A Case for Love (12 page)

“What kind of marketing are you doing right now?”

She shrugged. “Same kind of stuff as usual: newspaper ads highlighting family-friendly karaoke four nights a week, radio spots on the top tier of stations, TV commercials during the news hours and primetime on local channels, and scattered day parts on cable. Sponsorships—I’m a sponsor, and the caterer, for the fishing tournament down on the lake in October. Trade-out agreements with other businesses in Comeaux—like supplying the beverages and finger foods for the grand opening of the dance studio last night. You saw my banner, didn’t you?”

“Looked good. The food was good, too. And Alaine interviewed someone standing in front of it, so that will give you free promotion on her show, too.”

“You know, she interviewed me when we opened. I ought to see if I can get her back out here for something. Free coverage by the news—for something positive anyway—is always a good thing.” She waved a server over. “Tell Ruiz to bus six, twelve, and fifteen. Cara has customers waiting to be seated.”

Forbes leaned around to survey the restaurant. How Jenn had noticed those tables and customers—when they were all almost directly behind her—was beyond him. Of course, that’s what had made her such a success.

“So did Meredith and Major have a good time in Colorado?”

“Apparently. Major said he filled a couple of notebooks at the festival with ideas and recipes for the restaurant. Said Meredith came back with almost as much information she wanted to put into use in the events division. He was talking about it like it’s going to become an annual trip for them. Maybe next year they’ll let you tag along.”

“If I can ever get away from this place.” Jenn grimaced, then quickly replaced it with a smile. “Not that I don’t love doing this. But it would be nice to take a vacation every now and again.”

Aha. The perfect opening. “That reminds me.” Forbes picked up his suit coat and pulled something from the inside pocket. “Major sent this for you.”

“Ooh, what is it?” Jenn’s whole face lit up.

He handed her the slip of paper.

As soon as she unfolded it, her expression darkened. She looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What is this?” She waved the slip of paper at him.

“A list of people Major suggested as potential restaurant managers for you. He already has someone in line to interview for his place—if it ever comes into being—and these are some of the other people he considered or talked to. Most of them he’s known for years and trusts implicitly.”

A color to rival Jenn’s famous beet salad rose in her face. “You told Major?”

Only years of practice kept him from reacting to the venom in his sister’s voice. “Yes, I told Major. If anyone would understand, he would; and he’s the best person we know to suggest someone who won’t do to you what this last guy did.”

Jenn slammed the paper down on the table and shot out of the booth. Then, gripping the edge of the table and the back of his seat, she leaned in close. “Forbes, when are you going to stop interfering in my business? I told you I didn’t need any help.”

He raised his chin—and his left brow—blindsided but unwilling to relinquish his position. “I was only trying to do you a favor by getting a list of names for you instead of having to watch you kill yourself to try to run the restaurant, review résumés, check references, and conduct interviews.”

“I don’t need you to do me any favors. It’s my business. Mine. While I will be forever grateful that you loaned me the capital to get it started, I bought you out more than two years ago. I don’t need my big brother swooping in and trying to bail me out every time you think I’m in over my head. I know what I’m doing.”

She wadded up the list and tossed it at him.

“I think you’re making a mistake if you don’t give them serious consideration.”

Her fingers contracted into claws. “When I am ready to start thinking about hiring another restaurant manager, I will go and talk to Major myself. But until that time, I’ll appreciate it if you’ll keep your nose out of my business.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I know. You’re my lawyer. So be my lawyer. You wouldn’t have talked to me about another client’s problems with her business, so why are you going around behind my back talking to Major about my problems? Where was your high-and-mighty attorney-client privilege?”

Her words took him aback. He hadn’t thought about it in that light. “I’m sorry, Jenn. It won’t happen again.”

His apology seemed as blindsiding to her as her anger had been to him. “You’re ... sorry? Well, I ... I ... fine. Thank you. Apology accepted.” She straightened and dropped her hands to her sides—after picking up the wadded list and sticking it in her pocket. “Look. I know it’s a hard concept for you to grasp, but you can’t go around controlling the lives of everyone you love. You have to let us make our own decisions—and our own mistakes. ’Kay?”

“Okay.”

One of the servers approached. “Jennifer, I have a customer who’d like to speak with the manager.”

“I’ll be there in a second.” She nodded at the waitress and waited until the girl walked away before turning back to Forbes. “Are we squared away?”

