Tell Me Something Good

by Emery, Lynn

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Ebony said. She brushed back her shoulder length braids. “You’re doing an appraisal for the mighty St Denis family, the people you’re trying to stick it to. Sweet deal.”

  “You haven’t met Georgina St Denis.” Lyrissa made a face.

  Ebony laughed. “Like you can’t handle her. What about this guy, Noel? Is the brother as fine as they say?”

  “If you like that type.” Lyrissa waved a hand as though dismissing him.

  “Well, what type is he? Give me his stats,” Ebony pressed. She leaned across the table, one hand propped under her chin.

  “About six feet three, built, medium sized. Dark brown hair with some red highlights. His eyes are a light brown, like cinnamon, sorta. Big shoulders, too.” Lyrissa gazed off without seeing anything in the busy restaurant.

  “So you’re telling me the man is more than fine.”

  “I guess. He’s what you’d expect from a St. Denis.” “Gotcha. Looks good and knows it. They say he’s got a supernatural way with women. Sure you won’t be tempted?”

  Lyrissa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care what he looks like. I’m not into color-struck, stuck up—”

  “Calm down, girl. I was just asking the question. Geez!” “Now you’ve got your answer,” Lyrissa tossed back. “Everybody in here got my answer!”

  Lyrissa blushed and lowered her voice. “I grew up with those folks looking down on me. Remember in school?” “Hey, I was there. Damn right I remember.” Ebony frowned. “It was no fun.”

  “Even the teachers treated us like crap.” Lyrissa shook her head. “Our families thought getting us into St. Mary’s was the thing. We caught all kinds of hell.”

  “Gotta admit it’s a good school. We got a first-class education. Which is what they wanted for us.” Ebony sighed.

  “Yeah, we got an education, all right. In more ways than one.”

  Lyrissa learned her hardest lessons about bigotry based on skin color at St. Mary’s Catholic School. The two friends sat deep in thought for several moments, reflecting on the past. Lyrissa and Ebony had really clung to each other for support back then. Both were outsiders too dark and with hair too coarse to be acceptable to the light-skinned Creole girls.

  “Anyway, back to the present. You’re in the St. Denis fortress,” Ebony said.

  “Yeah, I’m in.”

  “You plan ahead. Honey, I never would have thought of what you’re doing.” Ebony wore an expression of admiration.

  Lyrissa sighed.

  “You’re not doing anything wrong, just gathering evidence so you can get back what’s rightfully yours,” Ebony stated.

  “It feels like I’m running a scam.” Lyrissa frowned.

  “No, no, no.” Ebony tapped the table three times with her fist. “They pulled the scam.”

  “Guess I’m too jumpy. With my big mouth and quick temper, I’ll probably mess up,” Lyrissa said.

  “You’re doing great so far.”

  Lyrissa wondered again if she’d gotten in over her head. “I just keep wanting to come out and tell them. Fight head on, you know?”

  “Their lawyers would blast you in a blink-blink. I say get the ammunition you need to fight first, and use the element of surprise.” Ebony outlined the plan like a general.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “Hey, you can do it. Just be cool, and when you’re sure, take care of business.” Ebony snapped her fingers.

  “Right. Except for one little detail.” Lyrissa leaned across the table.

  Ebony gazed at her for a moment, and then grinned. “Hit him fast and hard. I’ll start plotting our legal approach. Just give me the evidence.”

  “I’ve got to figure out a way to get it first. These people aren’t stupid.” Lyrissa looked at her.

  “You’ll work it out.” Ebony clapped her on the shoulder.

  “Oh, sure I will.”

  Lyrissa laughed out loud but not because she was amused. Ebony certainly overestimated her ingenuity. Not to mention the other problem that she’d not counted on. Noel St. Denis was more than a distraction. He was a sharp set of eyes that could watch her every move. It had all seemed so simple three months ago when she set the wheels in motion for Taylor Gallery to be hired by Georgina St. Denis.

  “This whole thing is gettin’ tricky, girl.” Lyrissa muttered. A vivid memory of golden brown eyes popped into her head.

