Page 8 of The House on Prytania
“That’s admirable, Beau. Really. But the Sabatier Group is huge, and the family behind it is very powerful in ways Uncle Bernie is afraid to tell us. You can’t do it alone.”
He paused. Took a deep breath. “I know. I wasn’t planning on it.”
I studied him with growing incredulity. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I realize this is a big ask....”
“A big ask? That’s like calling Katrina a little storm. I never want to see Michael again.” I paused, needing to redirect the conversation before I lost my self-control. Forcing a smile, I said, “Not to mention that if something happened to you, I’d have to find another general contractor to manage my renovation, and that could slow me down a bit. A good contractor is hard to find.”
He didn’t smile. “Have you ever wondered about Michael’s parents? I’ve been doing a lot of research on the Broussard-Hebert-Sabatier family connections. Michael’s father, Marco, is Antoine’s grandson and worked for Antoine for a number of years. And then, suddenly, he and his wife decide to become missionaries and pack upto go live on the other side of the world. They left their children in the care of Marco’s sister, Angelina, and her husband, Robert Sabatier. This same arrangement stipulated that Michael and his sister, Felicity, be educated up north. Both were sent to boarding school, and Felicity decided to stay. I know I’m not the only one to find that not only weird but also highly suspicious.”
“Sure, that’s strange, but not inconceivable. A lot of kids go to boarding school away from home.”
Beau’s gaze held mine. “That’s not the part that confuses me. It’s the fact that Michael’s parents apparently suddenly found God and decided to devote their lives to saving souls on the other side of the world, leaving their children behind. There is nothing that I have found in any of my research that hints at anything more religious about Marco and his wife, Theresa, than dutifully bringing their children each week to Sunday mass at Holy Name. That’s it. And then boom, they’re off. There’s a story here, just waiting for someone to crack it open and expose all of their dark secrets.”
A cold chill swept over me, raising the hair on my scalp. “Don’t do this, Beau. Please. You have Sunny back. Can’t you just leave it at that? No good can come of you dredging up the past.”
“I’m not so sure.” He turned away from me and stared across the street at the festive trees in their odd coffin planters, each washed with pinpoints of orange lights. “Could you at least think about it?”
“I already gave you my answer—”
“Just think about it, okay?” he said, cutting me off. He stood, holding out his hand to help me up.
I hesitated before slipping my hand into his, preparing myself for the jolt of warmth and that unnamed spark that I refused to identify. I dropped his hand as soon as I could.
Beau’s face remained serious as he spoke. “You’ve had a long day. I’ll help you lock up, and then drive you home.”
“I’ve got my bike. I’ve already texted Trevor to let him know I’d be late for the drop-off.”
“It’s dark, Nola. And the flashlight duct-taped to your handlebarswill only give drivers something to aim for when you attempt to cross Esplanade.”
Too tired to argue, I let him help me lock up and load my bike into the back of his truck. I kept Beau’s jacket around me the entire drive, shivering despite the heat blasting from the dash vents, aware of the glow of a pipe from my front porch and a pair of unseen eyes following us until we turned the corner out of sight.
CHAPTER 4
Jolene chased after me as I attempted to leave the apartment the following day.
“If you’d just hold your horses, I can do a nice French braid....”
I turned around, blocking her brush-wielding arm with my own, like we were two fencers getting ready to face off. “Stop it—I’m going to be late. And I’m just going to meet Sam. Beau won’t be there.”
“Lorda mercy, Nola. I did not just hear you say that. We don’t make ourselves look good for men. We do it as a form of self-respect. When we know we’re put together, it shows off our most intelligent and confident selves. It’s about winning friends and influencing people, and you can’t do that looking like something swept up on the curb by the street cleaner. Besides, it’s always better to arrive late than ugly.”
I stared at her blankly.
“That’s an expression, Nola. You couldn’t be ugly if you tried. And you do seem to try quite a bit with some of your outfits, but we don’t have time for that now.” She held up her brush again and I turned, resigning myself to her ministrations.
“So, what does Sam want to discuss with you?” she asked, pulling my hair back so tightly it made my eyes water.
“I have no idea. She couldn’t have a bone to pick with me. My relationship with Beau has been strictly platonic.” Except once, but that wasn’t something I was going to share.
At the word “bone,” Mardi lifted his head from the sofa pillow that Jolene had embroidered with his name and a cute paw motif.
“Strictly platonic,” Jolene repeated in her slow Southern drawl.
“Exactly. Just like your relationship with Jaxson.”
She gave an extra-hard tug on my hair. “Sorry. Your hair needs extra taming today.”
