Chapter Twenty
Julian
I purposely returned to Bourbon Street even though it was way out of my way. I wanted to pass by that moron's club. In fact, I was hoping he’d be there. I had the unquenchable urge to introduce his face to my fist.
I couldn't believe he'd made Georgie think she was inferior to him. That snake. She was such a confident woman. It was one of the things I loved about her. She was happy and proud of her life, as she should be. Georgie had a great business and was good at what she did. The only time she seemed down or out of sorts was when we spoke about that dickhead or when he was present. Then she sort of disappeared into herself.
The door to Deveraux's club was open, and I immediately stepped inside. There was just one person behind the counter, slicing lemons.
"Is Kyle here?" I asked him.
The guy looked up at me. "The boss? No. Who's asking?"
"Julian LeBlanc." My tone was authoritative enough to get his attention.
His eyes widened. Yeah, I was known around the Quarter.
"Want me to send him a message?" he asked. It hadn't occurred to me, but now that he asked, it did seem like a good idea.
"Tell him not to provoke me. He won't like my retaliation."
The guy stopped slicing lemons. " That's what you want me to tell my boss? I'm sorry, no can do. I thought you wanted to tell him something like ‘Call me later.’"
I walked up to the bar and tipped him fifty dollars. “Give him the message."
"Dude, that's a fifty.”
“I know.”
"I guess I'll take my chances for a fifty. Let's hope he doesn't shoot the messenger."
With a nod, I headed out the door.
I felt much better after leaving the club. I'd never taken this thing with Kyle seriously. I knew he was an asshole back in school, but after that, we'd mostly avoided each other right up until we were bidding for the same building. But this business with Georgie was too much. No one should treat another person like that. Absolutely no one. And sleazebags like Kyle thought they could get away with everything. It was time someone told him he wouldn't.
I only needed about fifteen minutes to get home, where I quickly showered and changed into fresh clothes. But I still had too much energy. I didn't want to stay inside. Conversely, I didn't want to go to work either. Unlike Georgie, I could afford the luxury of taking a day off. I did that from time to time. It was a good way to recharge.
Usually, that day off also coincided with some of Bella's days off at school. She and I had spent many fun uncle-niece days in the city. But now those days were far and few between. Chad and Scarlett took turns whenever Bella had a random day off at school, and the occasional uncle fill-in was no longer needed.
I had half a mind to drop by Georgie's shop. And that thought had me stopping in my tracks. What had gotten into me? She had to work. I was a grown-ass man. I’d been with her the entire night. That should've been enough... but that impulse was growing stronger.
I decided to leave Georgie be and check up on my mom instead. On the way, I instructed my assistant to pick up the masks from the hotel next week. Mom’s gallery wasn’t far, and she was working today because she was receiving a big shipment from New York. I was certain she could use my muscles. She was always extra careful when it came to loading and unloading paintings because of her back issues. She usually called to ask if I had time to spare, and I wondered why she hadn't this time. She’d probably figured I'd be sleeping the whole day away after the party.
I bought her a coffee on the way, but not from Maria's. I couldn’t dodge the woman's questions if I was alone.
There was a lot of commotion inside Mom’s gallery when I arrived. A truck was in front with her delivery, and I whistled when I saw its contents. That was a lot of paintings they were unloading. I knew the layout of her gallery by heart, and I instantly knew she didn't have space to show all of them.
"Morning," I said, stopping next to her. She was on the sidewalk, coordinating the crew unloading the paintings.
"Oh my goodness! Julian, I didn't see you."
"I figured. Coffee?"
Mom immediately took the cup from me. "Thank you. I worked myself into such a frenzy this morning, I forgot to have one."
"I know. You always do when you have a delivery. Want me to jump in and help?"
"Actually, I'd prefer you here on the ground with me, keeping an eye on things.”
"I'm at your service."
She looked at me intently, smiling even though she was clearly still anxious over all the commotion. "I thought you'd be sleeping in today."
"I had an early start. It surprised me too."
"That start took you by Maria's coffee shop?"
I jerked my head. "How would you know that? You said you didn’t have coffee."
"No, but Chad went there to get coffee for himself and Scarlett. Maria told him you showed up with someone who looked a lot like Georgie."
"Chad told you that?"
"No, that was Isabeau. She also passed by the coffee shop."
I was laughing in earnest now. "I'm glad I didn't run into anyone while I was there with Georgie. That would've made things awkward."
Mom beamed. "Oh, honey. You know, none of us bought your story when Beckett told us."
"What do you mean?"
"About you and Georgie faking things."
"It wasn't a story. Our plan was—”
"I'm not questioning if that was your intention. But the way you spoke about her at brunch indicated that you already cared about her.” I said nothing, and Mom nudged me. "I'm happy about it. Everyone is."