  “What do you think?” Mrs. St. Denis tipped her head to one side like a schoolteacher testing a pupil.

  “Well...” Lyrissa hesitated to answer immediately.

  They were in the study. Lyrissa almost forgot to concentrate on her one goal. Like the rest of the huge house, the library held paintings and other items she could happily spend hours examining. All were of historical interest.

  “Don’t be tentative or timid. I don’t like either.” Mrs. St. Denis waited.

  “My special area has been New Orleans art history.” Lyrissa continued to examine the painting.

  “Even better, but we’ll get to that later. Well?”

  “Hmm, late eighteenth century. Dutch, I’d say. It’s a Van der Weele.” Lyrissa nodded as she continued to study the painting.

  “Very good.”

  “Thank you,” Lyrissa said.

  “My French ancestor brought it here when he came over from Paris in 1735 I believe.” Mrs. St. Denis paused for a moment. “You still haven’t told me much about yourself. Where did you go to grade school?” Mrs. St. Denis looked at her hard.

  “St. Mary’s.”

  “Maybe you know my godchild Jeanine Bienville and my great-niece Monique Lacour.”

  The muscles in Lyrissa’s neck tightened. She definitely knew them. They were members of the elite clique that had made her life miserable in high school.

  “I’m not sure. It’s been a long time,” Lyrissa lied. She couldn’t trust herself to talk about that group calmly.

  “Possibly not. What about your family?” Mrs. St. Denis asked.

  Lyrissa blinked for a second, and then regained her balance. “My parents died when I was young.”

  “That must have been hard on you,” Mrs. St Denis commented. There was no pity in her voice.

  “Not too much,” Lyrissa said quickly.

  Too quickly, she knew by the way Mrs. St. Denis looked at her. Was the old lady testing her again? She could well have hired a private detective to check out her new employee. Lyrissa would not have put it past her.

  “I find that hard to believe.” The older woman lifted her head and continued to gaze at her.

  “My mother ran off and left me with my dad.” Lyrissa spoke quietly. “She died young from living too wild— drugs, I think, but my family still hides the truth from me. My dad drank too much and ran his car into a concrete piling on Interstate 10 on the way to Baton Rouge one night.”

  She decided it was best to stick to the truth so she wouldn’t have to remember a lie. Still, a tight knot of sadness formed in her stomach.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Mrs. St. Denis sounded sincere in a prim, socially-acceptable-thing-to-say fashion. .

  “Actually, I think my parents did the best they could. They both had lots of problems.” Lyrissa shrugged.

  “You don’t blame them, then?” Mrs. St. Denis seemed intensely interested in Lyrissa’s answer.

  “No, in a way I don’t. Mama tried, but she had it rough growing up. She used to play games with me.” Lyrissa cleared her throat to stave off tears. “And Daddy was funny. They both made sure I didn’t go hungry and got to school. Mama would show up on the playground with some toy every now and then.”

  “You’re an unusual young woman. Not many children would be so forgiving,” Mrs. St. Denis said.

  Lyrissa saw an opportunity. “Can I ask you something personal? My dissertation will include at least a chapter on Creole culture. So I’m not just being nosy.”

  “Fair enough.” Mrs. St. Denis sat back in her chair and put her clasped ha
nds into her lap. “Fire away.”

  “Do you think of yourself as African-American?” Lyrissa chided herself that she’d not chosen her words better. “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean.” Mrs. St. Denis waved a hand at her. “You must understand something, my dear. Creoles consider themselves a distinct group, for the most part. Not white or black, but better.” She wore a half-smile.

  “Some prefer to be considered white, though,” Lyrissa said.

  “True. And why not? Take the Fouché family, for example. Their female ancestor was a fair-skinned mulatto, and her ‘husband’ a wealthy French planter. Their children were raised in the French culture and educated in Paris. They consider themselves more French than anything else. Shouldn’t they be able to say who they are? They had little in common with the slaves or even most free blacks of the eighteenth century. Edgar DuMasse spoke six languages, wrote poetry, and composed music.”

  “But they did have African ancestry traced back to a slave brought over by Spanish explorers in 1698. To deny him is a kind of racism,” Lyrissa said.

