by Macy Beckett
“Who followed you?” Beau glanced around the parking lot. Years of military training kicked his senses into high gear as he checked the grounds for any visible threat. The area looked secure. “Did someone steal your car?”
Instead of answering him, Devyn crouched into a ball and wrapped both arms around her knees.
“Do I need to call the police?” he said.
“No. Nobody stole my car. And don’t mention this to my sister. I mean it—not a word.”
She looked so small and broken curled up like that, vulnerable in a way Beau hadn’t seen since his return to town. The new Devyn allowed nothing to chip her cold facade. Strange as it seemed, he was kind of relieved to see a flash of weakness from her. It proved she was still human under all that armor. But when he rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off.
“Are you going to tell me what’s happening here?” he asked.
She stood and brushed off her hands, and just like that, her icy shields went up. “Here’s what’s happening, Dumont. You’re going to be a good boyfriend and drive me home. But first, you’re going to pick up a bottle of Bacardi from the grocery. And a box of Tampax.”
• • •
Monday morning, Beau awoke with the sun. He poured his coffee into a thermos and rolled down the windows in his old Chevy Tahoe while driving to the Belle’s docking station in downtown New Orleans.
Autumn had mercifully stolen half the humidity from the air, so he enjoyed the cool breeze while it lasted. Around here, crisp oxygen was a delicacy. He felt around the front seat for his sunglasses before realizing they were resting on top of his head. Squinting against the windshield’s glare, he pushed his glasses into place and wondered how his fake girlfriend planned on getting to work today.
He had finally gotten Dev to admit that her car had been repossessed, a tidbit he’d promised to keep under wraps. Out of the kindness of his fake boyfriend heart, he’d offered to pick her up, but Devyn had scoffed and claimed she didn’t want “any kind of ride” from him. Never mind that her gaze had flickered to his lap when she’d said it.
As long as she arrived with the rest of the staff, let the stubborn minx find her own way into the city. If he didn’t see her curly head aboard the Belle by nine thirty, he would personally drive back to her house and haul her in over his shoulder. He caught himself grinning at the mental image.
This was going to be a fun couple of weeks.
When he pulled into the dock parking lot, he cut the Chevy’s engine and took a few minutes to gaze at the Belle through fresh eyes—the eyes of a soon-to-be co-owner. When Daddy had retired, he’d made Marc captain and deeded over the boat, which was the sensible thing to do at the time. There was no resentment for it on Beau’s part. He had left the family business for a military enlistment, followed by half a decade of private contract work that had earned him a nice six-figure nest egg. All the while, Marc had stayed in Cedar Bayou and busted his ass to keep the Belle thriving. Marc had deserved the reins their daddy had handed him.
But things were different now.
Ten years living in crowded barracks and dusty hovels had shown Beau where he belonged, and it was right here in the bayou with the half brothers he’d left behind. He was looking to put down roots, and as it happened, Marc was seeking an investor to share the burden so he could spend more time with his new bride. Beau had the money and the inclination. It was a win-win.
Assuming they could get along . . .
Like most brothers, Beau and Marc had a tendency to bust each other’s balls. Add the fact that their daddy had bounced back and forth between their mamas’ beds for decades, and it was a wonder any of the Dumont brood had survived the animosity of their teenage years. But they were older and wiser now, and the Belle was a really big boat. With four expansive decks and hundreds of interior suites, she was larger than some motels. And if that wasn’t enough room for two brothers’ egos, they had worse problems than sibling rivalry.
Beau crossed the ramp onto the main deck, his shoes clattering over the metal grates until every bird within earshot startled and took flight. That sound used to make his chest tight, back when summers aboard this boat had felt more like a prison sentence than a seasonal job. It had taken ten years of dodging bullets overseas for him to realize how good he’d had it right here. Today he found himself smiling as he jogged up the steps to the second-floor dining room, where the scents of freshly cleaned carpet and touch-up paint greeted him.
Today the Belle felt like home.
