A Case for Love (21 page)

Ah, yes. The restaurant Major was opening with Meredith’s parents as his investment partners. Not an official B-G business venture but still tied with the development they wanted to do in the Mills—

New leaf. No more negative thoughts about the elder Guidrys. “I can’t wait to hear all about it tonight. But if I’m going to make it home to change clothes—since I didn’t have the foresight to bring mine to work with me—I’ve got to get some work done.”

“See you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it.” And she was.

She got the rest of her work wrapped up and the e-mail sent off to Rodney, wished everyone a good weekend, and left work, appreciating the place far more than she had when she had walked in eight hours ago.

Stomach growling when she walked in the house, she fixed a bowl of cereal and ate it sitting on the counter at the kitchen island, bare feet swinging like a kid’s. She’d be hungry again before she got to the gallery, but all the better for truly enjoying Major O’Hara’s excellent food.

Oh, that reminded her ... she slipped off the counter, dropped the empty bowl into the sink with a clank, and jogged upstairs to the guest bedroom. On the floor of the closet, in the back, her wedding gift for Meredith and Major leaned against the wall. She wrapped it and carried it downstairs and set it on the kitchen counter, under her keys, so she wouldn’t forget to take it with her.

Humming, she went back upstairs to get ready. With the off-and-on drizzle outside, trying to straighten her hair would be pointless; so she plugged in the curling irons and got out the box of bobby pins. After a quick shower to rinse away the day’s gunk and wash her face so she could start afresh with her makeup, Alaine wrapped herself in her favorite Turkish bathrobe—the one she’d actually gotten in Turkey.

At six forty-five, her hair in a cascade of curls at the crown of her head, looking pretty good if she did say so herself, in the knee-length, sleeveless black satin dress with the faux-wrap top and the wide, V-neck shawl collar that showed the definition of her collarbones, Alaine grabbed the gift and her keys and headed out the door. Then went back inside and upstairs to her office for the admission passes.

As Alaine had assumed, Meredith waited for her by the chickenlike modern art sculpture in front of the museum, even though Alaine was almost ten minutes early. She handed her keys to the valet and tucked the ticket into her little black purse.

Meredith looked like a 1940s-era movie star, dressed in a chocolate-brown silk sheath dress with a matching three-quarter sleeve bolero jacket and round-toed heels that completed the retrovibe. What kept her from looking like she wore a costume though, was the modern, smooth, french twist her hair swept up to in the back, with the front side parted and swept behind her ears.

Alaine must look like a child playing dress-up beside Meredith’s stately elegance.

To her surprise, Meredith drew her into a hug in greeting. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been far too long.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been ... going through some things that made me keep to myself there for a while.” Alaine stepped back and tried to make herself taller. But Meredith had at least four inches on her.

“Believe me, I understand. I hope everything worked out okay.”

“Not yet, but it’s getting there.” She motioned toward the front doors, and Meredith fell in step with her. “Before we leave, remind me to give you your wedding present. It’s in my car.”

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t. I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure we will.”

The atrium-style lobby of the art museum reverberated with voices and music. Alaine handed the admission passes to the concierge. Both Alaine and Meredith were instantly recognized by other attendees and exchanged apologetic looks before being drawn into separate conversations.

At eight o’clock, someone announced that the exhibit was now open for viewing. Alaine broke away from several older ladies and found Meredith, who’d managed to make her way over to the food tables.

Alaine grabbed a canapé and paused for a moment to let the tangy creaminess of the cheese and the herby sweetness of marinated artichoke mingle and dance across her tongue.

Meredith handed her a crystal flute. “Fruit tea.”

“Thanks.” She grabbed a napkin to wipe away the crumbs from her fingers and mouth.

“Alaine, good to see you. I feel like you’ve been avoiding me the last few times I’ve been down to the studio to do my voiceovers.” Major O’Hara, dapper in a black chef ’s jacket edged with silver piping, shook Alaine’s hand, then put his arm around Meredith’s waist and kissed her temple.

“Chef O’Hara.” Alaine grinned at him. “You know how it goes—busy, busy, busy.”

“Yeah, especially when your boss is a task-mistress who micromanages everything you do.” He scooted away from Meredith’s elbow to his side.

In the company of other acquaintances, Alaine would have been extremely jealous over the display of affection between the couple. With Major and Meredith, she basked in the radiance of their happiness. “Congratulations on getting married. Of course, I’m crushed that you eloped. I was planning on coming out with a full crew to cover it for the show.”

“Why do you think we did it?” Meredith winked at her.

