The Charmer (The Leblanc Brothers #2)

Chapter One

Julian

"Uncle Julian, do you still have friends at the candy factory?" my adorable little niece, Bella, asked me. We were all gathered at our parents' and grandparents' mansion in the Garden District. Now that Christmas was over, everyone was preparing for the Carnival celebration culminating in Mardi Gras.

"Of course," I assured Bella.

She scrunched her little face in a frown. Even though she was already eight, I kept forgetting that she wasn't a baby or a toddler anymore. She was closer to being a teenager. I shuddered at the thought.

“I miss their candies.”

Chad, one of my brothers who was sitting two chairs away, spoke to his daughter. "Cricket, you eat plenty of candy."

"But you always say that during the Carnival season I can eat as many as I want."

I was going to make sure she got a delivery of everything she liked, so I leaned into her, whispering conspiratorially, "I've got you. You can count on me, Bella."

She gave me a toothy grin.

I adored this little girl as if she were my own. My brother Chad had been a single dad for many years. His ex-wife had scarcely involved herself in Bella's life, which allowed my niece to spend a lot of time with the family.

"Is everything going according to plan for our float?" Mom asked. She was sitting next to Dad. Grandma Isabeau and Grandpa David were on the other side of the table along with Grandma Celine and Grandpa Felix. Yeah, this was a huge and crazy household. They all lived together and somehow made it work.

Our grandparents were very close and had been for decades even though they'd been rivals at some point in the past. They'd owned competitive businesses and had been dead set against my parents getting together at first, but it all worked out in the end, and the New Orleans conglomerate was stronger than ever because of it.

"There was a hiccup along the way, but my team took care of it," I replied.

"What happened?" Isabeau sat straighter in her chair.

"Is this because of the flooding that happened last month?" Mom asked. "I heard it affected the warehouses."

"That's exactly the issue, but don't worry, I'm on top of it. Everything will be ready in time for the parade."

The parade was an annual tradition, and our families had been involved for generations. The Carnival season was my favorite. It started at Epiphany in January and lasted until Fat Tuesday—Mardi Gras—which marked the end of Lent, the forty-day fasting season between Ash Wednesday and Easter. Basically, it was a big-ass party that went on for weeks, or months, depending when Easter was on any given year. There were numerous parades during this time, some smaller than others. Our own float—the motorized kind—was huge.

"Good," Celine said, putting her hand theatrically on her chest. "I couldn't show my face in town if our sponsored float wasn’t perfect."

"I wouldn't dare show my face in this house if it wasn’t," I assured her with a wink.

I rose to stand, ready to end the evening, "All right, everyone. It was good catching up, but I'm heading to the bar tonight,” I said.

The house was quieter than usual tonight, but after all, it was just me, Chad, and Bella visiting. When all six of my brothers were here, plus Chad's fiancée, it was so loud that we could barely hear one another. But I liked the chaos and spending time with the family.

"Thank you for taking care of everything Carnival related," Isabeau added.

"Sure, my pleasure. You already have so much to deal with, Grandma. I can handle it."

She bristled a little at the word Grandma .

Because my parents had kids young, my grandparents had insisted that they wanted us to call them by their names. They only mellowed when Bella came along and called them Nana or a variation of it. They were still a bit iffy about us grandkids actually calling them grandparents, but I liked to tease them.

After bidding goodbye to everyone, I headed straight to my car. The drive from the Garden District to the French Quarter didn't take long. Fortunately, I had a good parking spot behind the bar, because the city was packed.

I got out of the car and knew we had a full house tonight by the sounds coming from inside. Even with the windows and doors closed, the noise found its way out. But on a typical Saturday night, the French Quarter was always busy. And things were only going to get crazier as the Carnival season approached.

The Orleans Conglomerate was a huge company and was made up of multiple branches: restaurants, bars, bakeries, music venues, you name it. The Broussard and LeBlanc families covered a lot of ground. I was running the bars. Each of my brothers ran different businesses, and even so, we still managed to get involved in plenty of other things, like the float business.

Isabeau acted like I was doing her a big favor, because she and Celine had been responsible for the float before they retired. But it wasn't inconveniencing me at all. I was an expert at delegating, which was the main reason why I'd been able to raise profits and open five more bars. My instincts were sharp, and I always hired people I trusted, which was key. Most times I could leave them to their own devices and rarely needed to follow up. But this float business had been more annoying than I'd anticipated.

The owner of the company who was previously doing all the decorations for our float had gotten wind of my last email. She'd sent me some very unprofessional emails in return complaining about my decision. Honestly, I couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman and quickly forwarded her responses to my assistant. I didn't have time for anything like that. The woman just needed to accept it and get over it. It wasn’t as if we were in breach of contract or anything.

"Julian, thank God you're here," one of my bartenders said as I stepped inside. The Lucky Spot was my favorite bar. I had an office here, too, and worked from it more often than from the headquarters of the conglomerate, which was on Royal Street.