The family meeting was already under way, four Dumonts gathered in their usual spot near the executive bar. Marc occupied the chair at the head of the table, but the real boss of this operation was the curly-headed pastry chef in his lap, Allie Mauvais-Dumont. The pair had thwarted a hundred-year curse with “perfect faith” in their love, and as corny as that sounded, it was mighty sweet to see them together. In fact, Marc was so busy rubbing his wife’s back that he didn’t notice Beau moving up behind him.
Beau kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek and took the seat beside her. Then he tugged a lock of his brother’s idiotically long, wavy hair and dispensed some well-deserved ribbing. “Sorry, Captain. Now that Allie’s around, you’re not the prettiest girl on board anymore.”
Marc laughed, not even bothering to raise his middle finger. That was a man in love, right there. “It’s all right,” he said. “Because next to you, I still look like a million bucks.” He extended a hand, palm up. “And speaking of money . . .”
Beau pulled a cashier’s check from his wallet and slid it toward his little brother while Alex and Nicky leaned across the table to gawk at it. Their blond brows lifted in perfect synchronization, the word whoa forming on their lips. Identical twins, they were the only Dumont brothers who shared the same mama, a Swedish beauty who had caught their daddy’s eye for the better part of a year. Unlike the rest of the tawny-skinned clan, Alex and Nick’s looks favored their mother’s, with light hair, blue eyes, and a perpetual sunburn.
“I’m in the wrong business,” Nick said, shaking his head in envy.
“No shit,” Alex agreed. “If the marines pay that well, then sign me up.”
The money Beau had invested wasn’t even half of his savings, but in Alex and Nick’s eyes, because they were fresh out of college and subsisting on ramen noodles and Milwaukee’s Best, it probably seemed like a fortune.
“Hate to break it to you, but you wouldn’t make much as enlisted men,” he told his brothers. “The real money’s in contract work, and you’ll have to earn every last cent of it.” To prove it, he lifted his T-shirt to show them the shrapnel scar from a dirty bomb he’d had the misfortune of encountering during one of his tours.
That’s when Marc’s half sister, Ella-Claire, happened to join them. “It’s not even five o’clock, and Beau’s already busting out a six pack?” She teasingly wolf whistled at his exposed abs and took the chair on the other side of her brother.
Marc shot daggers at Beau. “Put down your damn shirt.” Even though Ella-Claire didn’t share a drop of blood with the other Dumonts, they were all expected to treat her like family. Which they did. But try telling that to Marc, who thought everyone was out to defile her. Alex must have known it all too well. He scooted his chair a few inches away from Ella, lest he brush her leg and incur the captain’s wrath.
“Let’s get the meeting started,” Marc said. He launched into a status report—everything from the functionality of the train linkage to the new staff members he had hired. He said that Worm, their kid brother, couldn’t work the upcoming trip due to school, but he’d bus tables on the weekend dinner cruises. “Allie’s agreed to stay on as pastry chef,” Marc said and paused to kiss his wife’s hand. “And I managed to sweet-talk Chef Therein on board to replace Beau in the galley.” He nodded at Beau. “The money our brother invested will update the state suites and fix the plumbing issues from last season’s possum invasion.”
“And we’ll add a few upgrades
to the casino,” Beau said. “Which I’ll be managing, along with general security. I can even pilot the boat if I have to.”
“That reminds me.” Marc pointed a ballpoint pen at Alex and Nick. “Make sure the staff knows that Beau’s co-owner now. What he says goes. We eventually want to get to the point where he and I can seamlessly switch off as captain.”
“You got it,” the twins said in unison.
“Speaking of which,” Beau said, “there’s something I should mention. My first act as co-owner was hiring someone to fill in managing the education center.”
A flash of annoyance passed over Marc’s features, but he recovered quickly and took a silent moment—probably to unclench his ass cheeks. “Oh, yeah? Anyone I know?”
Beau leaned back to assume a casual pose in hopes that his body language might soften the inevitable shit storm to come. “Devyn,” he muttered and took a sip of coffee.
