Tell Me Something Good

by Emery, Lynn

  “Mrs. St. Denis is still with Mr. Taylor?” Lyrissa glanced over his shoulder.

  “Yes.” He walked around looking at the art on display. “The agreement seems fine. They’re just chatting about mutual acquaintances.”

  Lyrissa followed him at a respectful distance, as she did with most wealthy customers. He stopped in front of a wooden sculpture by Frank Hayden. Noel circled the panel of smooth walnut fashioned in swirls. While he studied the art, Lyrissa studied him. Her first impression had not changed: he was one fine man. Yet she felt sure he had an inflated ego to match his good looks. His bearing said he was as used to getting his way and being in charge as his grandmother. Watching them together, it was obvious that he was the apple of his grandmother’s eye— handsome, spoiled, and arrogant, Lyrissa mused. One tall package of everything she detested. Or should. He turned to face her, his striking face radiant with pleasure. Unexpectedly, desire flowed through her body like warm milk.

  “The wood seems to pulsate with energy,” he said in a reverent voice. “It tells a story, like a griot.”

  She moved closer to him as though drawn by a magnet. “The lines are sinuous, inviting you to touch it. You’d expect it to be warm like a living thing.”

  “Yes,” he said, now looking at her instead of the sculpture. “So beautiful, it’s hard not to touch it.”

  Lyrissa watched the movement of his lips. His words seemed directed at her, not at the sculpture. She tried hard to ignore the insistent prickle in her hips as she stepped away from him.

  “Of course, that’s the genius of a great artist, to breathe life into his creation. He makes us feel it as much as see it,” she murmured, still staring at his mouth in fascination.

  Noel gazed into her eyes steadily and took a step to-ward her. “I definitely feel it.”

  The room, indeed the whole world, tilted in his direction. The air between them crackled with electricity—at least, that’s what Lyrissa would have sworn at that moment. Then Kevin walked in.

  “I think they sent us the wrong catalogues,” Kevin said, peeling stiff cellophane wrapping from a package.

  “What?” Lyrissa felt a bit dazed.

  “These are for some medical supply company.” Kevin held up a stack of glossy brochures. The wrapping snapped and crackled as he wadded it up into a compact ball.

  Kevin glanced from her to Noel, who was now studying the dancers’ sculpture. “Oops, bad timing. Sorry.”

  “No, no. We’re talking about the art,” Lyrissa stammered.

  The young man gave her a puzzled look. “Right, you’re with a customer. You okay?”

  “Fine. I’ll, uh, look at those later, Kevin,” she said.

  Lyrissa gave him a thin smile. Kevin nodded, and then left. Noel hovered near, the subtle scent of his cologne drifting out to tickle her nose. She fought the urge to close her eyes and follow it until their faces touched.

  “You know, I’m not that educated on art. Maybe you could teach me more,” Noel said, an inviting inflection in his tone.

  “I...”

  Lyrissa shivered with anticipation at spending hours alone with him. Before she could make a more coherent reply, the front door opened. A tall, elegantly dressed woman came in. She wore a short olive wrap skirt and an ivory cotton blouse.

  “Noel, I can’t believe my eyes!”

  “Hello, Felice.” Noel met the woman halfway and they embraced.

  Felice took off her sunglasses. She glanced at the ex-pensive watch on her slim brown wrist. “My God! It’s ten in the morning and you’re not hard at work conquering the business world,” she teased.

  “I manage to stumble out into the sunshine now and then,” he said with a soft laugh.

  Lyrissa felt another shiver at the sound. Then reality bit hard. The haze she’d been in dissipated and she saw clearly. Felice Gerard was from another old Creole family. As she and Noel exchanged pleasantries and referred to a party they’d both attended, Lyrissa felt the familiar feeling. It was as though she stood looking through the window of an exclusive club she could never join. Felice threw her head back and let out a silvery laugh.

  “Oh, Noel! You’re so funny,” she trilled, a delighted expression on her face.

  “Actually the party wasn’t so bad. At least no one got drunk and fell into the fountain this time,” he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

  “I’ll be in my office if either of you needs assistance,” Lyrissa said and nodded to her small office. It was located right near the entrance. A glass wall allowed her to see the front door and into the main gallery.