“Yes, Chef. We’re squared away as long as you make me a deal.”

Curious trepidation entered her eyes. “What’s that?”

“If you’ll agree to keeping your meddling old brother informed as to what’s going on here, I’ll agree to stop trying to control it.” He stood and extended his right hand. “Deal?”

She narrowed her eyes as if contemplating it, then shook his hand. “Deal. I’ll inform; you won’t control. Now if you’re finished, sir, we need to bus this table so we can seat
paying
customers.”

He dropped twice as much cash on the table as the meal cost, then kissed Jenn’s cheek in farewell. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Get outta here, you control freak, you.” She laughed and waved him away, then went to speak to her customers.

Even with his umbrella, Forbes was nearly soaked when he got back to his car. He put the key in the ignition—but didn’t turn it. He wrapped his arms around the steering wheel and rested his forehead on his wrist. Jenn was right. He didn’t know why he thought he could—or should—control what his siblings were doing in their lives. After all, how could he when he could barely control his own?

Alaine held her wrist to her ear to make sure her watch hadn’t died. Staff meeting had never dragged like this before. She reached for her pen—then remembered Bekka had confiscated it a few minutes ago to stop her from tapping it on the arm of her chair. Instead, she pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and twirled it around her finger. Only four more hours until her meeting with Russell LeBlanc.

“What have we heard about the Warehouse District and Moreaux Mills development project?” Rodney Milton looked at the chief investigative reporter.

Alaine stilled, interested in the meeting for the first time since she’d been employed by WCAN.

“It’s no secret that Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises bought the paper-mill warehouses and that they’ve run into a couple of zoning problems that delayed ground breaking on the project about six or eight months. I’m currently tracking down rumors that they’re quietly buying up foreclosed properties in the Moreaux Mills subdivision, but so far, all I’m finding is that all trails lead to a development firm called Mackenzie and Son out of Boston.”

“So nothing we can run with?”

“Not yet.”

Alaine elbowed Bekka and pantomimed writing. Bekka gave the pen back—along with a warning look. Alaine pulled her steno pad onto her lap and started making a list of everything she already knew about the situation that the chief investigative reporter obviously didn’t. She also wrote
Mackenzie & Son
down, planning to research it after the show ... after the meeting with Russell LeBlanc.

And tonight, she’d start piecing the story together. The sooner she got it on tape—her face, her voice—the sooner she could show it to the producers and the sooner she’d be promoted to main news.

She was still scribbling notes as quickly as she could when the meeting broke up.

“Delacroix—a word, please.”

Her stomach twisted at the news director’s voice. Surely he couldn’t be on to her. No way could he know she knew anything about the Moreaux Mills situation. She flipped a few pages in the notebook so he couldn’t see her notes, and set the pad and pen on the table.

As soon as the room cleared, Rodney closed the door and sat in the chair opposite her. “I’m glad to see you’re finally starting to take these meetings more seriously.” He nodded toward the pad and pen. “It’s been hard for us to nip in the bud the cocky attitudes of some of the younger up-and-coming reporters when they see someone with her own show flouting authority openly.”

Alaine pressed her lips together, all of Bekka’s warnings ringing in her head. Besides, she hadn’t meant to cop an attitude with him. He just always seemed to go out of his way to point out she was the person in charge of the
fluff
pieces ... in front of everyone else ... in such a way as it seemed calculated to embarrass her. But she didn’t want to be known as a diva. That was definitely one way to ensure she never made it into main news.

Rodney cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I understand that you’re related to the people who own Delacroix Gardens and Delacroix Rentals over in the Mills area.”

Aha. “That’s right.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

He cleared his throat again. She enjoyed watching him squirm. “Do you think ... I would imagine that they’re being affected by this apparent scheme to buy up all the properties in that neighborhood and redevelop it. Do you think they might be willing to give an interview?”

“I don’t know. If there is something like that going on, they might not be able to talk about it.” And she was going to make sure to ask the lawyer if they could tell everyone who got involved in the lawsuit not to talk to any reporters—except her.

“So you don’t know of anything already pending?”

She shrugged. “What am I supposed to know?”

He gave her a tight smile in return. “Well, if you do hear of anything, you’ll be sure to say something, right?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Oh, yeah. She’d share what she knew—just as soon as the Gulf of Mexico froze over.