  “I’ve never heard them deny it,” Mrs. St. Denis said promptly.

  “They don’t go around claiming him, either,” Lyrissa shot back.

  “You really want to ask me about our ancestry.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Well... I have to admit to being interested.”

  Mrs. St. Denis rose slowly. “You have a lot of work to do. I’ll let you get to it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lyrissa struggled not to laugh.

  “Ring for Rosalie if you need anything,” Mrs. St. Denis said in a clipped tone.

  Noel came in and pecked his grandmother on the cheek. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He gazed at Lyrissa with smoldering eyes. “Good morning, Lyrissa.”

  “Hello.” Lyrissa looked away from him in self-defense. “Your father is already here.” His grandmother started for the door, clearly expecting him to follow.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Nod said.

  Mrs. St. Denis turned and glanced from him to Lyrissa with a tight expression. “Don’t keep us waiting. We have important business to discuss.”

  “I won’t be long. Besides, this gives you time to talk about me behind my back,” he said with a good-natured smile.

  “Amusing,” Mrs. St. Denis retorted and walked out.

  Noel turned back to Lyrissa. “Have everything you need?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.” She made a great show of opening a large book.

  “Well, I won’t get in the way, then. But if you do need anything—”

  “I’ll call Rosalie,” Lyrissa cut in.

  “I meant you could call on me.” Noel walked over to where she sat and stood close to her.

  “I’m sure I won’t have to bother you. Mrs. St. Denis has given me access to quite a few of your family’s old documents.” Lyrissa tried to put in her tone every ounce of dismissal she could.

  “Excellent. I’ll see you later.” Noel never lost his cool, confident exterior.

  “Goodbye.” Lyrissa maintained her ice maiden expression.

  Noel smiled at her once more and walked away. His graceful stride only added to the sexiness that seemed to ooze from every pore. The conservative steel gray suit didn’t disguise the muscular body beneath it. She watched his broad back until he disappeared through the double sliding doors. Lyrissa let out a long, slow breath. She’d have to keep a tight rein on her libido with him around.

  Chapter 5

  Noel sat between his grandmother and father at the table in the sunny breakfast room. Richard Phillip St. Denis was his usual self, careless grace under fire. Miss Georgina chewed on her scrambled eggs as though they were nails, arched brows drawn down. If his grandfather had been alive, he’d have said, ‘Georgie’s jaws are tight. Somebody’s in serious trouble’.” Richard seemed blithely unaware of any stormy undercurrents. He behaved as though this was their normal Wednesday morning breakfast.

  His grandparents had breakfast with each one of their three children every week once they’d grown up and left home. Spouses and grandchildren were included, of course. Noel’s mother bowed out whenever she could. Noel glanced at his grandmother and then his father. He wished he’d had the foresight of his mother.

  “So tell me, son, how are things down at the old salt mines?” Richard picked up a thin crispy slice of bacon and bit off the end.

  “As if you care,” Miss Georgina said in a quiet yet steely tone.

  Noel cleared his throat. He would try to head off the pitched battle this time. “Actually, things are looking up, Dad. Carlton and I have had two productive meetings.”

  Richard sipped coffee from a china cup with a red rose pattern. “Hard to believe Carlton listens to anyone but himself. He’s just like his daddy.”

  “Your brother works hard.” Miss Georgina stared at him in a way that would make most men tremble. Her middle child merely shrugged.

  “Oh yeah? Well that’s nothing to brag on. Noel says the whole damn place is about to collapse,” he retorted.

  “I didn’t say—” Noel cursed silently.

  Miss Georgina set her coffee cup down on the linen tablecloth with a thump. “And who do we have to thank for that? You!”

  “I don’t follow your logic, Mother,” Richard said, his voice still mild. “Willie was CEO. The buck stopped with him.”

  Noel groaned inwardly. Why hadn’t he just said “Fine” and not mentioned his cousin’s name? Uncle Willie had been forced to give up the high pressure position because of his health. Diabetes and heart problems kept him ill. The stress of running a huge business had only made things worse. The sibling rivalry between his dad and his uncle Willie seemed to have been passed down to their sons. Things got worse when Noel became CEO.

