by Geri Krotow
“Oh, Poppy. I hope you mean it. I never thought being a personal stylist was the best job for you. You’re too smart to just cater to other people. And Will wasn’t the guy for you, sugar.”
“Sounds like you’ve been talking to my family again.” Poppy’s mother and sister had at first resented that she’d made it out of their downtrodden suburb, away from their sorry family drama, and made a name for herself. Until they realized her earnings could be their ticket out, too. Her mother had been vociferous about her suspicions that Poppy had somehow bought her engagement to Will. Why would he want a girl like her, after all?
“I beg your pardon. I’d never sound like them.”
“No, you won’t, and you don’t. I’m sorry, Sonja. It’s just that they’ve always thought Will was crazy to date me, and wondered what he saw in me.”
“Poppy Kaminsky. I never want to hear that out of your mouth again. Will is a lying no-good bastard. You deserve better, so much better. And why are you taking any kind of relationship advice from your family?”
Because even though she’d survived her upbringing and against all odds made it into the big-time, a happily-ever-after love wasn’t in the cards for Poppy. She was just like her mother and sister, and grandmother and aunt, and all the women in her family. They didn’t find true love with the men in their lives. Birds flew, bees buzzed, and men left.
Poppy had outrun the poverty of her childhood, the struggles of a fatherless family. And ran headfirst into the wall that derailed all of the Kaminsky women.
Men liked Poppy; they might even love her at times. But men didn’t stick around in her life. Poppy wasn’t a woman men gave everything up for.
Which wasn’t a problem for her, because Poppy had everything she needed. Good friends, a great paycheck, or well, soon-to-be humongous paycheck, and freedom to do whatever she wanted.
After the haters stopped stalking her and Twitter judging every aspect of her life.
* * * *
The aroma of spicy gumbo wafted up through the French doors of Poppy’s room along with the tinkling laughter of women as the first pre-wedding party began. Casual barbecue and early cocktails were to be followed by the women and men splitting up in New Orleans for a night on the town. All Poppy really wanted to do was hole up in the guest room of Sonja and Henry’s fairy-tale riverfront dream home. To her dismay the chocolate had indeed melted. At least the bourbon was intact.
Unlike her pride and reputation.
No one knows you here. Even if there were any celebrity-gossip addicts present, she was fairly certain they’d have a hard time recognizing her. She hoped.
Making her way down to the back deck, she noted many of the rooms stood empty. The lack of furniture cast shadows in the rooms and made the new construction home feel older, like it was imbued with Southern history and lore. It was exactly the kind of decor Poppy was drawn to and hoped to make available to her shoppers with Attitude by Amber. Something new and made with quality, but evocative of the history, the ambience of whichever area of the country they lived in.
Quite a crowd was gathered out on what Sonja had described as a deck but in reality functioned as a beautiful terrace. Flowers Poppy had never seen before spilled from oversized terra-cotta pots and she let the blooms cheer her. There weren’t any flowering outdoor plants in Manhattan in January. The bright pops of yellow and fuchsia jolted her creativity the way the warm sunshine boosted her vitamin D production, she figured. A mermaid fountain gurgled near where the bar was set up and Poppy wound her way around several groups of young, attractively dressed people to reach it. All were engaged in what appeared to be animated, no-care-in-the-world conversation.
The most delightful part of the evening so far was that not one head turned sharply, followed by “hey, is that…?” No sudden clicks from camera phones that sucked in her image and whose owners sent it out to the world without her permission.
Better yet, it was pure heaven to not hear any mention of her professional name, Amber. Or the other name she dreaded more, Will Callis, followed in short order by Tori. Tori Callis by Saturday, less than forty-eight hours from now. But she wasn’t counting and no one here cared about a wedding thirteen hundred miles away.
Maybe there was such a thing as life beyond Manhattan.
Her heeled, beaded gladiator sandals and gauzy sundress were so far off from the tight-fitting style she was famous for she had to keep reminding herself that she was dressed. So used to Spanx and clothing with extra tummy-control to make herself and her clients model-slim, it was at once freeing and disconcerting to let her belly relax in public.
