Going All Out (7 page)

Tally flipped another of the doubloons back into the box. “And wait until you see the throws. They’re treasure chests.”

“In honor of Tally and Christien.” John finally found his voice.

Lucas nodded. “Looks like my sister has a strong team in place this year.”

“Oh, we’re definitely the best,” Tally said.

“Your sister managed to surround herself with an entire crew to design and construct the new float,” Bree added. “Told you she doesn’t miss a trick. Is that a family trait?”

Lucas simply smiled.

Tally sliced an appreciative gaze between them. “As long as you’re here, Lucas, John could use a hand.”

“Got a short in the electrical system,” John confirmed. “I wrote the software to make the rigging move. It’s not moving.”

“You should see it when it does, though,” Tally said. “It’s awesome. I’ll bet we make the news.”

“Oh, joy.” Bree was smiling, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Electrical grief sounds right up your alley.”

Lucas nodded. “I’ll help.”

“Great,” John said. “I can finally show off my program to someone who’ll appreciate it. It’s the first one I’ve ever written for a parade float.”

“And speaking of sails,” Bree said, “they won’t unfurl unless I get busy. I don’t have all day.”

“What shift are you working tonight?” Tally asked.

“Five to three.”

Tally slipped her arm around her sister and gave an affectionate squeeze, apparently the krewe designator in his sister’s absence. “Then get busy.”

“So you’re the talent behind the rigging?” Lucas asked Bree.

“Talent is relative, of course.” She shot him a dry look. “Everyone else around here has ten thumbs.”

Tally rolled her eyes and John gave a hiss of feigned indignance. But Lucas just laughed as Bree tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, “Have fun, boys.”

She headed across the den toward a brightly lit area where pristine white sails hung like blankets over a clothesline on wash day. Tally followed and Lucas watched them go. There was no doubt it was Bree’s long-legged strides and swaying backside that started up the sizzle of heat inside.

“They’re sure something, aren’t they?” John asked. “That Christien Castille is one lucky bastard.”

Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out John must be referring to Tally’s new fiancé.

“They sure are,” Lucas agreed. “Seriously something.”

That kiss had been seriously something, too, and it just so happened he was feeling like a lucky bastard himself right now.

B
REE HEADED OUT OF
the Cane River Poker Room, where she left a client holding with a ten of spades on the table and a queen of hearts in his hand. As soon as the dealer turned the next card, she knew her client would be one happy camper.

Exactly the way she tried to leave all her guests.

With her smile screwed on tight, she made her way past Louie’s Lounge, an open-floor bar where guests could step away from the tables and the various gaming rooms yet still watch the action. Silver-Tongue Sammie, nicknamed not for the way he spoke but for the way his tongue worked magic on the saxophone, was wailing away on his third set of the night.

She winked while walking by, always amazed at how the talented musician smiled around his mouthpiece without missing a beat.

New Orleans was an adult playground of gaming establishments, but Harrah’s and Toujacques were the most renowned. Harrah’s reminded Bree of Vegas, all flash and show, a New Orleans theme park for gamers. Toujacques, on the other hand, was pure New Orleans.

Steeped in local culture and history, Toujacques had broken ground on the fringes of the French Quarter during a bygone era. Two Jacques—father and son—had built the
place as a hub for gamblers sailing down the Mississippi from Natchez.

They’d been two French Acadians with a dream, and Toujacques’ smoke-filled gaming rooms had weathered all sorts of history since. The Civil War. Prohibition. Desegregation.

The original location had evolved through the years, too, transforming from a gambling hall into a saloon, a landmark restaurant and finally, with the advent of new gaming laws, back into the gambling hall it had begun life as. While ownership had changed hands through the decades, management always kept alive what made Toujacques special—tradition.

Silver-Tongue Sammie’s doleful jazz tune faded beneath the electronic buzzing and beeping of the slots as Bree passed through the rows of machines. She smiled at a perfectly coifed matron who glanced up from a video poker machine.

The woman—eighty if she was a day—most likely hailed from one of the gorgeous old mansions along St. Charles Avenue, yet she looked at home in front of the computerized gaming machine, the display lights flashing off her diamonds.

Sure, tourists came from all over the world to game here, but like this wealthy matron, the clientele understood the differences between old world and Las Vegas spectacle.

Toujacques bathed its guests in the pride of the old South. Fine old families and gentlemen who gambled with honor. The whole atmosphere made Bree imagine men riding into the bayou at sunrise to duel.

She saluted the bouncer who stood guard in his tuxedoed finery at the entrance to the hallway leading to the employees-only suites. “Evening, Giles.”

“Evening, Bree.” He tipped the rim of his top hat.

Then she sailed through the door he held open with a smile.