  Noel turned to her. “I’m sorry, Lyrissa. This is Felice Gerard. This is—”

  “I come here all the time. Hello.” Felice waved a hand at Lyrissa as though her name wasn’t important.

  “Good morning,” Lyrissa said stiffly. She fought to maintain a smile.

  “I’m going to rent art for our annual sorority charity function. You know, it dresses up the club ballroom,” Felice went on.

  “Then Ms. Rideau will be able to help you. She’s an ex-pert,” Noel said and moved to stand beside Lyrissa.

  Felice raised one delicately arched eyebrow as she looked at them. “Ye-es, 1'11 bet.”

  That was the last dash of cold water Lyrissa needed. The mystique of Noel St. Denis had been effectively doused. “Excuse me,” Lyrissa said in a flat tone and headed to her office, leaving the door open. Once inside, she opened a folder without reading its contents. Instead she listened carefully to Noel’s and Felice’s conversation.

  Mr. Taylor came out of his office with Mrs. St. Denis. He held the elderly woman’s elbow lightly. “I’m certainly looking forward to seeing the famous St. Denis collection. To think I’ll be the one that will unite it under one roof.” Mrs. St. Denis patted her gray hair. “We might even arrange an exhibit at a local museum.”

  Mr. Taylor’s eyes widened with pure joy. “That’s a fantastic idea! I could contact the New Orleans Museum of Art right now. I know the curator and she’ll be downright ecstatic at the prospect.”

  “First things first, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. St. Denis said. “We need an appraisal. We’re considering a limited sale at some point.”

  Lyrissa’s head snapped up at that. A sale? She had to move fast, then. In today’s market, a Jules Joubert painting would bring on serious high bidding from collectors. Yet the painting was not theirs to sell.

  “Hello, Mrs. St. Denis,” Felice called out gaily. “Did I hear you say something about an art auction? Why, that would be a wonderful fundraiser for the St. Mary’s Academy booster committee. We could—”

  “Hello, Felice,” Mrs. St. Denis cut in with a dry tone.

  “How is your grandmother? I hope Charlotte is feeling better after her fall.”

  “Grandmother is a resilient lady. She didn’t even break a bone. Remarkable, for a woman her age. But then, we’re a strong breed.” Felice flashed a toothy smile.

  “Charlotte was always a tough old bird,” Mrs. St. Denis tossed back.

  “Er, yes.” Felice blinked at her rapidly.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. St. Denis said. “We’ll be in touch soon.” She glanced at Felice without affection. “Goodbye, Felice. Noel, I’ve kept you away from the office too long. I’m ready,” she added before Felice could answer.

  Noel shot a significant look at his grandmother, but she seemed not to notice. “Nice to see you, Felice.”

  “Give me a call,” Felice purred. “Daddy is having one of his famous fishing events at our camp in a couple of weeks. You’d love it.”

  “I’ll get back to you,” Noel said.

  “Be sure you do,” she said, dropping her voice to a soft, intimate timbre. Felice walked away from him with hips swaying.

  Lyrissa watched from her vantage point and rolled her eyes. Oh, please, she muttered to herself.

  “I’ll get the car in a minute, Grandmother. I want to say goodbye to Ms. Rideau,” Noel said and headed to Lyrissa’s office.

 
; Mrs. St. Denis pursed her thin lips in an expression of displeasure, but said nothing. She nodded distractedly as Mr. Taylor prattled on excitedly about the collection. Noel strolled into Lyrissa’s office as though he belonged there. Noting his serene confidence, Lyrissa was sure there had never been a time when he didn’t feel he belonged.

  She stiffened her spine, determined to resist his unsettling ability to get her blood pumping. Thinking about the wide social gulf between them helped, a little. A small shock of heat went down her back when he walked right up to her.

  “Thanks for the personal attention,” Noel said with a winning smile that could soften any heart of stone.

  Lyrissa put on a reserved smile. “We work hard to give special treatment to all our clients.”