As for her hips and butt, which were always what her trainer in SoHo focused her grueling workout-until-you-puke sessions on, she was beyond caring. So what if her diet wasn’t nutritionally perfect? It wasn’t as if she needed it to be any longer. She didn’t have to put on a perfectly tailored haute couture wedding gown in a month. As she’d planned for the past two years.
Sonja was the one wearing the white gown this weekend. And Tori. Anger threatened to tear away her careful composure. Why the hell did that little witch think she could claim Poppy’s designs as her own?
Breathe. This weekend is about Sonja. She smiled to herself as she sipped the cocktail she’d grabbed off the bartender’s table. It was going to be fun to be able to relax and enjoy the entire event without either being the stylist or bride. She and Sonja had agreed she wouldn’t work Sonja’s wedding for this very reason.
Besides, as she looked at what everyone was wearing, her contemporary, take-no-prisoners New York styles were far off from the softer, more casual tastes of this crowd.
“What do you think of your Sazerac?” Sonja appeared next to her, pointing at her cocktail. Sonja was a vision in a simple white halter top and cut-off jeans. Her gold jewelry and flowered sandals made up for the casual wear, so Poppy didn’t feel too overdressed.
“It’s delicious. Kind of like a Manhattan, but more tart.”
“I knew you’d love it! Come here and meet our friends.” Sonja dragged her by the hand over to a large group of mostly couples and proceeded to show her off to her friends. Henry smiled at her, as if saying “see what I told you?” When they’d met earlier in the kitchen, he’d been icing down drinks and told her she was amongst friends. Poppy immediately liked him. He was everything Sonja had said. Smart, funny, and sexy. And obviously very in love with his bride-to-be.
Three of which Will hadn’t been. Will was always sexy, it was his trademark and what she’d worked with him on for the past two years as his stylist. But smart and funny? Nope. And in love with her? Um, no.
She’d never recognized the signs, though. You didn’t want to.
“Sonja says you’re in fashion in New York? How did you two ever meet?” A pretty blond named Daisy tilted her head, smiling as her boyfriend snaked his arm around her tiny waist.
“Uh, yes, that’s right.” Please let this bright smile stop the Q&A. “We were college roommates, all four years, in New York.”
“And when I came back home for law school I couldn’t convince Poppy to join me.” Sonja kept the conversation going, and Poppy loved her for it.
Daisy wasn’t done. Poppy had just enough time to swig back another gulp of her bourbon drink before the gauntlet lowered.
“Wait a minute—fashion? You look just like that woman who works for the Kardashians or something.”
“You do! I thought you looked familiar. But your hair is way different, right?” Another woman in the group, Marie, spoke up, her smile wide.
Poppy shrugged. “I am a personal stylist, yes. But I’ve never worked with the Kardashians. Most of my clients are in the business sector.” Small lie.
“Didn’t you have a television show on TLC?”
“No, that wasn’t me hosting, although I’ve appeared in a few episodes.” One in particular that focused on hotshot Wal
l Street CEOs and their private lives. It had been the night Will proposed to her, on his yacht, with all of Manhattan lit up behind them.
“Poppy’s getting ready to launch her design line all across the country. Attitude by Amber.” Sonja shot her an “I’m sorry” look as she steered the questions away from the implosion that was currently Poppy’s life.
“I thought you looked familiar!”
“Oh. My. God. I just read about you, your, um…”
Humiliation burned raw and sharp, making her skin feel as though it was being rubbed with brambles. The soft touch of Sonja’s arm around her shoulders was a lifeline.
“That’s all behind Poppy now. She’s come here to work on something new while she house-sits for us.”
Poppy met her best friend’s gaze and smiled through her tears of embarrassment. “I’m here to celebrate your wedding, remember?”
The group laughed, skittishly at first but then the women took Sonja’s cue and focused on her new line.
“How cool! What will you feature?”
“Will it be more of that New York contemporary look you’re known for, or can those of us south of the Mason Dixon Line use it?”