Even Toujacques’ employees were special, she thought while heading inside the hostess suite…well, most of them, anyway, she clarified, coming face-to-face with Lana, who’d apparently just arrived for her shift.

Pausing in her primping, she met Bree’s reflection in the mirror. “Mr. Takimoto wasn’t happy with you yesterday.”

“Hello to you, too, Lana.” Bree could afford to be generous as she was on her way out.

“Not interested?”

“I’m interested in everything about our guests.”

“Then you’ll want to know that when I came on shift, Mr. Takimoto kept going on about how you wouldn’t find him someone to have dinner with.”

Bree smiled harder. Lana was bitchy whenever she pulled the morning shift. Something about her face not waking up properly until noon. “I’m sorry Mr. Takimoto was unhappy.”

“You couldn’t find the old guy an escort.”

“He didn’t want an escort. He wanted me to procure for him. The last I looked, my time card didn’t say Madame Bree.”

“You’re paid to make the arrangements to keep our guests happy. That’s your job. If you can’t be discreet about it, then you’re not much of a hostess.”

No doubt Lana had been happy to rush straight to management with that opinion. But if she wanted to run afoul of the law in her dealings with clients, she’d better be more than discreet. Bree didn’t think upper management would appreciate their names splashed all over the headlines for suspicion of prostitution.

She wasn’t going to take Lana’s criticism to heart either. If the bosses had had a problem with her, they’d have called her upstairs the second she’d walked through the door to start tonight’s shift.

“You got mascara in your hair,” Bree said instead, continuing toward her locker.

Lana turned her attention back to her appearance, looking for the errant mascara, which stood out like a fly on a stick of butter against all that bleached-blond hair. Why this ex-Vegas showgirl had chosen to work at Toujacques instead of Harrah’s was still a mystery….

Then again, Lana wasn’t exactly a teen anymore, and pushing forty meant the twilight years between the blush of youth and a facelift. Judging by her ever-ready tube of hemorrhoid cream to keep the eye baggies at bay, Lana knew age was heading her way.

Not that she looked old. In all honesty, Bree hoped to age so gracefully. For all Lana’s double-processed hair and UV-protection makeup, she was a very striking woman.

Hostesses came in all ages because guests came in all ages. The management at Toujacques understood that. Contrary to popular belief, not every older man was comfortable interacting with a woman twenty or thirty years his junior. Management paired guests with compatible hostesses—not that Lana cared. All she worried about was the imagined slight to her appearance.

Bree had heard her go on a twenty-minute rant about how only the junior department carried her size but the clothes teenagers wore weren’t suitable for an almost-forty-year-old woman whose breasts needed help staying where they belonged.

Bree had thought about suggesting implants but had bitten her tongue. She had actually related to this
argument. Not because her body parts weren’t cooperating—thank goodness!—but the trendier fashions weren’t the classy stuff VIP hostesses were expected to wear.

While VIP hostesses made decent money, they didn’t earn the kind necessary to take off months of work to recover from cosmetic surgery or to shop in upscale boutiques like Toni Maxwell’s, where basic-black slacks cost upward of two hundred and ten dollars with a discount.

“Toodles, Bree.” Lana completed the reparations to her appearance. “I’m off to do damage control.”

Keeping this smile on her face was beginning to hurt. “You have a nice day, too, Lana.”

With a jaunty toss of those bleached curls, Lana strutted out of the room on her stilettos.

Bree exhaled a dramatic sigh and spun the combination on her locker. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. After four days straight of ten-hour shifts, she deserved some time off. She needed to put the memory of yesterday behind her and take a break from worrying about running into Jude around every corner.

Maybe she could talk Lucas into a quick trip away. She knew the perfect place. If they could get some work done on the float later today, she just might entice him with the promise of a day hiding away from the world for some stellar sex.

And it would be stellar if that kiss they’d shared in the den was any indication. She wanted to try another one just to make sure. Not only could she use the distraction, but maybe with a little luck, Jude might have cleared town by the time she returned. She wouldn’t hold her breath, but she could hope.

Grabbing her coat, Bree closed up her locker, slung her purse over her arm and headed toward the door.

Tonight she’d be taking a cab.

But just as she reached the door, a knock sounded and she found Giles with a message.

“Bree, you’ve got company up front.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “The hostess just said some hunky guy asked for you at the desk.”

Hunky guy? Great.

“Thanks. I’m on my way.”

He flashed a quick grin and held the door while she stepped through.

Bree forced herself to move into the casino, when wisps of ice twisted up her spine. For a blind moment she considered beelining into the kitchen to escape out the back door.

But did she really want to leave Jude alone here?