  “You’re a St. Denis!” Miss Georgina snapped. “You have a responsibility to protect what your great-grandfathers built.”

  “Here we go. Speech number twenty-five,” Richard mumbled under his breath. He aimed a mischievous wink at Noel.

  Noel scowled at him in return. He put down his fork and took one of Miss Georgina’s hands. “Family is taking care of Tremé Corporation. Calm down, Grand’Mere.”

  Miss Georgina huffed for a few seconds more before her expression relaxed a bit. The French endearment from his childhood could usually soften the formidable woman’s hard edges. She patted his Noel’s hand and cast a sharp look of disapproval at her son.

  “Noel understands even if you don’t, Richard.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” Richard said. His handsome brow wrinkled with irritation for the first time.

  Noel sighed. He took a drink of strong Louisiana coffee to fortify himself. His grandmother and father argued in their own subdued, upper-crust manner. Noel tried to tune out the barbs. He searched for an appropriate opening to duck out on them both. A flash of dark rose fabric drew his attention.

  Lyrissa passed by carrying a notepad and large leather bound book. Her dark hair was pulled back but loose curls framed her face. She glanced at Noel for a moment, and then retreated.

  “Excuse me,” he said. His grandmother and father did not seem to hear him.

  He went down the hall toward the library just in time to see her start up the stairs. The knee length skirt clung to her hips. The silk shirt was prim and provocative at the same time the way it draped her shoulders and breasts. Soft round hips and thighs that moved with a hint of sensuality took the simple outfit to a whole new level. Lyrissa climbed the first four steps, one hand on the banister. Noel’s throat went dry as he watched the sway of her bottom. His imagination took over. The seductive rhythm suggested silky skin hugged tight by satin panties. Every move seemed an exclusive invitation for him alone. Noel pictured them headed toward his bedroom. Suddenly his pants were too tight and the room too warm.

  “Ahem!”

  “What?” Noel mumbled, reluctant to tear his gaze away from the arresting vision before him.


  Rosalie stood with arms folded in the library door. “You lost somethin’ up them stairs?”

  Noel felt like a schoolboy caught looking up a girl’s skirt. Luckily he recovered just as Lyrissa glanced back at them. At least, he prayed he had.

  “I was going to ask Miss Rideau a question before I left for the office, if that’s okay with you. By the way, breakfast was delicious, as usual.” Noel smiled at her.

  “Uh-huh,” Rosalie walked off but looked back at him over her shoulder. Her expression shouted “You’re busted!”

  “Good morning,” Lyrissa said. She came back down to-ward him. “What was that about? I didn’t catch what she said.”

  “Nothing. Rosalie is just... Rosalie.” Noel lifted a shoulder. “So how are you today?”

  “Fine. I didn’t mean to intrude on your breakfast.”

  “Trust me, an interruption would have been nice,” Noel said with a grimace.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. How’s it going so far?”

  “I’ve only just begun, Mr. St. Denis.” She wore a quizzical expression.

  “Right.” Noel smiled sheepishly. “Guess it’s obvious I’m trying to make conversation.”

  “Is there something in particular you want to know?” Her neutral expression unnerved him. Most women warmed to him quickly. Lyrissa Rideau seemed unaffected by his attempts to be friendly. His resolve to chip away at this iceberg grew.

  “Not really.” Noel smiled at her easily. “Digging through dusty old books in the library must be tedious.” “Not at all. I find it fascinating,” Lyrissa said with enthusiasm. She went on to talk about her methods and the sources she would use.

  He smiled at the first sign of a thaw. Her eyes were bright with anticipation for the search. Her honey brown skin seemed to glow and it was catching. Noel moved closer to her as she spoke.

  “There are so many archives I can use. I may even find documents at the Cabildo,” Lyrissa finished, referring to the French Quarter museum. “But your grandmother’s house is filled with historical treasures. I’m delighted every time I turn a comer.”

  “I’m glad you enjoy being here,” he said softly, and then blinked hard in surprise.