I fucking loved coming here, and not just on weekends. I often dropped by during the week, too, after the workday was over. It was on Dumaine Street, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle. I liked the change of pace and the energy of the bar.

"Hit me up. What's wrong?"

"Some of our delivery guys didn't show up tonight."

Not uncommon, especially this time of year. So many suppliers overbooked themselves.

"Send some of the boys shopping right away.” Any solution was better than none. "Do you know what we’re out of?"

"Yeah, I've got a list."

"Perfect. Then give it to them."

I looked around at the customers packing the bar. They all had a drink in their hand and were chatting away or dancing. I'd never tire of the energy in this area. I traveled the world, but absolutely nothing compared to the French Quarter on a weekend.

I looked at my staff and zeroed in on Alexa, one of our younger servers. She looked flushed. No, on second glance, her eyes were red. Maybe she had allergies? I walked over to her.

"Alexa, you feeling okay?" I asked.

She looked up at me and answered, "Um, well, I'm coming down with something, I think. I thought I was getting better, but ever since I started the shift, my nose keeps running."

"Go home."

She jerked her head back. "But my shift just started."

"You're only going to get worse if you work when you're sick. Go home."

The corners of her mouth turned downward. "But I'm..." She shook her head.

"You’ll still get paid for the shift. Tips too," I assured her. I took care of my employees.

Her mouth fell open. "Really?”

“Did HR not tell you about how we do things around here?"

She shrugged. "They might have mentioned something, but in my experience, things like that are too good to be true.”

“Not at the Orleans Conglomerate. Go home. I'm here tonight anyway and can easily help out."

"Thanks, Julian. You're really a great boss."

"Music to my ears. Now come on, leave before you infect the whole place and we get a bad rep." I didn't particularly give a shit about a bad rep, but she needed to get home ASAP.

As I headed behind the counter, I took out my phone, intending to send an email to our drink suppliers to move the delivery time earlier in the afternoon.

Oh, for fuck's sake. I had another email from our former supplier for the float. The woman just wouldn't stop.

Title: Face-to-face meeting.

I snorted. The last thing I had time for was a disgruntled business owner. This was the third email she'd sent. My opinion of her had worsened with every single one of them. This was simply not how business was done. I'd been tempted in the beginning to tell my assistant to hire them back for next year but then quickly changed my mind. I didn’t care for her unprofessionalism.

But curiosity won, and instead of deleting the email, I opened it.

Mr. Leblanc,

It is highly unprofessional of you to dissolve our contract without even bothering to meet me face-to-face, business owner to business owner. And frankly, using your assistant and lawyers to placate me is beneath the LeBlanc & Broussard name. This is the address of the shop if you find yourself in the vicinity.

Georgie

I stared at the email. Was she serious? Who did she think she was? Did she think I was running some mom-and-pop shop that I could just hop on by at the drop of a hat? If I met personally with everyone who had an issue, I'd never get any work done.

I deleted the message. She’d give up eventually. I emailed our drink supplier after that.

Georgie. What was that short for? Georgina? I imagined an elderly woman hiding behind her computer and writing angry emails. It wasn't my fault their warehouse had been flooded. Granted, it wasn't hers either. The only fault she had was making a bad contract that allowed me to pull out of it in case something like this came up.

Whatever.

They probably had insurance that would cover all the damage. Or they should have, anyway. It wasn't my responsibility if another business owner had their shit together or not. “Every man for himself” was my motto. I was just protecting my family’s interests and legacy.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I starting to have a guilty conscience?

"We thought we might find you here."

The familiar voice knocked me out of my thoughts. My youngest brothers, Anthony and Beckett, were here. They often dropped by on Saturday evenings.

"Is it me, or is this place even more crowded than usual?" Beckett asked. "Carnival season hasn’t even officially started."

"Sazerac?" I asked unnecessarily. That was another tradition of sorts in NOLA.

"You know it," Anthony said.

I shouldn't have favorites among my brothers, but these two were definitely at the top of the list.

Since I was the oldest and they were the youngest, there was quite a huge age difference between us. Nowadays, it didn't matter, but back when we were kids, it was another story altogether. I'd been fiercely protective of both of them. Then, once they were old enough to be up to no good, I taught them everything they needed to know, much to our brother Xander's chagrin. I often joked that he was adopted, because he was so different from the rest of us. Always exacting, always double-checking every detail. He was a grump.

"Is Zachary coming too?" I asked Beckett.

"Nah, he has got a date tonight. Speaking of which, I spotted my next date in the crowd."

“Beckett! Not in my bar.”

“Dude! Your employees are off-limits, not your customers. That was the deal.”

“You’re right.” I whistled as I put the cocktails on the counter in front of my brothers. "Your Sazeracs are ready."

As they chugged them down, I remembered Bella's request for sweets—and sent another email. I was determined to never disappoint my niece. She was very levelheaded—well, at least as levelheaded as an eight-year-old could be—and she rarely requested extravagant things. Although, she very well could, considering her family was one of the richest and most powerful in the city.