Sultry Nights

“Does eight o’clock work for you?

His temples pounded. “I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, if you get there before me just let them know you’re meeting me. They’ll take good care of you.”

“I’m sure they will.” He was biting down so hard that he was on the verge of cracking a tooth.

“See you at eight,” she said, her voice full of cheer.

“Eight.”

It took all he had not hurl the phone across the room. Instead, he pushed back so hard from the chair that it went slamming against the wall, rattling the framed company licenses that hung there.

“That uppity…” He ran his hand across his face then his head and started to pace the cramped space. “Who does she think she is, anyway? Am I supposed to be impressed…intimidated…embarrassed? This her way of showing me who’s boss?”

“That bad that you’re talking to yourself?”

Trevor’s pacing hitched for a second when he saw Max in the doorway then resumed.

“What the hell happened in here?” His eyes widened in alarm. The wall plaques and certificates were askew. If he wasn’t mistaken it looked like a small pool of light brown liquid had found a home at the foot of Trevor’s desk. He focused on the top of the desk. “Is that my blueprint?” He hurried into the room and lifted the limp page from the desk. “Aw, man, you got to be kidding me.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Trevor snapped.

“You got that right. How’d you manage this and what has you so pissed off, anyway?”

“Her.”

“Come again.”

“Her. Dominique Lawson.”

“I would ask for some coffee to get my thoughts to catch up to yours but it’s spilled all over my blueprint.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Trevor.

“I guess you’re gonna have to verbally bring me up to speed. What does she have to do with your foul mood and this fiasco?”

Trevor heaved a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with her and you know what she did? She invited me to dinner at some snazzy restaurant.” He went on to explain the phone conversation.

By the time Trevor was finished, the small snickers that Max had held in erupted into full-blown laughter.

“Man, you have got to be kidding me. A beautiful woman invites you to one of the most exclusive restaurants in the state of Louisiana and you’re pissed off. What you need to be doing is getting your one suit out of the cleaners.” He chuckled some more.

“I’m glad I can amuse you. It’s my calling.”

“Look, man, I’m sorry. But for real… What’s the problem? You could probably buy and sell that place without blinking an eye.”

“That’s beside the point. She doesn’t know that. She thinks I’m some dusty, working slob that needs a job.”

“And whose fault is that?” Max looked him in the eye.

Trevor turned away.

“I know you have your reasons for remaining Mr. Anonymous, but don’t get ticked when folks buy into the charade.”

Trevor rubbed his chin. “I have more than one suit, you know.”

“Really? You mean you bought one since college graduation?”

Trevor’s features creased. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Very funny. I should go like this,” he said, and stretched out his arms to display his plaid work shirt, faded jeans and construction boots.

“Forget about the front door. You wouldn’t get past the parking lot.” He took the damp blueprint and draped it over the drafting table to dry. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Where?”

“My tailor does amazing work. And he’s fast. I can’t have you going to the Chateau and ruining my rep.”

“Your rep?”

“Yeah, it might get out that we’re business partners. I go there at least once a month when I have a lovely lady that I want to impress. And the suites upstairs…”

“Suites?”

“Yes. About a half dozen. Damned hard to secure one, though if you do, trust me, it’s well worth it.”

“I take it you’ve “secured one” from time to time.”

“Of course.” He grinned.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Max Hunt was not only a savvy businessman and brilliant designer, but a connoisseur of all things expensive: clothes, cars, homes and women. He didn’t have the same hang-ups that Trevor did about the millions that they had amassed over the years, much of which was due to Max’s astute understanding of the financial markets and Trevor’s keen sense of what was going to take off and what wasn’t. Together they were a formidable team, and as opposite on most issues as day and night—clothing being one of them.

“Trust me, he’ll hook you up and believe me, my brother—” he stepped up to him and straightened the collar of his un-ironed plaid shirt “—you could really use it.”

Max adjusted his burgundy tie and fastened the single button on his metal-gray Armani suit jacket that Trevor guesstimated cost at least a thousand dollars.

“How much is this going to set me back, Max?”

“Price is not a factor when you’re trying to impress a woman.”

“Who said I was trying to impress a woman?”

Max grinned. “You didn’t have to. It’s all over my blueprint.” He laughed. “Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Zoe was saying as she bounced one twin on her thigh and bottle fed his sister in the stroller.

Dominique looked on in amazement. It was still hard for her to put “mommy” and Zoe Beaumont-Treme in the same picture, but here she was. Totally domesticated, like a lioness that was raised by humans. Dominique fully expected that one of these days Zoe was going to realize that she was supposed to run free in the wild and she’d show up on her doorstep with a suitcase and a plane ticket to the Caribbean, saying, “let’s go.” But when Dominique witnessed the expression of pure adoration in Zoe’s eyes when she looked at her babies, Mikayla and Mikai, she wasn’t so sure if that day would ever come.