No telling what trouble he’d cause. He might have people start looking for her until it became obvious she’d sneaked away. Lana would love raising questions about why Bree would hide from such an attractive man.

There was nothing to do but face him. Damage control, as Lana had said.

Taking a deep breath, Bree resigned herself to the inevitable. She refused to let the thought of the upcoming encounter rattle her, even though each and every step felt as though she dragged her feet through bayou mud.

Jude was bound to catch up with her sooner or later, and as much as she didn’t want that confrontation to be at Toujacques, she wanted it to take place in a dark street at three in the morning even less.

If Bree was slick, she might be able to lure him out front so they’d be away from Lana and the shift managers yet still under the watchful eyes of the bouncers. Surely Jude
wouldn’t try anything in front of a small army of men around who looked like linebackers.

With that thought to brace her, she headed past the faro tables and made her way to the hostess desk, ignoring the blood throbbing in her ears.

She could handle this.

“Hey, hey, Bree, girl,” the hostess said, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Got a Mr. Yummy here for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll—” Bree’s heartbeat skittered as she caught sight of Mr. Yummy. “Lucas?”

He fixed her with a deep green stare. “Have a good night?”

Getting better every second.
“What are you doing here? Did you come to try your luck at the tables?”

“I came to walk you home.”

That stopped her. For a prolonged instant she could only stare, that stupid adrenaline paralyzing her—this time with a relief so intense her knees actually went weak. “Thank you.”

“Ready?”

She was so relieved not to be standing here with a man she hadn’t seen in years that she blew the hostess a goodbye kiss. Then she beamed up at Lucas, and he beamed back, one of those quiet smiles that did amazing things to his sculpted features.

Too many emotions skyrocketed inside her, making a breath flutter inside her chest. She felt hot and cold all at once, blown away.

Too
blown away.

She was relieved he wasn’t Jude, relieved he’d thought of her and put forth effort to ensure she’d get home safely.

Too
relieved.

And just the thought made her internal alarm system
go wild. She had to be careful. As much as it bit to admit it, Bree had a knack for letting the people in her life take over. Jude had been the extreme, but she’d also come to recognize how she always let Tally run the show, too.

Of course, Tally hadn’t had much choice. Someone had needed to assume the responsibility after their mother had left. But that didn’t change the fact that Bree needed to rely on herself, make her own choices, solve her own problems and not be so quick to let others step in to help.

Jude was her problem, not Lucas’s.

She hadn’t even been honest with the guy. She’d sidestepped the real reason she’d landed in his bushes, and he’d been gentlemanly enough to let her. Here he was tonight, and if Jude showed up again, Lucas would be smack in the middle of a confrontation with no clue what was going on.

Which, Bree thought with a mental sigh, wasn’t fair.

Returning the valet’s wave, she glanced up at Lucas to find him frowning. Following his gaze, she spotted the trouble. Shift change meant bouncers were milling around the front entrance watching them with their best “Me Tarzan, you Jane” expressions.

“This is Lucas, boys.” She snuggled close to the man at her side. “Y’all have a great day now.”

“One of them should have walked you home last night,” Lucas said.

“Then I wouldn’t have you to walk me home tonight.” Bree looped her arm through his and led him away. “Come on. There’s something I want to tell you about last night.”

To Lucas’s credit, he didn’t grill her, probably guessed she wanted to get out of earshot before talking. He was proving himself a patient man, and Bree found she liked that.

“Listen,” she finally said. “I really appreciate you showing up tonight. Much better than taking a taxi.”

“You weren’t going to walk?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. When I told you that I’d noticed someone following me last night, I didn’t mention that it was someone I preferred not to run into.”

“Someone you know?”

She nodded. “I try to avoid confrontations whenever and wherever I can. Especially on a dark street at three in the morning. I just thought you should know.”

“That’s it?” He stared down at her looking all serious and worried.

“Trust me, I have everything under control.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Were you worried about me?”

“Yes, and I wanted to see you again.”

“As in, we’re on a time limit and you don’t want to waste any?”

“As in, I saw the perfect opportunity to get you all to myself so I jumped all over it.”

“Sounds self-serving.”

“Very. I’m not one to pass up an opportunity.”

No surprise there either. “You do know that contrary to appearances, I’m not really a damsel in distress, don’t you?”

“I do. So why’d you walk home last night?”

They were back to the questions again. Lucas clearly wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, and he deserved one, at least one that would get them through the week.

“A few reasons. First and foremost is I lent my car to my brother. He’s home from college for the weekend and he flew in. I’d have taken a cab home last night, but before I left work, I found out I was being considered for the head hostess job. Since I was pretty keyed up and it’s only a
couple of blocks, I figured the fresh air and exercise would calm me down.”

“Congratulations. Is this a promotion you hope to get?”