“Because Forbes was trying to make you do it his way?” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth.

But Meredith burst into laughter. “Obviously you know my brother better than either of you have let on.” She exchanged a quick glance with Major, who just shook his head. She shrugged and hooked her arm through Alaine’s. “Come on. Let’s go look at some art.”

Most of the other guests had left the atrium. Alaine picked up one of the souvenir booklets explaining the purpose of the Art Without Limits Exhibit and the fund-raiser for the Beausoleil Artists with Disabilities Foundation. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the bright light of a live, remote camera. Yep. There was the cub reporter who’d been assigned to cover the event for the ten o’clock broadcast. Nope. Not even a twinge of envy. She smiled to herself.

She and Meredith discussed the pieces in soft voices as they moved through the gallery—discovering they both had similar tastes and noticed much of the same aspects of the workmanship.

They rounded a corner, and Alaine released a small gasp. The large, framed painting portrayed a dancing couple who looked quite a bit like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. The artist had obviously studied Monet’s techniques because it looked like something that could have been done by the great impressionist.

Beside her, Meredith exclaimed over the excellence of the work, but Alaine was lost for words. She wanted it. The painting represented the two things she enjoyed most in life: art and ballroom dance.

She glanced down at the card under it which gave the artist’s name and the name of the piece. A red dot had been affixed to the corner. This piece would be part of the fund-raising auction. She flipped open her little purse—and then remembered she hadn’t put a pen in it. Instead, she opened the booklet and located the page the piece was on, which she dog-eared. Surely it wouldn’t go for more than what she could afford to pay, would it?

“Excuse me, I want to go make a bid on this one.”

“I’ll go with you. I saw one I want to bid on, too.”

They found the table where the sheets for the silent auction were laid out. Not too many people buzzed around them—but the night was still young. Alaine found the sheet for her painting ... and groaned in disappointment. Someone had already placed an opening bid of one thousand dollars—far too expensive for Alaine’s meager art budget.

Oh, well. It wasn’t meant to be.

The camera light caught her attention again, and she turned toward it, only to find it practically in her face. But the person standing to the side of the cameraman wasn’t the cub reporter from Channel Six.

“Teri Jones.” Alaine gave the woman who was her direct competitor a tight smile.

“Alaine Delacroix. I’m surprised you’re not working tonight. What, did they decide this story was too important for the social-scene reporter?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Before she could wave her off, Meredith joined her.

“And Meredith Guidry.” Teri’s eyes narrowed as she looked between them. “That’s right, B-G is one of your show’s biggest sponsors. Should have guessed.”

“Well, you guessed wrong. Meredith and I are friends.”

“And it’s Meredith
O’Hara
now, thank you.” The chill in Meredith’s voice surprised Alaine, but she didn’t want to break eye contact with the vulture for a moment, not sure when the attack would come.

Teri snapped at her cameraman, and he started filming. Alaine adjusted her expression to try to ensure she looked pleasant and happy to be interviewed by the woman who made Jerry Springer look like a social worker—the woman who’d tried to ruin Bekka Blakeley’s career so many years ago.

Teri raised her microphone and turned to face the camera. “I’m here with Alaine Delacroix, of Channel Six news, and Meredith Guidry O’Hara, of Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises. Mrs. O’Hara”—she turned and thrust the microphone in Meredith’s face—“what do you think of the exhibit?”

Meredith began to give a glowing review of what they’d seen so far. Teri cut her off midstream.

“Ms. Delacroix, I find it very interesting you’re here with an executive director of Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises tonight. After all, weren’t you one of the main organizers of the meeting in Moreaux Mills last night protesting B-G’s development plans?”

She’d guessed as much. “I am not involved in the situation. I was there merely as an observer, out of care and concern for my family, who live and work in the Mills.”

“It’s my understanding you gave a very ...
passionate
introduction of the lawyer who came out to speak to them—Forbes Guidry, if I’m not mistaken.”

Alaine’s stomach twisted around that canapé she’d eaten. “Are you going somewhere with this? If so, I’d appreciate you getting to your point so that I can go back to enjoying my evening.”

“Touchy.” Teri’s smile became predatory. “My sources tell me that Mr. Guidry has taken on this case pro bono.”

Alaine shrugged. “As I’m aware of no case being filed, I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

“It’s common knowledge that you have a personal relationship with Mr. Guidry—after all, it was on your own, um, show that you aired tape of the two of you taking dancing lessons together.”

