Sweetheart Bride

“Me, too. She’ll want to hear all about this. You and Nick, I mean.”

“Hey, there is no ‘me and Nick,’ got it?”

“Got it,” Callie said between chews. “I wonder if he’ll want children. Does he know you’re kind of gun-shy in that area?”

Brenna slapped her sister on the arm. “Will you stop talking like that, please? I don’t intend to marry the man. I just want a good job for a good day’s work.”

“And I just want nieces and nephews and another wedding to plan. And I wouldn’t mind living at Fleur House, while we’re wishing.”

Brenna pretended to not notice the sadness in her sister’s eyes. Callie deserved to be happy and she’d make such a wonderful mother. She said a prayer for her sister, then teased, “Get your own man. Preferably, the one who actually owns the house. I hear he’s filthy rich and quite mysterious. He’ll have to show up to claim his property sooner or later. You’d better be ready.”

Callie shook her head. “No, I had my turn. One divorce is quite enough for me, thank you.” She gave a dainty shrug. “But this mysterious owner is intriguing.”

“So you’ll just mess in my life to occupy yourself until the owner shows up?”

“Yep. Seems to be working. Wait until I tell Elvis. He’ll be thrilled, too. He loves Nick.”

Brenna finished filling napkin holders. “That big mutt loves anybody who breathes. But I can agree with your dog on one thing. Nick is nice-looking.”

“Of course he is. Would I set you up with just any ol’ body?”

“We are not set up, remember? We’re working together.”

“Got it.” Callie finished her coffee and pie, then waved her hand in the air. “Just working together. Right.”

Brenna shook her head, then finished her busywork, her mind in turmoil at the thought of working so closely with Nicholas Santiago. She didn’t even know the man and already, he was messing with her head. Telling herself to stick to the plan—business, business, business—she decided it wouldn’t hurt to research her new boss just so she’d be familiar with his style and the demands of her job. She’d do that first thing when she got home tonight.

* * *

He’d research her, see what kind of credentials she had. Nick rarely hired anyone without doing a thorough vetting, but he had no doubt Brenna Blanchard would be an asset to his renovation team. She knew the area, knew the history and she seemed to have a passion for art and literature—two things his boss demanded in all of his employees.

Nick remembered the pride she’d displayed when discussing Fleur and the surrounding areas. Brenna might not want to spend the rest of her life in her quaint little hometown, but she sure did care about the place. That was the kind of intimate passion he needed to renovate and decorate Fleur House. While he had a great interior designer ready to re-create and decorate the house, he also wanted a curator to oversee hanging the art pieces his employer already owned and to buy other pieces to complement the entire house and collection.

Brenna would do the job and he’d enjoy the fringe benefits of her delightful company. A win-win situation. Or one he’d regret when it came time to pull up stakes and leave. Which he’d have to do sooner or later.

Nick got up and looked out the window of his temporary home—a construction trailer parked behind Fleur House. The nondescript trailer served as an office and a place to stay. He’d designed it that way so he didn’t have to rent out a room or stay in run-down hotels. And while Fleur had some quaint little cabins along the bayou, he much preferred to be alone in his own traveling home. He liked the privacy and the ease of transporting himself.

A quick, clean getaway.

That was how the last woman he’d left had described his mode of operation. Or rather, she had called his trailer a means of a quick and easy escape.

And she’d been so right.

He liked to get in, do the job and get out.

No ties to bind him. No hassles to hold him.

So why was he sitting here now doing an online search for any information he could find on Brenna Blanchard?

Because he needed to know her so he could work with her. Of course.

When he pulled up a society picture from the Baton Rouge Advocate newspaper, Nick pored over the words with a hungry intent. Dated a few months ago, the caption stated that Brenna Blanchard and her fiancé, Jeffrey Patterson, had attended a dinner to raise funds for a Baton Rouge art event. The note went on to talk about Brenna’s position at the art gallery and Mr. Patterson’s work at a Baton Rouge law firm. Nick quit reading after that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman in the picture.

Brenna, dressed in a shimmering dark blue cocktail dress, smiled up at the man next to her, her gaze bright with love and admiration. And happiness.

Fiancé?

Had she been engaged to this man?

If so, they must have broken up. Maybe that was why she was unemployed and back in Fleur. Her attitude regarding marriage indicated she wasn’t the marrying kind.

And she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring now.

So much for vetting.

Nick had more than enough information on Brenna Blanchard. She wouldn’t stick around too long, either.

So he had nothing to worry about really.

* * *

She worried with the collar of her blouse.

Not sure how to dress for her first official meeting with Nicholas, Brenna waffled between jeans and a T-shirt to a blue button-up cotton shirt and dress pants.

She finally settled on putting the button-up shirt over some nice trouser jeans. Sensible cushioned loafers would be better than heels while walking throughout the house. She didn’t want to listen to the tap-tap of her shoes while she was trying to envision art on the walls.

Or maybe she didn’t want to distract her new boss with a pair of high heels because she planned on keeping this relationship strictly professional. But she did mist herself with perfume, just for good measure.

After researching him online, she’d found him only in a few professional pages, but his work reviews were all five-star. Clients raved about his work ethics and his professionalism. Apparently, he was that good. His client list read like a who’s-who of prominent Texas tycoons. Only she couldn’t find any reference to Fleur House or his current client. That was interesting.

She’d found something else interesting, too.

Nicholas Santiago was also an artist. Some paintings had shown up under the name Nick Santiago, paintings he’d done as a teenager. Or at least she figured it had to be the same Nick—her Nick? Well, not her Nick, but the man she’d agreed to work with. One of the paintings was of a beautiful dark-haired girl on a horse. She looked young and carefree. He’d won an award for it in high school.

“Jessica.” That had been the name of the painting. Of course, now she wondered who Jessica was and what did she mean to Nick.

She’d seen another article, but Callie had called her and they’d chatted too long for her to go back and read that one. It had something to do with that painting, though. She’d have to remember to read that later. Right now, she had to get to Fleur House.

A few minutes later, she was in her car about to leave when her daddy, Ramon, came strolling out of the house. She loved being back here with her father. She tried to pamper him as much as she could, but her overly protective father seemed to think she was fifteen again. So he lectured her. And worried about her.

Brenna cranked the car and tried to make a quick exit.

In spite of his bad knees, he shot down the brick steps of the white clapboard house. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, missy?”

Brenna stuck her head out the open car window. “Papa, remember I told you I got a part-time job? Today’s the day for the first meeting with Nicholas.”

Ramon adjusted his suspenders and eyed her with a sharp intent. “You mean that fancy fellow over from San Antonio? Are you sure about working for some stranger?”