Poppy was immensely grateful there was no further mention of Will or her disastrous career mistake. “I’m creating both clothing and home decor lines, all based on various regions in the U.S.” She could handle this question—it was her job, after all. “The purpose of any kind of decor, whether it’s for the home or your everyday work outfit, is to have it express your personal style. Help you enjoy life to the fullest. My focus is on helping you find what fits you, your life, your personality and tastes. As with any other customer-oriented business, style is all about the client.”
“So tell us, you make a lot of money doing this, right?” One of the men spoke up. Poppy gulped.
“I have. I did. I’m not as focused on that right now.” Oh God, she had to get away from this. Did she really think changing her looks and taking a plane to NOLA would make her problems disappear? No one knew about the whispers that had started right as she left New York. Rumors of the lawsuit type. Rumors that were in fact, true.
“Poppy, let me introduce you to some other friends.” Henry was next to her, pulling her away, while Sonja kept chatting up the circle of interested friends. They really were the perfect couple.
Henry took her elbow and led her down to where the steps gave way to a pier. The river flowed past and seemed to make a soft humming noise she didn’t recognize.
“Sorry about that. Sonja wondered if she should warn our friends not to bother you.”
“No, it’s fine, really.” She finished her drink and resisted the urge to throw the glass into the river. “That would have been beyond awkward. Like I was the insane relative everyone had to tiptoe around. Besides, what were the chances anyone from here really follows the absurdities of a New York fashion stylist?”
Henry’s smile was kind and generous. “Obviously very good. But I think it bodes well for your upcoming launch. People like you as a designer.”
“Thanks, Henry. I can see why Sonja fell for you.”
He looked out at the water. “Sonja and I have been through the wringer ourselves. It hasn’t been all over social media like yours, but we understand the need for privacy and a chance to heal.”
“Is your family that tough, Henry?” She assumed that’s what he was referring to. Sonja hadn’t mentioned any other kind of relationship strain, not that she would this close to the nuptials.
Henry nodded. “Oh, yes. I haven’t mentioned it to Sonja but it won’t surprise me if they are no-shows for the wedding. They’ve already called off coming to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. At least my mother was polite enough to text me that much.”
“Henry, I’m so sorry!” She laid a hand on his forearm. “What about your siblings? You have two, right?” She hoped she remembered it correctly.
“Yes, I have a younger sister, Jena, who can’t make it because she’s overseas with the military. But my younger brother will be here.” His eyes were a bright blue but she saw the shadows of pain and turmoil in them.
“You really love Sonja. And she knows it, you know.”
“With all my heart.” And he’d be so thrilled when he found out he was about to be a father. Her heart eased the tiniest bit from the hard bindings she’d tied around it. Seeing someone else so in love, so happy, was good for the soul.
The soft humming of the water grew louder and turned into a huge ungodly roar as if it reached up from the depths of the river. Further dialogue was impossible without knowing American Sign Language.
Poppy watched Henry shade his eyes from the late afternoon sun with his hand and followed his gaze.
“What. The. Fuck.” She spoke under her breath and besides, no one could hear anything over the engines on the huge metal contraption that was obviously a boat. It had two giant turbo-fan-things on its back part, and the hull was pointed straight at the deck. What the hell was this, Duck Dynasty?
Water sloshed up and over the small pier, and Poppy sucked in a breath. Holy crap, it was going to hit the pier and they were going to end up in the water. Poppy turned to run back to the house only to find the entire pre-wedding party at the edge of the deck, blocking her way to safety. They all either grinned, laughed, or nodded in some kind of Cajun understanding. Or was it Creole? Either way, no one appeared as disturbed as she felt.
Poppy turned back toward the boat. Miraculously it hadn’t crushed the landing but instead was pulled alongside it. As loud as the engines were, the river was again silent as they powered down without warning. A tall, athletic man in jeans and a white T-shirt hopped off the boat and wound a thick tether line around the single humongous iron cleat she’d missed earlier. Poppy knew a bit about boating from her time in Will’s yacht. She’d watched the ship’s crew bring them into port dozens of times. But this wasn’t a pink sand beach in Bermuda and the ship’s crew obviously had a different dress code.