“Devyn . . .” Marc trailed off, waiting for a last name.
“You know.” Beau raised his thermos toward the woman who could almost pass for Dev’s twin. “Allie’s sister.”
Allie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head while everyone else at the table drew a collective breath. Marc’s voice sounded half strangled when he clarified, “Devyn Mauvais?”
Beau played it cool. “Does your wife have another sister named Devyn?”
“The same girl who threw a drink in your face at the wedding reception?” Alex asked.
Laughing, Nicky elbowed his twin. “That shit was priceless.”
Beau shot his brothers a glare. “Okay, so she’s not my biggest fan right now.” And in all honesty, Beau had come on too strong at the reception. “But I know she can—”
“She kind of scares me,” Ella-Claire interrupted.
“Hell, she scares everyone,” Marc said, staring at Beau as if he’d sprouted horns. “Devyn Mauvais sends her exes to urgent care, and you want her working with the passengers’ kids?”
“That was a coincidence,” Allie piped up. “All six times.”
“But still!”
“Look,” Beau said. “I know Dev’s a little . . . intense. But you don’t know her like I do. She used to tutor little kids after school, and she had a way of explaining things that made sense to them.” He had faith that the old Devyn was still alive—maybe buried deep, but still in there somewhere. “I’m sure she’ll do a good job.”
Marc shared a concerned glance with his wife. “I get where you’re coming from,” he said to Beau. “I really do. But come on. You’re thinking with the wrong head.”
Beau couldn’t contain a sarcastic laugh. “What a coincidence. Because a few months ago, we were all saying the same thing about you when Chef Regale refused to work with the pretty pastry chef you hired.” Beau glanced at Allie to drive his point home. “The one sitting in your lap right now.”
“That’s different,” Marc ground out. “Allie was qualified for the job.”
“No arguments there,” Beau said. “But I recall telling you to keep it in your pants—that it was a bad example to sleep with a staffer. So don’t preach to me about thinking with the wrong head. No offense, Allie,” he added with an apologetic wave. “You know we all love you.”
“None taken,” she mumbled, cheeks darkening as she glanced at her lap.
Marc’s jaw tightened. Like a snorting bull, he sucked an audible breath through his nose.
“Here we go. Pay up.” Ella-Claire held a hand toward Alex, who begrudgingly slapped a five-dollar bill into her palm. “I knew you two couldn’t go five minutes without fighting.”
“We’re not fighting,” Beau told her. “We’re debating.”
The look Marc gave him said he was debating tossing Beau overboard. “If you’re so confident in your choice, let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of hiring Devyn to manage the education center—and all the infants, toddlers, and preschoolers in it—raise your hands.”
Beau glanced around the table. Only one hand went up: Allie’s. She shrugged and told her husband, “She’s my sister. Dev’s always been there when I needed her, and she takes a lot of pride in what she does. If she’s committed to this, you can trust that she’ll go all in.”
Marc blew out a long breath. He took a while to think it over before slashing a hand through the air. “No. I like Devyn, but I’m not comfortable putting her in charge. Anyway, it would be a slap in the face to everyone who’s got seniority.”
“How about a compromise, then?” Allie offered. “What if we move Mrs. Grayson to the director position and put Devyn in charge of the eight-to-twelve-year-old group?”
A few seconds ticked by in silence. With a twist of his lips, Marc conceded, “I guess that could work.”
Beau thought it over and nodded. “I can agree to that.”
“Then it’s settled,” Marc said, though the darkness in his voice contradicted his words. If he didn’t need Beau’s money so badly, he would have probably given back the check and resumed his dictatorship over the boat. “Let’s get on track. We have a lot to discuss.”
From there, the conversation turned to subjects like sanitation and supplies, but the mood never bounced back. Shoulders were stiff, eyes were downcast, and when Marc adjourned the meeting, everyone rattled off a list of to-dos and scattered like buckshot. Even Allie invented an excuse about calling the chef to coordinate meal plans, but Beau knew she used the same dessert menu for the whole season.
