out about her job again, then closed it. It was useless, and it really wasn’t the issue here.
Charlotte went on. “I just don’t understand you anymore, Jacinda. You never used to be so difficult. You were always such a pliable girl.”
Weak, Jacey silently interpreted. Scared of her mother’s displeasure, which could be earned so easily. Anxious to do whatever it took to please her, until she found that by doing so she was very rarely pleasing herself. It was shaming to admit, even to herself, just how much courage it had taken to stand up to Charlotte about her choice of careers. A lifetime of choosing the path of least resistance, she’d found, hadn’t prepared her for the task.
However, constant practice was making it easier.
The jackhammering in her temples made it difficult to concentrate. She rose. There was nothing left to say, at any point. “I have to leave, Mother. I…appreciate the worry you’ve gone through. But don’t concern yourself. I’ll take care of it.”
She began to cross to the door. Charlotte stood as well, just as the cook, Luella, entered with a tray of tea. “Don’t go yet. We need to develop a plan of action.”
“No, we don’t need to do anything. This is my problem, and I’ll take care of it in my own way.” Taking advantage of her mother’s unwillingness to discuss anything personal in front of the servants, Jacey continued with her escape. “I’ll call you in a couple of days, all right?”
There was no mistaking the disapproval in Charlotte’s silence, but Jacey was far past a time when it could change her mind. Slipping out the heavy front door, she hurried down the steps and to the car, a familiar sense of relief nearly swamping her.
Those who turn and run away live to fight another day. Her father’s oft-repeated saying sounded in her mind. It had always been accompanied with a conspiratorial wink. He hadn’t been one to confront his wife on many matters, opting instead for peaceful co-existence.
The rain had grown heavier. The streetlights shot the wet pavement with tiny splinters of light. She drove slowly, her headlights barely denting the inky darkness. Her earlier relief began to dissipate as the full weight of the situation struck her.
She supposed, by her mother’s definition, she and Peter had been perfectly matched. With his tall blond good looks, they’d made, Charlotte had often said, a handsome couple. Certainly he’d come from a family whose background and fortune had been deemed appropriate by her mother, as well. Jacey had known him since she was a child, and she’d wondered, the last several months of their relationship, if that long acquaintance was to blame for the lack of any real…passion between them. They’d seemed more like a couple married twenty years than two people supposedly in love.
She didn’t even remember now which of them had first proposed the idea of stepping back from the relationship for a while. It had been Peter, she was almost certain of it, but she’d seized on the idea with an eagerness that had been just as telling. And there was no use being less than honest, nothing she’d experienced during their time apart had made her regret the decision.
Traffic was light. Those who didn’t have to venture out into the rain were probably snugged warmly inside their homes. The idea of doing the same lacked the appeal it had presented an hour ago.
Truth be told, when she’d recognized Peter’s return address on the mail that had been delivered, she’d dreaded opening it. It had been easier to put it off until she had a free evening to devote to handling her personal correspondence. Hardly the reaction of someone pining for her lost love.
Grimacing, she turned on to St. Ann Street. She never would have described herself as contrary, Charlotte’s opinions aside. So why this welter of emotion now, brewing and bubbling inside her? Apparently, she was a bit more temperamental than she’d realized.
She brought her car to a stop in front of her Creole-style house, for once not pausing to take pleasure in the double verandas, the enclosed courtyard. Resting her forehead against the steering wheel, she let the events of the last hour swamp her.
She’d been dumped, in as public a way possible. And as much as it pained her to admit it, her mother had been right about one thing.
She was going to have to start planning just how she was going to deal with it.
Chapter 3
“I come bearin’po’boys.” Lucky pushed Jacey’s office door open the rest of the way and held up the bag of food, waggling it enticingly.
She didn’t look up from the papers she had strewn across her desk. “I’m not hungry.”
He came into the office anyway, pushing the door closed with his shoulder. “It’s almost closin’ time and Joan told me you didn’t have lunch. You have to eat. Men like curves on their women, not all bones and angles.”
She did glance up then, and the look she gave him would have sent most scurrying out the door. But Lucky considered himself a courageous enough sort. Besides, he happened to know her weaknesses.
“It may surprise you to discover that what men like is not a maxim that dictates my every action.”
He made a show of opening the sack, inhaling deeply. “It may surprise you to discover that these sandwiches are made with Leidenheimer’s bread.” He saw, and enjoyed, the way her expression changed. “But I forgot. You don’t like Ferdis anyway, right?”
“No.”
He noted her gaze never left him as he stopped at the curved-leg library table she used when conferring with clients. “Too bad about that. Me, I’m extra hungry today. But I’m not sure I can eat both of these. Maybe I will save the ham with roast beef gravy to eat later.”
“Beast.”
She could, he noted with sheer male appreciation, move quite quickly when she wanted to. She was out of her seat and had snatched the sandwich from him before he could even finish teasing her with it.
“I guess I could eat something after all.”
“And to wash it down…” He reached into the bag and withdrew two beers. He couldn’t really imagine Jacey drinking a beer. She was more the wine and champagne type. He was counting on her turning it down, leaving more for him. He happened to know she kept some fancy flavored water in the small ice box tucked beneath the counter.
She snuck a look at the closed door. “I don’t want alcohol on the premises, Lucky.”
“Relax.” He slouched low in one chair, hooked the one across from him with his foot to drag it closer. “Joan was on her way out as I came in. Something about a church dinner.” He stretched out, propping his legs on the opposite chair and crossing them at the ankles. The secretary was a straitlaced teetotaler. Her views on the evils of liquor were well known in the office.
“In that case…” Jacey reached out and swiped the second beer from him.
He attempted to hide his dismay. “You don’t even like beer. Do you?”
“Probably not, but this will teach you to bring something I do like the next time, won’t it?”
Giving in gracefully, he leaned over to twist the top off her bottle, then dealt with his own. “Last night was pretty bad, huh?”