"Everyone?"
"Your brothers sort of probably know more than they let on. And your grandmothers gave Georgie a perfume with lilac, so clearly they’re thrilled."
I sighed. "Aren't we all getting a bit too old to still believe that story?"
Mom gave me a full-on grin. "You say that, but it did work, didn't it?"
"It wasn't the... Ah, I give up." When Mom or the grandmothers started with the lilac, there was no stopping them. They believed it worked. Who was I to argue with them? Besides, this was New Orleans. Believing lilac had powers was the least of it.
She hesitated before adding in a lowered voice, "You've always been a bit of a loner. You're like me that way. And you have a mind of your own."
"Well, as you said, I take after you."
Mom had always been extremely strong-willed. Even though her family owned multiple businesses and she’d married into one who owned a truckload of other businesses, she did her own thing. So with me in tow, she'd opened this gallery when she was in her early twenties, and she'd been here ever since.
“Although, you’re probably the most strong-willed of us all, opening the gallery and all that,” I continued.
"I've always loved art, and New Orleans is a haven for finding new artists."
True, Mom was always on the lookout for local, undiscovered artists. Even so, she managed to constantly attract crowds.
"I admire you for it."
"Thank you. Anyway, a word of advice. I know you have a great life, and you like it."
"I do," I said in a measured tone.
"But if there is something there with Georgie, don't let it go to waste." I opened my mouth, but Mom shook her head. "Don't contradict me."
"I wasn't going to."
"Then you were going to placate me?" she suggested.
"Possibly."
"See, I know my sons well." She frowned as she looked at all the paintings that were already unloaded. "All right, I think we should divide and conquer. Each painting has a number, and I put Post-its on the wall to indicate what painting goes where."
"I'm on it."
"You need help?"
"You always ask me that. No."
"Well, not many people can hang up paintings single-handedly."
I winked at her. "I've had enough practice."
I immediately started with the painting numbered 1. The guys who unloaded them had already arranged them based on numbers, so all I had to do was unpackage and hang them.
As I got to work, Mom’s words replayed in my mind. What was she trying to say? Mom was unlike Isabeau and Celine in that regard. Those two were always extremely direct—maybe too much so. But Mom was subtle. Even so, I understood her message. And I agreed with it.
I moved on to the second painting soon enough. It was of the bayou. Damn, this was good. I almost felt like I was there with my grandfathers, fishing. Mom truly had an eye for spotting talent.
She also had an eye for when her sons needed advice. Ever since I'd dropped Georgie at the shop, all I could think about was the next time I saw her.
But after chatting with Mom, an idea popped into my mind. The plan was crystallizing as I hung up painting after painting. Clearly, the motif was the bayou. Each painting was by a different artist, but they all formed a coherent story. Mom was a genius even when it came to arranging the paintings a certain way.
I finished setting them up two hours later. My right arm felt like it was about to fall off, and my left shoulder was sore as hell. I could do it all on my own, but it came at a price.
When I returned to the entrance hall, something smelled delicious.
"Just in time," Mom said. "Got a muffuletta for you."
"Thanks. I haven't had that in a while. Should drop by the Central Grocery more often. I forget how good it is."
"I agree."
I kept rotating my left shoulder as I ate a muffuletta. Perfect lunch. It was quick.
"What are you going to do today?" Mom asked.
"I'll drop by the office."
"And then the bar?"
"Nah, not tonight."
"You need an early evening after the fun yesterday." Mom successfully hid her smile behind her muffuletta, but I still heard it.
"You're behaving a bit odd today," I informed her.
It seemed I took more after Isabeau. I was far too direct when it came to family. But even in business, I rarely beat around the bush.
"It's not every day that I see the change in my eldest son that I always hoped to see."
My eyes bulged. "The change?"
"You had a light-bulb moment. I can tell."
"I'm not going to argue with that." I looked around. "Do you still need my help with anything? I don't have to go by the office."
"No, you've really done more than enough. I'm feeling guilty now. I think you might've strained your shoulder."
"It's just aching."
"You could drop by your grandmothers' shop. They have this divine new concoction cream that helps with muscle relaxation. I don't know where those two come up with the recipes, but they’re always good."
"I don't doubt it, but the smell is usually too..."
"Feminine?" Mom asked, winking at me. "They're ahead of you with this one. They have it in two versions, for men and for women."
"Now I'm interested."
"But a word of warning. If you do visit them, you might get a lot of questions."
I chuckled. "Thanks for the heads-up."
On second thought, my shoulder was much better already. And I had more important things to do today—namely, figuring out my next steps in regard to Georgie.