Once they were alone, Beau turned to Marc. He had to be sure that fancy white captain’s hat wasn’t so firmly cemented onto his brother’s head that it couldn’t be shared. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
“This being what, exactly?”
“All of it. Me being here, calling the shots without your blessing.”
“You think I can’t take a partner at the helm?”
Beau flashed a palm. “Just sayin’.”
“Look, you made a decision from an emotional place,” Marc said. “It was a mistake, and I don’t regret calling you out on it. I’ll do it again if I have to, which I’m sure I will.”
“That goes both ways, Captain.”
“Damn right, it does.” Marc sniffed a teasing laugh. “Know what else goes both ways?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Not sleeping with the staff.” Folding his arms, Marc parroted Beau’s words from the cruise when Allie had first come on board. “She’s your employee now, and you’ve got no business chasing her skirt. So keep it in your pants, big brother.” Then he clapped Beau on the arm and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck with that.”
Beau grumbled, “Asshole” under his breath and stalked outside to the second-floor deck, where he let the breeze cool his temper by a few degrees.
Beau’s motives for hiring Devyn had nothing to do with getting laid. He had seen her in action senior year when she’d volunteered at Cedar Bayou Elementary. Even though she’d grown a thicker skin since then, she was still the same girl who’d baked a giant sheet cake and divided it up to help the students understand fractions when nothing else had worked. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the sparkle of pride in her gaze when she’d told him about that day’s lesson. She was so radiant it felt like staring at the sun.
Okay, if he was being honest, he did like the idea of being close to her for the next two weeks, but that didn’t mean he was thinking with his dick.
When a flashy Mercedes Benz pulled into the parking lot, Beau forgot his troubles, the security specialist in him taking over. The black sedan parked beside his beat-up Chevy and cut the engine, but nobody on staff drove a car like that. The driver had probably taken a wrong turn. Beau strode toward the bow ramp for a closer look, and the passenger door opened, revealing a familiar shapely leg.
It was Devyn’s. He’d slung that same leg over his shoulder enough times to know.
But who had given her a ride? Resting both elbows on the deck rail, he leaned down and squinted to bring the driver into focus. One
masculine wrist was slung over the steering wheel, but he couldn’t see anything more. Then Devyn shifted, leaning against the man in what looked a lot like a cuddle.
A completely irrational surge of jealousy heated Beau from his scalp to his toes. He had no claim on Devyn, but that didn’t stop him from grasping the rail with both hands to suppress the urge to charge down the stairs and tear off the driver’s-side door. A few deep breaths later, Beau finally regained control of his body.
What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to get his shit together.
His brother was right about one thing—Beau was in command now, and it was time to act like it. He had no business making hotheaded decisions . . . like grabbing his fake girlfriend by the shoulders and kissing her into a frenzy right there in front of Mercedes Man.
No, that was a bad idea. Instead, Beau stayed put and watched the pair from a distance . . . because he had a right to know what was going on with his employee.
He was just being a responsible boss. Nothing wrong with that.
Chapter 3
“One more signature, right here.” Warren Larabee pointed to the bottom of the W-9 form, and Devyn leaned in to scrawl her name on the proverbial dotted line. She tried not to press against his shoulder, but in the car’s close quarters, it couldn’t be helped. He inspected the tax document and tucked it into a manila file folder. “We’re all set. Call me when the cruise is over, and we’ll work out the details.”
“Sounds great,” Devyn said, though she certainly didn’t feel great about this decision. Her stomach had lurched and twisted ever since she’d picked up Warren’s business card last night. “Thanks for the ride, by the way.”
“No problem.” He grinned at her while scratching the stubble along his jawline. “But I have to ask. What changed your mind about the cemetery tour?”
Oh, nothing really. Having my car repo’d. Wearing someone else’s dress to my reunion. The overdue rent notice stapled to my door. My ex getting a front row seat for all of it. “Just had a change of heart.”