The partygoers behind her applauded as the boat hand swaggered up the dock toward them. Poppy snorted at his stride, because swagger was indeed the perfect description. She’d helped countless CEOs, male and female alike, learn to walk with such confidence, minus the shit-eating grin. That a regular workingman naturally had what others had paid her dearly for was comical.
And tragic. She bit back a deep sigh. Later, with her hunk of melted chocolate and mini-bottles of whiskey, she’d indulge. There had to be a hack for carving the strips of aluminum foil wrappers out from the congealed block of chocolate.
“Hey, bro.” The hunky ship’s mate smiled and only then did she see the blue depths of his eyes, the chiseled chin, the same shade of hair as…
“Gus.” Henry took two steps to meet the man who’d called him “bro.” This hired hand was Henry’s brother? Sonja had said he had a brother, but she’d assumed he’d be like Henry, like the gentile Southern family that she assumed the Boudreauxs were.
Not some he-man with shoulders that stretched his optic white cotton T-shirt from seam to seam, tucked into worn button-flys. Who wore their shirts tucked in anymore, by the way? Must be a Southern thing. Or a boat hand who looks like an underwear model on a billboard in Times Square thing.
As the men gave each other a friendly but not overly affectionate hug, Poppy used the few heartbeats to gather her poise. She scanned the crowd from behind her sunglasses. They all looked in awe of Gus.
Gus? It had to be a nickname, right?
“Gus! We’re so glad you’re here. Now the party can start.” Sonja had pushed her way through the gawking party and was on her tiptoes to give Gus a big smackaroo on his lips. A tug of awareness in Poppy’s gut broke through her observation. As if she wanted to be the one giving him the kiss. What the hell? Since Will, her sex hormones had abandoned ship. No way could a good ol’ boy driving a tin can on muddy waters be calling
them out. She took him in again, finding no fault in his attractiveness. Maybe Gus was some kind of lusty hormone Pied Piper.
“Come meet everyone, brother.” Henry looked around and—please, please, not me, not me—smiled when his gaze landed on Poppy. Fuck.
“Poppy, allow me to introduce you to my younger brother, Gus.”
“Poppy?” He had the same lovely drawl as Henry’s and the guests she’d met so far, but his voice was deeper. Less cultured, maybe. Definitely not a man who spent his life in courtrooms. He tilted his head slightly as he waited for her to nod in affirmation.
“Yes. Poppy Kaminsky. Nice to meet you.” At the awkward pause she shoved her hand forward. Henry’s brother met her halfway and grasped it, his fingers wrapping around hers in a firm, warm clasp that she felt to the base of her spine. Double what the hell?
“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine. And it’s Brandon Boudreaux, by the way. I only let my brother get away with calling me ‘Gus.’” His smile had appeared attractive as she watched him greet Henry, but at close range it was deadly. And he knew it, from his sparkling indigo eyes to the incredible six-pack he had to sport to be able to tuck in his goddammed undershirt. “What’s that I hear in your voice, a sprinkle of Yankee?” His sexy grin was so practiced she almost giggled. Giggled.
As heat that she couldn’t blame on the mild Louisiana winter infused her face, Poppy realized that this was the third what the hell moment in as many minutes with Brandon Boudreaux.
She forced out her trademark husky laugh, but it sounded more like a bullfrog’s mating call from the surrounding marsh. “It’s a lot more than a sprinkle. More like a whole handful. I’m from New York.” She lifted her chin and mustered her inner vixen. Somewhere deep inside she knew to never reveal her quaking insides to this man.
Because Brandon “Gus” Boudreaux was a triple threat. And her shredded psyche didn’t have the energy to deal with him. Her heart beat hard and sure, fighting to shove her ego aside. All the more reason to consider Brandon Boudreaux off-limits. She’d only see him over the next few days, thank all the voodoo spirits in the bayou.
