Chapter 3
Three
CHARLOTTE
By seven o’clock, the engagement party is in full swing.
Makena’s food truck is serving sliders and fancy fries, the bar is three-deep with guests, and Parker looks happier than I’ve ever seen him, one arm slung around Makena’s shoulders while he talks to Grammercy and his wife, Elly.
I circulate through the crowd with a champagne flute I’m hitting a little harder than I probably should, accepting compliments on the party, urging people to hit the photo booth, playing the role I was born to play.
I am the gracious hostess, the successful businessperson, the woman who couldn’t care less that her ex just bashed her in NOLA’s biggest society magazine.
But secretly, I’m keeping close tabs on him…
Nix.
He’s been lurking on the periphery since he arrived, eating, drinking, and staying out of the way.
He wears dark jeans and a deep blue designer tee that fits him well enough to be distracting.
His sandy-blonde hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running a hand through it, and his full lips curve as he laughs at something one of his friends just said.
Damn, he looks good.
Really good.
Good enough to bang in the tomato plants, if one had consumed a few too many glasses of wine…
My stomach flutters as my body remembers how much fun we had in June. Remembers the heat of his mouth and the confidence in his touch, the way he’d made me laugh and come in equal measure. The man knows how to use that gorgeous body of his, how to move, how to linger, how to…
I shake my head and spin back to the bar for a champagne refill.
This is business. Strategy. A mutually beneficial proposition that has nothing to do with the heat currently dampening my panties.
Still, I continue to monitor my target from the corner of my eye. He’s tense. The set of his shoulders broadcasts stress, and I know from my gentle probing of Makena that his meeting with management didn’t go well. He’s still in trouble, the kind that could end a career.
This couldn’t be more perfect.
He needs help.
I need revenge.
I also need to slip into something…more comfortable.
Heading upstairs, I swap my white pantsuit for a black dress with a deep V in the front. Then, I return to the party via the laundry room, stalking my prey from downwind like a lioness on the savannah.
Nix doesn’t notice me until I’m slipping up to stand beside him.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes widening with a hint of surprise, followed quickly by more than a hint of interest. “Great party.”
“Thanks. But hotter than I expected. I had to pop inside to change. And well, I…” I trail off, glancing down before shifting my focus back to his face. “I wanted to talk to you, so I snuck up on you from behind. I hope that’s okay.”
He smiles, that confident, slightly flirty, slightly self-conscious smile that makes my blood fizzier than champagne. “It’s just fine.”
Not yet, I think, but it might be very soon…
I nod over my shoulder. “Up for a chat in the laundry room? Where we won’t be stared at by Parker or Makena or…anyone else?”
“Sure,” he says, following me across the lawn, up the small steps, and into my utility space. It’s small, intimate, cozy, the perfect setting for bringing a man around to a slightly crazy plan…
I close the door and turn to face him.
He’s bigger than I remembered, broader, but still smells like pricey detergent, sea spray, and a hint of fresh cut grass. I’d assumed the grassy smell was coming from Parker’s lawn this summer, but no. Apparently, this is Nix’s signature scent.
One I still find inexplicably sexy…
I lean against the dryer, willing a “not in the least bit interested in licking your chest” expression onto my face, pretending his pheromones don’t do dastardly things to my nipples.
Focus, woman. Focus! Lock in and execute the plan.
“I have no idea how to say this, so I’ll just say it. Flat out,” I blurt, faking it until I make it. “I heard you were in trouble for beating a guy up last weekend. And facing suspension if you can’t convince the higher-ups that you’re on the straight and narrow from now on. Is that right?”
His jaw clenches, and a hint of defensiveness tightens his expression. “Yeah, that’s about the size of it. But I don’t regret what I did. That asshole had it coming.”
“Sounds like it,” I agree. I have no reason to doubt Makena’s account that Nix was playing hero when he got himself in trouble.
He seems to have white-knight tendencies, a fact I hope will make him more open to my proposal.
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t be punished for it.
People get punished for doing the right thing all the time. ”
He shrugs, humor creeping back into his voice. “But virtue for virtue’s sake, right? At least that’s what Aristotle said.”
“Aristotle also said virtue calls for judgment,” I counter, ignoring the fact that chatting philosophy with this man makes me tingle.
“I’m not saying you made an error in judgment, but I have a feeling the Voodoo management might have a different opinion…
” I pull in a breath, adding with a benevolent smile, “So, I have a proposition for you.”
His brows shoot up. “I’m listening.”
Here goes nothing…
I point a finger at his muscled pecs. “You need to rehabilitate your image. Show the world, you’re not some loose cannon who solves problems with his fists.
” I swivel my finger around to tap my own chest, right above where my cleavage gets scandalous.
“And I need a date for my ex’s wedding in a few weeks.
Someone who will make him regret every stupid decision he’s ever made.
I wasn’t going to worry about revenge, but things have escalated recently and…
” I exhale a laugh with razor-sharp edges.
