you a direct order. Do you understand? Do not speak to Carrie about my mother or anything else I tell you to keep quiet.”
“Yes, sir.” Sheila’s words are muted by her wounded tone.
I don’t have it in me to coax her sagging spirit. My head’s spinning out of control, confused and overwhelmed. I don’t know what to think about the woman I’m supposed to marry.
The person who should be my go-to. Someone who should be my first thought. Someone who leaves me reeling when we’re apart and electrified when she’s near.
Carrie Scott emits absolutely none of these qualities.
I’m pulled from my nagging brain when my cell phone dings, vibrating from my hand. I glance at the screen and heat flushes up my neck.
Intention takes root and there’s no turning back now. I don’t know much about myself, not much about the kind of man I am because I can’t fucking remember, but I’m learning more every day.
And right now, I’m learning I have a great deal of determination. A loud mouth, a taste for cheap beer and bourbon, and a shit ton of determination. That shit should be on my headstone, because I refuse to give up on finding out the truth.
I start walking, but it’s different this time. I focus forward, with purpose. I couldn’t stop myself short of cutting off my own damn feet. I pick up the pace before breaking out into a full blown sprint.
It doesn’t even occur to me to flag a taxi or call for a car. It’s too familiar. I’ve done this before. My expensive, dress shoes click against the asphalt as I zig zag through the streets. I have only one destination in mind.
The alcohol mixes with the adrenaline, agitating through my frenzied bloodstream. No one looks at me or finds my behavior strange. They’re all consumed by their own worlds.
No one can tell that mine is crumbling around me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Baby Jade
Ma’Linn turns her nose up at the take-out cup of weak coffee and bag of heavy, sugary beignets, dusting the powdered sugar from her short, stubby fingers in distaste. “Dis been a long day, cher. I be takin’ dis fat ass to bed.” She kisses the crown of my head and squeezes my shoulders.
“I’ll be doing the same. Sleep well.”
“You too, tifi.” I release a heavy sigh when I hear her door close.
The woman has been a real-life line for me. I hate to see her have to deal with all this shit just because she loves me. Not that I would know for sure, but maybe that’s what love looks like, choosing to suffer so the person you love doesn’t have to suffer alone.
My heart plummets to my hollow stomach when a warmth washes through my core as I think about that person, my person, the one person I would have happily suffered for, given my life to keep that person safe from pain or harm.
My son.
I squeeze my eyes, blinking back the hot tears when my cell phone rings, pulling me from my painful thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’ve been trying to check on you all damn day. You ok?”
“Shit, Drew. Sorry, I meant to call you back, but court was crazy.”
“Anything I can help with?” The hope dripping from his voice is nearly palpable through the phone.
“Thanks, no. I’m good. I just need some good news about Willow. What do you have for me?”
“Not a lot. I’m sticking with surveillance, but so far there’s been no change. He’s not even varying his restaurants. It’s kinda pathetic.”
“Ok, well, if…”
A loud knock coming from the living room sends me scrambling out of my kitchen chair.
“Baby, what? What is it?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
“Be careful and keep me on the phone.” Drew’s tone is sharp and serious.
“Ok,” I whisper, tiptoeing across the polished hardwood.
I skirt the edge of the wall and fight to ignore the way my shirt moves, matching my racing heartbeat when I pull back the corner of the fancy curtain.
“Fuck.” I drop the fabric and press my head back into the wall.
“What the hell, Baby. Who is it?”
All of the air is expelled from my body.
“Lucky.”
Drew grunts. “I’m on my way.”
“No, I whisper the comment into the receiver through clenched teeth. “I’ll call you back in a minute.” I don’t wait for a response before hitting the end call button.
“What do you want?”
“Jade, open up. Let me in. You know we need to talk.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. And definitely not like this.” I can’t ignore my nagging gut and take a second peek.
When I see him, he drops his head, bracing both palms against the door frame. My gut cringes when he lifts his heated gaze, not realizing I can see him.
Pain drips from every pore. His dark eyes are red with swollen, thread like veins.
“Let me in. Please.”
The desperation in his voice s
ends my thawing body into motion, unclicking locks and the extra chain. I never feel safe enough.
I never will.
I swing open the door wide, totally unprepared for the immediate bolt of electricity, but I see it. I see the expectation pooling in his large eyes. He expected it.
“Please, let me in…” Lucky whispers. I see the visible change in his eyes. The pain fades, giving way to hunger. Desire. I want to fight it, but I feel the sensation deep down in all of me.
Tingling starts in my fingers and I know this is what it means to be breathless.
“Jade, goddammit. Let me in.”
I think I’m stepping to the side, but instead, I’m actually moving backward. As Lucky steps in, I step back. His hungry eyes are blazing, and I know it’s for me. Maybe he remembers.
I don’t have time to think any further about it, because Lucky coils an arm around my waist, pulling me to him before his consuming lips crash down on mine.
He tastes familiar. Oh yes, this isn’t James at all. No, this is my Lucky, through and through.
Mine.
He uses his knee to plant one leg between my thighs, so he can position himself closer. He presses his body into me. The thickness of his full erection causes me to release a heavy moan in his mouth.
His hard cock twitches and Lucky uses one hand to grip my jaw, his lips travel to my neck while his other hand dips below the hem of my shorts.
I can feel the exact moment the thumping that’s battering my ribcage matches his. Our heartbeats become one and he plants both hands on my ass cheeks, gripping, lifting me in the air and swaddling my quivering legs around his waist.
“Are you sure?” He asks for what feels like the tenth time.
“Can we not talk? No words, ok?”
To my relief, Lucky nods at the same time I see the fire spark in his naughty smile. His eyes blaze with hunger. The kind of hunger that leaves me wet and begging for more.
Our clothes lie in a pile on the floor and he gazes at me. All of me.
I wear the goose bumps with pride when he can’t take any more and rushes me, his hands roving like he’s reading me like brail. He devours every part of me just as he’s done before. This must be what home feels like.
Queen of NOLA Page 9