Alaine raised her eyebrows and shifted her weight in annoyance. “It stands to reason, then, that if he isn’t getting paid for his legal services by the people in Moreaux Mills, he’s being remunerated in a completely nonmonetary manner. After all, what wouldn’t a girl do to make sure Mommy and Daddy got the best lawyer money—or whatever—can buy?”

All Alaine could do was gape at her. The nasty insinuation hung in the air between them; but before Alaine could recover, Meredith stepped between them.

“If you air that—or any other filth like it—on your show, you will be sued. And I can’t imagine your bosses will be happy with you for generating yet
another
slander suit from my family against you and the station.”

Teri smirked. “Come on,” she nudged the cameraman. “I’ve got what I need out of these two.”

“Meredith, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have involved yourself in that.”

Meredith pulled her aside to a quiet corner. “What was she talking about? What case?”

The last thing she wanted was for that to come between them. “I can’t talk about it. I’ve given my word.”

“Okay. I won’t ask any more about it.”

Alaine’s stomach hurt. “And I don’t want you thinking that I’ve behaved improperly toward your brother, either. We’ve spent some time together, and he agreed to do a favor for me—for my family and their neighbors. But there is nothing between us beyond that.”

Kindness beamed from Meredith’s light-brown eyes. “I never suspected there was.” She hooked her arm through Alaine’s again and led her back toward the gallery. “But I’m still holding out hope.”

“Fat-free, sugar-free, mocha latte.” Forbes handed over his Coffee Club card for his twenty-five-cent discount.

“I guess it’s not even worth asking you if you want an order of beignets to go with that, Mr. Guidry?” The perky cashier batted her eyes at him.

“As always, the answer is no thank you, Kristi.” And as always, he refrained from reminding her that he was almost old enough to be her father. “Just coffee.” He paid her for it, then scoped out the large café.

He didn’t like this no-name, no-picture deal of Shon’s. Petite brunette wearing black-and-white wasn’t that much to go on. But right now, no one fitting that description sat by herself at a table or in the armchairs over by the greenery-filled fireplace or out on the deck overlooking the river.

Instead of committing himself to a table before his date arrived, Forbes stood at the coffee bar, feeling very much like a cowboy in one of those old westerns Meredith and Major liked watching so much.

The front door swung open. Forbes straightened. Though backlit, the silhouette entering was definitely female—a petite female. She paused, probably letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. He checked his watch—9:21. Not just punctual, but early. Nice.

She moved toward the cashier. Forbes’s knees went weak. Alaine Delacroix pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and placed her order.

Alaine? Could Shon have possibly—but if he had, why hadn’t he said anything? Forbes pulled out the copy of the e-mail with the description Shon had sent. Petite. Check. Brunette. Well, Forbes would have called her hair black, but it could work as a description. Wearing a black-and-white top. He glanced back up at Alaine, making sure to keep himself partially hidden behind the coffee-making station. She was wearing a black-and-white polka-dot jacket. Three strikes—er, three hits—okay, so the baseball metaphor didn’t work.

He waited for her to make her way down the long counter to the corner where she’d pick up her coffee, and from whence she’d be able to see him.

Their eyes met. Hers widened, and her full lips formed a small
O.
“What ... what are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too.” He saluted her with his coffee. “Are you meeting someone here?”

“I ... uh ... yes, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”

“Devastatingly handsome and wearing blue?”

Her face went from ghostly pale to flushed in a split second. “Tall, dark hair, and wearing ... red.” She frowned and pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. “It definitely says red, not blue. Wait—are you here for ... are you meeting someone here from Let’s Do Coffee?”

His face went hot. “I am. Petite, brunette, wearing a black-and-white top. If that isn’t you...” He scanned the room again, just to make sure he hadn’t missed someone else fitting the description.

“Extra large café au lait,” the barista called.

Alaine stepped over to grab the tall, ceramic mug. She poured what looked like half the sugar shaker into it, tasted, and added a bit more sugar. He shuddered. It had to be sludgelike by now.

“So if I’m not meeting you,” she said, returning to stand at the bar beside him, “and you’re not meeting me, maybe we shouldn’t be standing here talking to each other when they do come in, or else they might not realize we’re the ones.”

“Are you trying to avoid me?” He sipped his latte, enjoying how the strong flavor of the espresso picked up the subtle hint of the skim milk and the light sweetness and chocolate of the sugar-free mocha flavoring, trying not to let himself be disappointed that Alaine wasn’t here for him.

“Avoid you?”

“You haven’t returned my phone calls.”

She traced her finger around the handle of her mug. “I wasn’t sure what to say to you.”