“Well, I feel like being petty. Really petty. And me showing up to his wedding with my gorgeous hockey player boyfriend is the kind of petty that will drive Theodore fucking nuts.”
I watch Nix’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. His lips twitch at the word “gorgeous,” but he seems to be focusing on the logistics.
“Boyfriend, huh?” He frowns. “So, this would be more than a wedding date kind of thing?”
“It would have to be to convince the team that you’re a stable, settled man in a long-term relationship with a boring older woman.” I wink. “One who will keep you home doing reno projects on your nights off, so you won’t get into trouble on Bourbon Street.”
He nods slowly. I watch as his brain chews on my proposal.
His brain is sexy when it chews.
Nearly as sexy as when he’s spouting philosophy or confessing that fucking me is the best thing that’s happened to his body in longer than he can remember…
“How long are we talking?” he asks, pulling me from my persistently horny thoughts.
Clearly, I should have done something to take the edge off before approaching this man.
“Six weeks? Two months?” I suggest. “Long enough that your PR team decides you’re not a problem anymore and moves on?”
“That’s a lot of investment on your part,” he says, his brow furrowing again. “Seems kind of unfair. A couple of months of work in exchange for one night.”
I smile. “But it will be one hell of a night. His wife-to-be was also a friend. My protégée, actually. I want to rub her nose in my superior happiness, too. Make it clear she didn’t take anything I wasn’t done with a long time ago.
” I shrug, aiming for casual even though just thinking about Teddy and Madison for too long is enough to make my blood pressure spike.
“You’re significantly better looking than Theodore.
Probably smarter, too, which I know will really chap his ass, so… ”
Nix nudges my knee with his, making me acutely aware of how close we are. “You think I’m smart?”
I roll my eyes. “You know you’re smart.”
“Yeah, but a lot of women don’t notice.” He leans closer, until I’m at serious risk of losing the battle against resisting the urge to lick him. He’s just so…lickable. “I like that you do. And I like that you know Aristotle.”
“Aristotle was a smart man,” I whisper, holding his increasingly heated gaze.
I’m violating Nix at least three different ways with my eyes right now, but I can’t seem to help myself. The air in the room shifts, thickens until I’m even more aware of his earthy scent and how easy it would be to work in a quickie against the washing machine before we return to the party.
This is dangerous.
Younger men are fine for one-night stands here and there, but I’m forty years old. I’m ready to settle down, and I’m not going to find my forever with someone who was in diapers when I was in third grade. I need a partner with more experience, one who’s at the same stage of life.
Giving Nix any more of my precious time, or God forbid, risking a real attachment, would be a serious mistake.
But I can’t seem to take a step back…
“Okay, then, sounds good,” he rumbles in his “deep and serious voice.” “When do we start?”
I force myself to exhale a breezy sigh, to act casual, to pretend I’m not about to slam him against the wall and devour him whole. “I don’t know. I mean, tonight could work. Think about it, and let me know. I’ll be on the dance floor.”
I’m halfway to the door—halfway to fresh air and dozens of curious eyeballs that will hopefully help me pull my shit together—when he calls, “Charlotte.”
I glance back, one eyebrow arched, feigning chill. “Yes?”
“How far do you want this to go?” He searches my face, his gaze lingering a beat too long on my lips. “Are we holding hands in public and calling it good? Or are we really selling it?”
It’s a fair question. A necessary question, even.
But I don’t have a good answer. I’m not entirely sure I trust myself to set those kinds of boundaries right now. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
Not when I’m still longing to see if he tastes as good as I remember.
But I’m not about to admit that.
Instead, I shrug and shoot him a sassy smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”
I slip out of the laundry room and close the door behind me, enough heat coming off my skin that I instantly cross to the vintage metal containers full of beer. I pluck a piece of melting ice from the top and press it to my throat, willing my hormones to sit the fuck down and chill the fuck out.
Yes, as a middle-aged woman, I’m apparently in my sexual peak.
And yes, I’ve been celibate since that night in June, when Nix did reality-altering things to my body in Parker’s garden, and am in serious need of a quality shagging.
But those aren’t acceptable excuses for taking my eye off the ball.
And the ball is proving to my piece of shit ex and his traitorous bride-to-be that I have moved on.
That I couldn’t care less that they took advantage of me, betrayed my trusting heart, and topped it off by spitting in my face in print in front of the entire city.
My family has been here since the 1800s, when my French trader ancestors travelled across the ocean to make Louisiana their home. Generations of Delaneys have lived here, loved here, and done our best to make NOLA a beautiful, cosmopolitan, cultured place to live.
Hell, Teddy and Maddie wouldn’t have had a botanical garden to take cheesy pictures in without my parents’ work to restore the plants after Hurricane Katrina.
This is my city.
And no one spits in my face in my city.
Thoughts once more firmly centered on revenge, I head to the dance floor to shake it off with Makena.
This is all I need: a little physical activity to banish the hungry she-beast within back to the cave from whence she came.
Right?