“Hey, you busy?”

Forbes looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk to see Evelyn Mackenzie’s lithe figure framed in his doorway. He stood, embarrassed to be caught sans jacket, tie loosened, and sleeves rolled up.

He stood. “Always. But do, please, come in.”

Evelyn sauntered into his office, none too subtle in her visual appraisal of the space. He motioned to one of the chairs opposite his desk and waited until she sank into the chair before regaining his seat. Somehow those mile-long legs didn’t have the same effect on him today as they’d had in their previous encounters.

“I was just upstairs going over some paperwork with Sandra and your parents, and they suggested I come down and invite you to go to lunch with us.” When she leaned forward, the lapels of her suit jacket gapped a bit and revealed a V-neck blouse that showed an extraordinary amount of cleavage.

Somehow, Forbes couldn’t imagine Alaine Delacroix doing something quite so inappropriate. No, the top she’d worn under her suit Monday had featured a modest crewneck. And none of the skirts he’d seen her wear on TV had ever ridden up to midthigh when she sat down, the way Evelyn’s did now.

“Forbes?”

He pushed the image of Alaine aside and returned to the present. “Sorry.” He turned to his computer and pulled up his schedule. “Looks like ... looks like I’ll have to take a pass on lunch. I have a deposition at one o’clock.”

Evelyn’s expression of disappointment seemed calculated. Or maybe Forbes read too much into it since he found himself not trusting her as much as he was sure he should.

“Well, then, you’ll just have to make it up by meeting me for drinks after work. The group playing the Savoy tonight is supposed to be excellent.”

He should feel much worse about turning down a gorgeous woman’s invitation. “Alas, tonight is out as well. I have a couple of meetings at church tonight I can’t miss.” One of which was quartet practice. If he canceled again, George, Major, and Clay would hunt him down and personally see to tarring and feathering him.

“Church in the middle of the week?” She cocked her head. “I knew you attended regularly on Sundays, but I hadn’t pegged you for the middle-of-the-week type.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what
type
she’d had him pegged as. Her type, possibly, though he could be flattering himself; her interest might be born solely out of boredom and not knowing anyone else in town. “Oh, yes, I’ve been called to lead in many different areas of ministry—from music to serving on several committees to chairing the board of trustees.”

Though she was a pro at showing only what others wanted to see, Forbes detected a moderate amount of surprise and skepticism in Evelyn’s eyes. “That’s wonderful. It’s always great to hear of people in the community who are successful giving back in such tangible ways.”

Or in such visible ways, maybe. Okay, he had to stop second-guessing everything this woman said simply because she’d shown no mercy toward the people who could possibly be losing their homes and businesses. “I do what I can.”

His phone rang. He looked down at the console and recognized the number. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to take this call.”

“Of course.” Her smile seemed much more forced than when she’d come in. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The phone only rang twice, as he knew it would. No sooner had the door closed behind Evelyn Mackenzie than his intercom buzzed.

“Russell LeBlanc on line one for you, Mr. Guidry.”

He pressed the intercom button. “Thanks, Samantha.” He pressed the button for the correct line as he raised the receiver to his ear. “Russ, what can I do for you today?”

“It’s happening—I’m heading to the hospital—emergency C-section—”

Forbes sprang out of his chair. “Whoa, hold on there. Take a deep breath. What’s happening?”

On the other end of the connection, Russ gulped air. “Carrie started having contractions half an hour ago, and her water broke. They just called me from the emergency room. She’s in labor, but they’re going to have to do an emergency C-section or else might none of them survive.”

Forbes paced behind his desk. “That’s unbelievable. I’ll be praying for all of you. But what else can I do?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting with a potential client—can’t remember her name. Left the office without my planner. But I was supposed to meet her at Pappas’s Greek Restaurant on Hyacinth in Moreaux Mills at two fifteen this afternoon. You said you were wanting a pro bono case, and this looks like it’ll probably be one. Could you take it for me?”

“Of course.” He dropped into his chair and wrote down the meeting location and time. “You just get to the hospital safely and don’t worry about anything but naming those babies when they finally make their appearance in this world.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Forbes repeated Russ’s farewell and hung up, then pressed the intercom again. “Samantha, come in for a moment please.”

“Coming.” A moment later, she sat across the desk from him.