Setting his cup down, he leaned forward. “I only wanted to thank you. To try to tell you how much what you did meant to me. And to say that I hope your folks didn’t give you a hard time for it.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, but then just as quickly, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. Heat coursed through his body. He’d been wanting to kiss her since the first moment they met—actually a long time before that. Unless his eyes deceived him, she’d just told him she’d thought about it, too.

He took a step back for safety. “I saw your name made the newspaper blurb. That didn’t make things worse, did it?”

“My parents understood why I did what I did. My boss offered me a promotion to cover the story.” She turned her profile to him and leaned back against the edge of the bar’s top, cradling her mug in both hands.

“Congratulations.”

“I didn’t take it. I have a wonderful job—better than most midmarket TV journalists can boast—and I’d be an idiot to give it up to work longer, harder hours under someone else’s direction instead of having the virtual autonomy I have on my show.” She took a sip of coffee, and finally looked at him again, her dark eyes sparkling like onyx. “Besides, that kind of journalism demands objectivity, and there’s no way I could stay objective about this story.”

This time, her eyes stayed locked on his, but he found himself once again leaning toward her, toward those enticing, full lips.

They both startled when the bell on the front door jangled. A tall man—a very tall man—with hair almost as dark as Alaine’s and wearing a bright red University of Louisiana–Bonneterre T-shirt entered the café and stood inside the door, scanning the interior.

Alaine looked like she might tuck tail and run. Forbes might aid her, if it came to that.

The man’s gaze came to rest on Alaine. Forbes’s guard rose immediately at the smile that split the guy’s face. He approached them. Alaine grew more stiff, and Forbes couldn’t help but be impressed by the guy’s height. He had to be at least six foot eight, if not taller.

“I think I’m here to meet you. Petite, black hair, black-and-white polka-dot top and black capris.”

Alaine nodded, a silent, forced smile on her face, her shoulders practically flat on the bar from leaning back to look up at her date.

“Alaine Delacroix,” the man breathed. “They told me I might recognize you once I saw you, but I had no idea I’d be this lucky. I’m Riley.”

Forbes was surprised he couldn’t hear Alaine’s teeth rattle with the force of Riley’s handshake.

“Can I get you something—but you already have something.” The lumbering giant at long last noticed Forbes. “You two know each other?”

“Riley, this is a business acquaintance of mine, Forbes Guidry.”

Forbes’s own teeth knocked together when he shook Riley’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” No. No it wasn’t. He should grab Alaine by the arm and sweep her out of here. Wait—a
business acquaintance?
He turned to stare at her.

“I’ll go place my order. Don’t go anywhere now, Alaine Delacroix.”

As soon as Too-Tall was out of earshot, Forbes confronted her. “A
business acquaintance?
I thought we were well beyond that—friends, at least.”

Alaine looked over her shoulder, then pushed him back a few steps, her hand burning like a branding iron on his chest. “What was I supposed to say?” she whispered. “I’m here in good faith to have coffee with this guy. He’s paid for the privilege of being set up on a blind date with someone—who just happens to be
Alaine Delacroix.
” She imitated the way Riley drawled her name. “I need to afford him the same courtesy I would expect to receive if he’d already been here talking to a woman he knows and spends a lot of time with.”

Yeah, except Forbes wanted to stake his claim, to let the behemoth know Alaine was spoken for, whether she knew it or not.

The front door chimed again. Forbes didn’t want to look, but he did. And instantly regretted it. In walked a woman who could only be classified as
on the prowl.
And she was wearing a black-and-white top—a skin-tight, zebra-striped halter top to be exact.

Alaine’s eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement when she looked up at him. “I believe your petite brunette in a black-and-white top just walked in.” She picked up her mug from the bar. “Have fun.”

“So glad you find this funny.” Forbes narrowed his eyes at her.

Alaine laughed. The only thing that could have made the woman any less suitable for him would be if she were wearing leather motorcycle chaps instead of shorts so short they were almost indecent. Alaine had been a little worried when she realized Forbes was here for a date—and not with her—that he might meet someone he’d like more than her. Though Alaine hated passing judgment based on a first appearance, she was pretty good at figuring people out by how they dressed.

This woman defined
cougar
—an older woman out to snag a good-looking, younger man. Alaine hadn’t thought Shon would handle that type; but she supposed as long as the money was green enough, he’d take on just about any client.

Alaine’s date, Mr. I-Don’t-Know-How-to-Dress-for-a-Coffee-Date, returned to them. With a sigh, Forbes excused himself and went over to speak to Ms. Zebra Stripe.