  Noel lifted one dark eyebrow at her. “I understand,” he said without losing his good humor. A teasing glint lit his gorgeous eyes. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.” She cleared her throat. His cocky expression seemed to say, “It’s not over, lady, VU get to you yet.” Lyrissa added a bit more ice to her attitude. “Goodbye, Mr. St. Denis,” she said in her most formal tone.

  Noel merely nodded and left. Only when he was several yards away did she let out a long breath. She watched his graceful stride as he went through the glass doors and down the sidewalk until he was out of sight. She shook her head slowly. If only he weren’t a St. Denis, she groaned inwardly. Warning signals clanged that she shouldn’t even think about it. After a few seconds she realized the clanging sound was actually the phone on her desk ringing. Her eyes still on the door, she picked up the slim receiver.

  “Hello. Yes, they’re just leaving now,” she said. “Don’t worry. We’ll have our painting back in the next few weeks.”

  Chapter 2

  Noel eased his pearl white Infiniti 130 into downtown traffic on Poydras Boulevard. His thoughts were still at Taylor Gallery. Lyrissa Rideau had left a strong sensory impression. He could still smell the subtle floral scent of her cologne. Each time she’d moved, the scent floated toward him, faint enough to tease and make him want more. Then there was the way she moved. Her shapely legs, revealed beneath her short gray skirt, could stop traffic. Like a camera, the image in his mind moved up her fine figure to her face. She had smiled at him and the hairs on his arms stood at attention. But she’d been reserved, almost disinterested. Noel wasn’t used to that reaction from women, at least when he noticed. The plain fact was he rarely did. Women came to him. Few of them were re-strained about it. Maybe that was it He simply hadn’t recognized a more modest approach. His grandmother’s voice broke into his attempts to solve the puzzle.

  “I’m surprised you’re not on your cell phone to the office or speeding to get back there.” She gave him an appraising glance.

  “Nothing urgent going on there today,” he reminded her, stopping at a red light.

  “There’s always something urgent when you nm a business, son. Staying one step ahead of your competition and customers is urgent,” she said, quoting a small portion of her usual lecture on succeeding in business.

  “Yes, Miss Georgina,” Noel said, using the name most people called her. He shrugged. “Carlton is there.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me,” was her short reply.

  The light changed and Noel turned onto Camp Street. Ahead was the twenty-story office building that housed Tremé Corporation.

  “Look, that last little problem wasn’t entirely his fault. I should have reviewed—”

  “Of course it was his fault,” she shot back. “If he worked for any other corporation he’d be sorting mail by now. Being my grandson is the only thing that saved his backside.” Noel sighed. He couldn’t offer much in the way of excuses for his stubborn cousin. Carlton managed the real estate arm of the family business. He’d recently miscalculated the per-square-foot cost of a large warehouse. The result was that he’d signed a two-year lease with a packing firm that barely covered the cost of its maintenance. “He’s working on a fix now.”

  Noel turned into the parking garage next to their building and inserted his magnetic parking card into the slot. The long orange and white bar across the entrance rose slowly.

  His grandmother snorted indelicately. “Right. Knowing him, he’ll alienate the client and we’ll end up with another empty property. Do the words ‘cash flow’ mean anything to that boy?” she said with a sigh of frustration.

  “Calling him a boy doesn’t help things, Grandmother,” Noel said with his own sigh.

  “Humph! When he grows up, I’ll stop,” she said, her tone no softer.

  For the last two years Noel had been dealing with his resentful cousin daily. The rivalry between their fathers had extended to the next generation. At least, as far as Carlton was concerned, it had. Uncle William, Willie to the family, still openly fumed that Noel had been made CEO instead of Carlton. Uncle William had been forced to retire because of health reasons. Noel’s father, Richard, ran his own small but lucrative import business part- time. He preferred a flexible schedule that allowed for lots of time for golf. Tremé Corporation demanded long hours and sacrifices. Neither appealed to him.

  Noel parked his car in his reserved parking space. He got out and went around to help his grandmother from the car. “Don’t start with him today, all right? We have to pull together as much as possible.”

  Miss Georgina took his hand briefly as she stood, then let go. “Give your cousin that speech. Include his father while you’re at it.”

  Noel closed the door and turned on the car alarm. “No need. I’m sure you will,” he murmured.