“Russ LeBlanc’s wife just went into labor, so he’s asked me to meet with a client in a potential pro bono case at two fifteen this afternoon. I’m supervising that deposition at one, but the associates can handle it if I step out early.” He turned his computer monitor so they could both see it. “What’s this meeting here?” He pointed to a block of
busy
time that started at two thirty.

“That was the time you asked me to block off for you to work on the Pichon case.”

“Right. Great. That means you won’t have to reschedule anything for me. I’ll need to leave here by about one forty-five if I’m going to get down to Moreaux Mills by a quarter after two. If you don’t see me coming out of the conference room by then, stick your head in and remind me.”

“Will do, boss.”

“Thanks. That’s all, then.” He nodded his dismissal.

“I’ll go ahead and take my lunch now so I’m back by then, if that’s okay with you.”

“Go ahead.” He returned the computer monitor to its original angle.

“Want me to pick up something for you?” She paused in the door.

“No. I’m meeting the new client at a restaurant, so I’ll just eat there.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Oh, Samantha?”

“Yes, boss?”

“That woman who was here earlier—Evelyn Mackenzie?”

Samantha raised her brows. “Yes?”

“Next time you see her coming, could you give me a little forewarning? I’m not real fond of surprises, you know.”

“Sorry about that. I won’t let it happen again.” Samantha had the good grace to look sheepish. “She was past my desk and standing in your doorway before I knew what was happening.”

He could see Evelyn being stealthy like that. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your lunch.” He waved her out of the room.

Alaine bolted from the office as soon as the meeting about tomorrow’s show wrapped. It would put her at the restaurant far too early, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work anyway.

The last of the lunch rush was just finishing up when Alaine walked into Pappas’s.

“Alaine!” Voula Pappas bustled forward and hugged her. “We haven’t seen you around in forever. Why don’t you come by more often?”

“Oh, you know how it goes, Mrs. Voula—busy, busy, busy.”

“But you are here for lunch?” Voula grabbed a menu.

“I am. But I’m meeting someone else—he won’t be here for another fifteen or twenty minutes. His name is Russell LeBlanc.”

The middle-aged woman grinned. “Oh, yes, we know Russ quite well.” She grabbed two laminated menus.

“I wonder if we could have the table in the back corner overlooking the park. I have ... a sensitive matter I need to talk to him about and don’t want to be overheard.”

Voula nodded. “I understand. This way.”

Alaine took the chair with her back to the window, eliminating the distraction of watching the squirrels and birds outside in the old, drooping oak tree.

“I’ll bring you an iced tea.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Voula.” Alaine pulled out her steno pad and pen. The dark pink gerbera daisy in a bud vase in the center of the table caught her eye. Every morning, her mother stopped by to get a box of pastries for the flower shop’s customers in trade for the flowers for the tables. Yet another argument for why this area and these businesses needed to survive: to remind people how businesses should be run.

Voula brought the tea, and Alaine doctored it with sugar until sweet enough. She flipped open her notepad to a clean page and started an outline for the Moreaux Mills story. She would start it with a soft feature on the businesses in the Mills—the Gardens, the rental center, this restaurant ... and she could use her small video camera at the Fourth of July street fair to get footage to include in the soft open.

Oh—and she could probably find some archive footage of the Guidrys and possibly some questionable sound bites to use. Not to mention contrasting the footage of the lavish Valentine’s Day charity dinner she herself had covered with the current conditions in the Mills. And then she could—

A clearing throat broke into her flow of ideas. Though annoyed by the interruption, Alaine affixed a smile and looked up to greet Russell LeBlanc.

“Uh ... hi.”

Her insides froze at the sight of none other than Forbes Guidry towering over her. She shoved back from the table and shot to her feet. “What are you doing here?” She wanted to cover herself with her hands, so exposed and naked did she feel in his presence.

“My friend Russ LeBlanc called me a couple of hours ago and asked me to come in his place.”

“Why? So you can exert your charm over me and convince me to give this up?” Fury shrouded her like smoke, hot and suffocating. She should have known better than to trust any lawyer in this city.

An upside-down Y formed between Forbes’s well-groomed brows. “What are you talking about? Russ called me because his wife went into early labor and he knew I was looking for a pro bono case to take on. So he asked me to come.”

“I don’t believe you.” She planted her fists on her hips and fought boiling hot tears pressing the corners of her eyes. She would
not
give him the satisfaction of breaking down in front of him.