“Shall we get a table?” Alaine swept her arm to the side to indicate the half-full dining room.

“Yeah. You get a table, Alaine Delacroix, and I’ll join you as soon as I get my stuff.”

Only with extreme effort did she stop herself from telling him not to call her by her full name. The next half hour would be the longest of her life.

By design, more likely than by chance, Forbes chose a table not too far away and sat so he faced Alaine. As Riley went on about himself, Alaine watched Forbes and his date out of the corner of her eye.

At first, the woman leaned forward, touching her face, her chest, her throat. All signs she found Forbes quite attractive. As time progressed, her hands became more occupied with her coffee cup, then dropped to her lap.

Alaine stifled a grin when the woman crossed her arms, sitting as far back in her chair as she could. Whatever she and Forbes were discussing, the woman didn’t like it.

Yep. There she went. Forbes stood and shook her hand, then watched the woman walk out. But instead of leave, he went over and grabbed a newspaper off the rack and returned to his table to read it.

Alaine tried to focus on Riley. But now he was talking about the college baseball game he planned to attend today. And if he said
Alaine Delacroix
one more time—

“You know, Riley,” she interrupted, “I really don’t follow baseball. Do you like art? I went to the opening of a wonderful exhibit down at the Bonneterre Fine Arts Center last night.”

Confusion filled Riley’s mossy-green eyes. “Art?”

“Yes. I’m a painter, too. Well, I don’t get to do it very often anymore. But I started out as an art major in college.” She talked about some of her favorite artists for a few minutes until Riley completely glazed over. Yeah, turnabout’s not always fair play. He’d want to leave soon.

“Do you like ballet?” Now she’d make sure he didn’t ask for another date with
Alaine Delacroix.
“The new season of the Bonneterre Ballet Company starts in a few weeks, and I’m thinking about getting season tickets.” Not that she would—she couldn’t afford the expense. But he didn’t need to know that.

“B–ballet?” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door.

“Yes. Oh, and the new opera season starts soon as well.” Of course, she hated opera.

“Wow. We really don’t have anything in common.” He glanced at his watch. “Look at that. If I’m going to make it to the ballpark before the first pitch, I’d better go.”

“Oh, really? So soon?”

“Yeah—yes. It was great to meet you.” He held out his hand.

“You, too.” Alaine didn’t want to have her brains scrambled again. She barely touched her fingertips to his.
Don’t let the door hit you in the fanny on the way out.

He hurried away. She thought about calling him back to nag him about putting his coffee mug in the dish tray beside the trash can, but that would probably be overkill. With a laugh, she disposed of his cup, then took hers to the counter for a refill.

While waiting, she turned around to see what Forbes was up to. He still sat reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee—at her table. Typical. Yet extremely gratifying.

With her coffee fortified with sugar, she returned to the table, sat, and pulled the “Style” section out of the stack of newspaper he wasn’t currently reading. She pretended to read it for a few moments.

Finally, Forbes lowered the
A
section. “So?”

“So, what?”

“How did you like dear Riley?”

“Oh, he’s a lovely man—I’m sure Shon will find the right woman for him soon.”

“But...?” Forbes couldn’t hide the hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

She thought about stringing him along, but what would be the point? He already knew the answer. “But it isn’t me.”

He snapped the paper upright and disappeared behind it. “I could have told you that.”

“And what about Ms. Zebra Stripe?” Alaine didn’t look up from her section.

“Not for me.”

“Looked like things didn’t go so well.” She flexed her jaw to straighten her expression, just in case he dropped the paper again. “Looked like she got kind of mad at you.”

The paper rustled, then crumpled when he dropped his hands to the table. “If you must know, I mentioned her age, that I wasn’t really looking to date someone significantly older than me.”

Alaine cringed. “Oh, that poor woman. That was a horrible thing to say.”

“No kidding. Especially since she then told me that we graduated from high school together—and she had skipped a grade a few years before.”

“So she’s a year
younger
than you?”

He grimaced—and even wearing that sour expression was utterly adorable. “Yeah. Talk about foot-in-mouth. She said when she realized who I was that she’d hoped maybe we could attend our reunion together in the fall. Guess it’ll just give all the women there something more to use to gossip about me.”

“The girls from your high school class like to gossip about you?” Oh to be a fly on the wall at that reunion.

“Yeah—about how horrible a boyfriend I was or how I haven’t been able to have a long-term relationship, ever.” He smoothed out his section of the paper and refolded it.