that any amount of time spent in the company of Charlotte Wheeler could leave lasting ill effects. “You’ve been holed up in here since dawn this morning, and from the looks of you, you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He knew her well enough to recognize the signs. She was wearing what he always thought of as one of her frighteningly capable power suits. The trim-fitting red jacket and skirt might have been sexy if she’d gotten rid of the no-nonsense buttoned-up blouse beneath. She had her hair scraped up into a knot, and wire-rim glasses perched on her nose, which meant she hadn’t put her contacts in. He’d always thought it weird that someone with her money hadn’t gone for that new eye surgery everyone talked about, until he’d discovered that she was deathly afraid of needles.
“What did Charlotte do this time?” He bit into the sandwich, never taking his eyes off the woman across from him. Interaction between mother and daughter often left Jacey driven and focused for days, as if renewed dedication to her job could alleviate her mother’s disapproval.
“Nothing. I’ve just been busy today, that’s all. I’ve decided to hire some part-time help so I wrote up a job description and ad for the paper. And the fund-raiser last night wasn’t a total loss. I picked up a case and I’ve been preparing a contract. The file arrived this afternoon.”
Interest flared. “Tell me about it.” He listened intently as she relayed the conversation she’d had with J. Walter Garvey. He’d heard of the man, of course. It would be difficult to live in New Orleans and be ignorant of Garvey Enterprises, although he couldn’t say with certainty just exactly what the man’s business entailed.
By the time she’d finished, he’d polished off his sandwich, while she’d barely touched her own. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he reached out to snag his beer with two fingers. “So he’s going to decide who to leave his company to based on the dirt you dig up on his grandchildren?”
He had to wait until she’d finished chewing and swallowing her bite of sandwich before she responded. “By my initial calculations his business is estimated in the billions. So I guess you can’t blame him for wanting to be sure his successor has the ability to take his place at the helm.”
Lucky tipped the bottle to his lips and drank. “Why do I have the feelin’ that Garvey wouldn’t consider anyone worthy to take over for him?”
She gave a delicate shrug and continued eating. He took a moment to enjoy the sight. There was really no elegant way to eat a po’boy, but she came closer than most to making the task look refined. He liked her best in moments like these, when she forgot the manners that had no doubt been hammered into her from birth, and just enjoyed herself.
There had been a time, when he’d first met her, when he’d been convinced that she was just another deb with a pretty shell, possessing more money than sense. A time when he’d been certain that her insistence on dabbling in private investigative work was going to get her seriously hurt.
But there had been something about her from the first, a competence he hadn’t expected, and a hint of vulnerability that shredded him on the rare occasions it peeked through. The first had earned his eventual respect, the second a pesky thread of protectiveness. He’d been far more surprised than she when he’d decided to stay on three years ago. The time he’d spent employed at Wheeler and Associates was the longest he’d ever stuck at anything. Because the realization always filled him with a mild sense of panic, he preferred not thinking about it at all.
Draining his beer, he set it down and eyed hers, which hadn’t been touched yet. “How many grandchildren are there?”
“Four. Rupert has three children, two sons and a daughter, all by different women. So I guess they’re all really half-siblings. Lianna has one son. The four range in age from twenty-five to thirty-six.”
“Do you know them?”
“I’ve run into all of Rupert’s children on occasion at various functions. I don’t recognize the name of Lianna’s son, Jeffrey Wharton. While she was married she lived in Boston, and apparently the boy bounced back and forth between her and her ex-husband for most of his life. According to the file, he’s been living in New Orleans for the last six months.”
She slapped his hand just as his fingers would have closed around her bottle. He adopted what he hoped was a wounded expression. “C’mon cher, you know you’re not goin’ to drink that. Don’t be mean.”
“Yes, I am.” To prove it, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long pull. Immediately her eyes squeezed shut, and she choked a little. “That’s…” She hauled in a deep breath, smoothed her expression. “That’s excellent.”
He laughed out loud, delighted with her. “It’s an acquired taste, and one I wouldn’t have thought to your likin’. By all means, finish it.”
“I intend to.” She’d do just that to prove a point, and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy watching her. Taking a more cautious sip the next time, she managed to swallow without grimacing. “Thank you for the sandwich. I guess I have been a bit single-minded today.”
Lucky stood, began gathering up the wrappers and shoving them back in the bag. “You mean uptight? Oui, just a bit.” He, on the other hand, had come to work feeling loose and relaxed. A long night of steamy sex had that effect on a man. He would have suggested that she engage in the same, but given her choice in male companions, he doubted her experience would produce similar results. She tended to choose men who were little more than empty suits, all surface polish with no real substance beneath. Although she’d broken away from her high-society upbringing in her choice of careers, she didn’t seem able to shake it when it came to the men in her life.
He stood, wadded the bag in his hand and banked it into the wastebasket. Noticing the way she was working her shoulder, he moved to stand behind her. “Here, let me.” When she would have batted his hands away, he dug his fingers into the tight muscles, eliciting a groan.
“How do you do that?”
“We all have our talents. Yours is turnin’ oversized bikers into eunuchs, and mine is loosenin’ up tight muscles.” He used his thumb to rub along her nape. “You’re all knots.”
“I tossed and turned most of the night.” She let her head loll, allowing him better access. “I woke up stiff.”
Her lack of sleep could no doubt be laid squarely at her mother’s doorstep, but bringing up the woman’s name would just have her tensing again. “You need to learn how to relax.”
“So you always say.” She rolled her shoulders. He thought the muscles there were already becoming more pliable. “M-mm, with your talent, you could become a professional at this.”
“Fa’true?” He pretended to consider it. “Maybe I’ll just do that. I could stop slavin’ away for you on that paltry salary you pay me and open my own business.” He pretended not to hear the sound she made in response. “Yeah, I’m thinkin’ of buying a van with equipment inside it. I could make housecalls first thing in the mornin’ to provide wake-up massages for the stressed out-women of the city. I could call it…Loosen up with Lucky.”
She tilted her head back to look at him. “Why not? I know of some dog groomers who work that way. They go to the customers’ homes and provide the service in the back of their vans. You might even want to offer some of the same services they do—I’m sure some of the ‘clients’ you’d acquire could benefit from a good flea dip.”
Lucky’s