  “Dam right,” she snapped and marched purposefully to the elevator.

  They didn’t speak again during the ride up to the fourteenth floor. Miss Georgina’s grim expression worried

  Noel. When the elevator whisked open, they walked through a set of glass double doors. Tremé Corporation took up the entire floor. Dark blue carpet stretched down the hallway that led to other hallways to offices. They turned to the main suite and went through another set of double doors, this time of dark oak panel.

  Edwina, Noel’s secretary, smiled when they approached her desk outside his office. “Hello, Miss Georgina. How are you?” Eddie’s voice and smile faded when she saw the older woman’s expression.

  “Good morning,” Miss Georgina said in a curt tone.

  Noel opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter his office first. He paused before following her. “Eddie, please tell me we’ve got fresh coffee.”

  “Going to be one of those days?” Eddie wore a look of sympathy.

  “Again,” Noel retorted.

  Eddie stood. “I’m pretty sure Josephine made a fresh pot ten minutes ago. I’ll go check in the kitchen and fill up a pot for you. I think she brought some of her special muffins, too.”

  “Thanks.” He rubbed his midsection as he went into his office and shut the door.

  Miss Georgina eyed him. “You shouldn’t skip breakfast and then drink a lot of strong coffee, Noel Phillip. You’ll ruin your stomach.”

  “Dealing with difficult relatives is what will ruin my stomach,” he replied with a sideways glance at his willful grandmother.

  Miss Georgina sat down in a dark red leather chair. “I can deal with Carlton,” she said with a wave of her hand.

  Noel sat down at his desk. “Yeah right, Carlton.”

  “More important, what are you going to do to raise capital?” Miss Georgina fixed him with a steady gaze that sent lesser souls fleeing.

  “Eddie is typing up a draft proposal right now. Naturally Carlton isn’t pleased about possibly selling even one piece of art. And I’m sure Uncle Willie knows every detail by now.” Noel rocked back in his captain-style chair. “But they’re not the only ones who will howl about the collection.”

  “I own the St. Denis collection, and they darn well know it,” Miss Georgina said imperiously.

  “It’s almost a family legacy, Grandmother. Especially the way Great-grandfather’s will rea
d.”

  Miss Georgina scowled as though ready to do battle. “He left it to your grandfather to administer as he saw fit. Our lawyer assures me that’s as good as ownership.”

  Noel nodded slowly. He doubted even his thunderous Uncle Laurence would want to tangle with an angry Georgina St. Denis. “We’ll need to raise at least two million in cash reserves to see us through the next three quarters—”

  A knock at the door interrupted him.

  Eddie came in with a tray. “Hot coffee and banana nut muffins. I warmed them up for you.”

  “You’re an angel in disguise.” Noel sprang out of his seat and took the tray from her. He set it down on a credenza that matched his desk.

  “Thank you, dear.” Miss Georgina gave her an endearing smile and Eddie nodded and left them alone. “Sit down, Noel.” She shooed him back to his seat while she poured out a cup of coffee and put a muffin on a saucer.

  “Thanks, Grandmother,” he said, using the childhood endearment.

  “Now tell me more about this proposal.” Miss Georgina placed the cup and saucer in front of him on the desk.

  “I’m going to sell three warehouses and renegotiate two leases that will be up soon.” Noel took a sip of coffee. “Ahh, I needed that”

  “Yes, dear. Now, what else?” Miss Georgina sat down with her own cup of coffee.

  “There’s a good chance we can get financing for construction of the office park through the Louisiana Public Facilities Authority.” He paused to nibble on his muffin.

  “Of course. It will have a positive economic impact on a blighted area of the city. Sound reasoning so far. I can’t imagine the board not realizing it.” Miss Georgina’s brow furrowed as she sat drinking coffee deep in thought. “You know, I—”

  “No, Grandmother,” Noel broke in before she could finish. “You’re retired and the doctor says you should rest. I don’t want you getting into this dogfight.”

  “So you do expect trouble.” She raised a dark eyebrow at him.

  “I’m not worried. Matter of fact, don’t say anything to Carlton. He’ll just dig his heels in even more and say you’re playing favorites.”